No Idea What To Call This If Anything

“Safer at Home” a.k.a. Lockdown

Day 5

To be honest, I got nothin’.

For the first time this week, it is afternoon and I am still in my robe and I have not brushed my teeth.

Since I woke up, I have been contending with matters I’d rather not go into at this time.

In the meantime, since you were kind enough to check out this link, I will share this video below because although I have deliberately not been on social media today, a notice popped up in my emails and I clicked on the link to this video. Emotions built up from the day thus far, the video made me cry.

I hope you are all genuinely respecting the orders to stay at home, refraining from congregating in groups, and maintaining six feet from anyone if you do go out. And that your biggest immediate concern is the Coronavirus.

That said, I refuse to stay in this condition. I am going to go brush my teeth, change into exercise clothes, and workout to my new DVD to help change my frame of mind.

Because we could all use a smile. ❤️⚾️ pic.twitter.com/YrmQWPo5Hq

— MLB (@MLB) March 20, 2020

“Happy People Just Don’t Kill Their Husbands, They Just Don’t”

“Safer at House” a.k.a. Lockdown

Day 4

Name the movie!

Right! Legally Blonde. Good job.

And as much as that movie is considered fluff, I love it. However, this post was inspired by a different movie. As I continue my Meryl-a-Thon, my selection the other day was Mamma Mia (2008) which, of course, the Meryl-ABBA-Christine Baranski-Julie Walters fan that I am, I have on Blu-ray.

I have seen it countless times, and I know it very well. So, it is one of those movies that as it plays I can watch some, listen some, as I am walking around cleaning, straightening, responding to emails, reorganizing my closet, washing dishes, and the such. And that is exactly what I was doing.

At times I would hear a line and know there was an upcoming scene or song I wanted to watch and would rush over to the TV. Other times I would hear something from the other room and smile or laugh knowing what was happening as I continued about my tasks.

If I’d thought about it, I’d know my ‘anthem’ would be coming eventually, but it hadn’t crossed my mind as I went about my to-do list. Apparently occupied with other thoughts, I was snapped out of my own head when I heard Tanya (Baranski) shout, “Well, grow back down!”, then Tanya and Rosie (Walters) in unison,”Screw’em if they can’t take a joke!”

Instantly I set down the pan I was washing and hurried into the living room, getting there just as the two women started singing.

/ You can dance /

/ You can jive /

/ Having the time of your life… /

Next I know, there I am, with my bright red rubber kitchen gloves still on my hands, slippers on my feet, in my little Hollywood apartment, dancing all around on the hardwood floor to my favorite song, Dancing Queen.

And I mean, I was DANCING! Not simply standing in one place kind of moving my upper body a little, and occasional hip side-to-side. I was in motion! Quickly, I moved some things out of the way because, once Donna (Streep) starts singing with them, they take the song to the streets and make their way to the dock, and along the way, they are joined, bit by bit, by the women of the town. And once there, all those fabulous women sing Dancing Queen and dance their hearts out. And yes, I know the moves, I can jive. And yes, though I didn’t sing loudly, I danced my heart out right along with them.

After the song ended, I stood looking at the screen, catching my breath, full of joy and almost awestruck at the moment. Then I collapsed into my cute, vintage swivel chair and began sobbing.

The tears didn’t fall for a really long time, but I had been caught off guard.

Sure, so many emotions built up surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic, trying to make decisions and find answers–should I stay or should I go, how can I be as prepared and smart as possible without taking the toilet paper someone else needs more, how am I going to pay my bills, am I at risk, is anyone I care about particularly at risk, how am I going to get through this, how are we going to get through this, and a million other thoughts and questions consuming my mind and wreaking havoc on my body.

Why was I crying at this moment when I’d just had fun dancing to my favorite song?

Then it occurred to me.

Endorphins. For the first time in a long time, I’d let loose and really put my body in movement. I was releasing endorphins. A much-needed release.

Thus, the title above. As Reese Witherspoon as Elle Woods in Legally Blonde states in defense of her sorority sister, a magnate with a huge line of exercise programs who is on trial for murder:

Sitting in that chair, I took a breath and admitted to myself that to give myself the best chance at not only surviving, but of being happy, and doing what I can to thrive during this state of ‘Safer at Home’, I am/was going to need to be assertive. A few stretches, and some crunches isn’t going to cut it. I was going to need to do full-on workouts. And I knew I would need guidance to do it.

So, this morning I opened up the drawer under my TV where I have two DVDs. One is a yoga one from my former roommate that I like and used to do when I first moved here, then slacked, then did again here and there.

However, in order to commit, I knew I was going to need to do something new, something to really get my heart pumping. I would need cardio. I took out the other DVD, Kathy Smith’s Moving Through Menopause. I’d purchased it at a thrift store probably over a year ago and not once had I watched it. Probably the only time I opened the case was at the store to make sure the disc was in there.

I picked up the remotes to turn on the television and the DVD player, and for an instant, knowing I wasn’t accountable to anyone besides myself, I’ll admit, I thought, “I could sit down and watch a movie.”

And I could have. I could have gone and made a cup of hot tea, heated up a frozen breakfast tofu burrito and sat my tush down in the chair and watched my next Meryl movie, or any other selection of films that would be a distraction from what my body really needed.

I didn’t.

Pushing the idea out of my head, I put the Kathy Smith DVD into the player and hit the play button. Since I didn’t know what to expect, I told myself that if I didn’t feel it was going to be something I would do, I would take it out and put the yoga one in immediately so in the least I would go through with exercising.

Fortunately, I really like the DVD. Smith begins with an introduction and information regarding what lies ahead in her program, as well as discussing menopause, symptoms and how specifically the exercises can help with those.

There is a cardio, a strength training, and a yoga section. I made it through all three, taking it easy if I felt strained or if a move was one I’m not ready for.

If you are a peri-menopausal or menopausal beginner, and looking for something to get you going without being overwhelming, I highly recommend Moving Through Menopause.

I am really looking forward to making it part of my plan to thrive during my time of self-quarantine, and hopefully beyond.

And if I ever need to switch it up, or start to slack as the days turn into weeks, and need a kick in the butt to get me going, I’ll always have Dancing Queen.

 

 

 

 

Once Upon A Year…In Hollywood

“Safer at House” a.k.a. Lockdown

Day 1

Only the night before, she had stood in her small kitchen and evaluated her provisions. “I’ll be fine,” she said to herself as she looked in the cabinet at the jumbo bag of tortilla chips and Costco box of pre-packaged oatmeal. “I’ll be okay,” went through her mind as she glanced at the huge block of cheese in the refrigerator and the pint of Graeter’s Chocolate Chip ice cream in the freezer. “It’ll be fine,” she murmured as she took count of the three bottles of red wine on the counter and pondered the inevitable orders from the government to remain indoors and only leave when necessary.  “Everything will be okay,” she whispered as she took one more count in her mind of the three rolls of toilet paper that sat on the shelf in the bathroom, confident she could make them last.

Perhaps her lifelong struggle with fear and her sense of scarcity would finally come in handy after all.

She followed the beacon of light to the living room to read the newest text from her second-story neighbor and friend who jogged daily.

‘I hope I don’t get in trouble running tomorrow they said only essential should leave their home but come on all these people walking their dogs you got to be kidding me’

An image quickly came to mind and without overthinking her words, she replied:

‘Carry a pharmacy bag with a prescription in it and keep looking behind you like you had to get meds for your sweet lil granny and a violent addict is chasing you.’

How would her friend react? As she waited, she tried to pretend she wasn’t significantly proud of that last text message and attempted to be nonchalant as she watched the bubbles of anticipation on the screen of her phone.

“Haha!!! Love it.”

She delighted in the realization she had made her friend smile as another text message popped up.

“You’re a true writer”

Now her friend had made her smile.

——————————————————

(The following was written a few weeks ago when I was in a sad place and before I’d ever considered I might need to stock up on toilet paper.)

It’s a sunny morning in Hollywood as I sit at Starbucks on Hollywood Boulevard watching the diverse types of people, literally from all walks of life, that make up the view passing by my window seat.

On my walk here from my cute apartment a few blocks away, I was greeted by several smiles and ‘good mornings” as I passed shop owners pulling up the metal garage doors to their businesses and from others heading to their own destination in this tourist town.

Weaving my way through other pedestrians, I smile at the vendors standing at counters on the sidewalk holding flyers promoting the bus tours of historic locations,  stars’ homes, and promising glimpses on the way of who knows what else that people might find interesting. I love that these guys recognize me now, at least enough to no longer try to hand me a flyer or ask me if I want to see Griffith Park or the famous Hollywood Sign.

It has been a year since I moved to Hollywood. The actual ‘Hollywood’. Not simply the Los Angeles area that encapsulates the business of making movies and shows. I arrived in LA two years ago, but I mean living in an apartment where the mailing address is “Hollywood, CA.” And where my neighborhood, my part of town, is one of the most iconic in the world.

If you’ve seen Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, you’re looking just a camera’s pan from my apartment. Remember Al, Leo, and Brad in the restaurant at the beginning of the movie? Shot at historic The Musso and Frank Grill around the corner from me. It’s where all the Hollywood stars since the 1930s dined. Shot of Leo crying on Brad’s shoulder? Same location. The parking lot at Musso and Franks, not far from my building. I passed it on my way here today. Having lived in this part of town for merely a year, and only going to Musso and Franks once so far (thank you, Tish!), I still feel sentimental when I see the billboards and signs honoring the restaurant’s 100-year anniversary!

As a matter of fact, I’ve been to, or near, or have had some connection to many of the locations in Tarantino’s movie in my day-to-day. I love all things Old Hollywood, which is probably one of the reasons I liked Once Upon a Time in Hollywood more than some.

Though I was not in Once Upon a Time…, I have numerous acquaintances who were lucky to be cast as background actors. And in addition to being in the movie as it showed on screens around the world, a couple of them showed up in other forms of media.

Here is my friend, Wade, at right in the long hair and cool striped suit, who was 50 feet tall on a billboard on Sunset Boulevard and who also made it into Time Magazine.

And my dear friend, Bob, one of the nicest and most versatile background talents, who is in a few shots of the movie, even made it onto the screen on Oscars night! He is in this behind the scenes image of Robert Richardson during the reading of nominations for the best cinematographer award. To some people it might not seem like much, even silly to be excited about something like this, but for those who understand what a thankless gig doing background often is, this is so cool! We take the ‘wins’ where we can, and this is a kinda big one.

Speaking of ‘wins’, I won’t lie, I sure could use one, and soon.

Living in Hollywood has some great benefits. Centrally located. Walking distance to a lot of cool places along the boulevard, historic buildings and restaurants. An immense energy.

Excitable tourists constantly on the lookout for a celebrity face in the crowds along the sidewalk, and searching for familiar names on the stars under their feet on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. People heading to and from work. Other local residents hustling to coffee shops to get a favorite spot where they can continue working on their scripts they are sure will be ‘the’ one that gets bought, takes their career to the next level, guarantees them a seat at the Academy Awards. Or at least gets made, unlike so many screenplays the many hopefuls pour their hearts into.

And as excited as I was when I moved here, sadly, much of that ‘energy’ has become precarious, dangerous, even life-threatening. And as much as I want to be positive with you, it has really affected my well-being.

In the first months here, it was simply a matter of using my street smarts, particularly those I learned as a flight attendant venturing in unknown cities, wandering in foreign countries. So I knew to be completely aware when I would walk alone as I’d go on my errands…to the post office, the coffee shop to write, the bank to deposit a paycheck or get quarters to do laundry, or Rite Aid to pick up shampoo. Or just to do one of my favorite things–go for a walk for the exercise. Sometimes I’d listen to music or chat with my earbuds in. However, more often I’d avoid any distraction so I could be as attentive to my surroundings. And obviously I wouldn’t walk alone at night.

I’ve been attempting to describe the situation in my neighborhood, but it is beyond me. So I will cut to the chase.

Where I live is very dangerous. It wasn’t ideal when I moved here, but it was an apartment of my own, with a bathtub, fabulous bay windows overlooking the courtyard, and most important of all…a parking space! I just had to be smart when I’d go out and about. However, the situation has worsened considerably in the past months. And that is even according to those in my apartment building who have lived here for years. It was rough years ago, then cleaned up, and now has increasingly worsened to the point many of the regulars who have tried to affect change have had more than enough and are leaving.

Sometimes I’m amazed when I see people strolling on the boulevard with their children. Don’t they realize a guy was slashed by someone out of their mind just yesterday right where they are walking? Oh god, no, please do not have your child sit on the ground to take a picture of them by your favorite actor’s star. Do you have any idea what folks who are passed out there do on that sidewalk?

I know what you are thinking. ‘MaryLee, get out of there. Move.’ My lease is now up, and I am month-to-month. So that is a viable option, and I am working on it.

However, I have to tell you, the past months have been some of the toughest of my life. Moving to L.A. was a big decision. But staying here is an even bigger one.

When I came out here, though everyone felt it was about time I did so, several friends who’d lived here let me know, “It won’t be what you expect.” My truthful reply at the time was, “I have no idea what to expect, so it’s going to be what it is going to be. It will all be an adventure.”

And when need be, I have used variations of this quote for inspiration to stay afloat–“It’s about the journey, not the destination.”

In the time I have been here, I have experienced so much. Yet, I feel so inexperienced compared to so many other people. I have made some fabulous friends whose company I enjoy, and I also enjoy being a homebody, so for me it’s some nights out, some nights in, days in my apartment, days on set as a background actor, and occasionally days with walks and talks with friends along the beach. And I have been part of some fun, provocative and interesting projects with some cool people. With all this, I still often feel so lonely.

Coming to Tinseltown, at my age, (have to say it because I believe it is relevant) was an absolutely crazy idea. It’s ridiculously expensive. Driving my poor manual Subaru, the roads are jammed with tons of drivers with one mission–to get where they are going as fast as possible with little regard for anyone around them. And though I thought I had a clearer vision of what I wanted to be doing, I struggle trying to figure where to put my creative focus–director, writer, actor? I constantly try to visualize where it would be best to put my efforts to find a more dependable means of income without it being a job that will suck the soul out of me. Add those elements to the reality of the assaults and crimes that happen right outside my window now, no wonder I am overwhelmed at times.

Expressing my anxiety with friends, those out here nod heads in understanding. But everyone’s journey is different, so as many suggestions as people can have, it might not be a solution for others. And the first response from several friends in other parts of the country, with good intentions, has been, “Why don’t you go back to Colorado?” There are moments where I really consider packing up what I can fit in my Forester, putting everything else from my apartment into a storage unit, and heading back to whence I came.

It would be safer. It would be cheaper. I would be near friends I’ve had for years whose lives are more accessible for get-togethers than those in L.A. who really intend on getting together but are caught up in their own hustle to stay afloat and find their way.

As I struggle with so many things whirling around me, like the seemingly constant helicopters and sirens and yelling, and at the same time feeling so trapped and vulnerable that I can hardly move, I ponder, “Should I go back to Colorado?” I meditate. I journal. I ask the Universe. I plead for a ‘win’ indicating I am on the right path and there is hope. I beg for an obvious and tangible answer. I cry for someone, something, to come save me.

At the beginning of 2019, I began reading Simple Abundance, 365 Days to a Balanced and Joyful Life, by Sarah Ban Breathnach. However, I often missed a day as I would either be working, or maybe just lazy, I suppose. This year I committed to reading every day’s entry and if I miss a day for whatever reason, I catch up the next morning.

Here is today’s entry:

February 18

“A Safari of Self and Spirit
The woods were made for the hunters of dreams
The brooks for the fisher of song
To the hunters who for the gunless game
The streams and the woods belong.

— Sam Walter Foss

In the summer of 1893, an English woman named Mary Kingsley traveled to the wildest and most dangerous part of the French Congo in search of herself. Both her parents had recently died, and suddenly, at the age of 31, Miss Kingsley found herself “not only desolate with grief but bereft of purpose.” Her adventures in West Africa changed all that. Several years later her writings and naturalist discoveries, including the documenting unknown species of fish and animals, were applauded by the Victorian scientific community.

Mary Kingley was a hunter of a dream: the knowledge of who she really was and her place in the world. So are you (and I). Yet, even without encountering the daily dangers she faced–wild animals, menacing spears, and deadly diseases–you have embarked on an adventure as exciting as that of any explorer. Uncovering the source of the Nile or charting the course of the Amazon are outward parallels to the inner journey you are on today–a safari of the self and the spirit.

In Africa, to go on safari–the Swahili word for journey–is to leave the comfort and safety of civilization to venture into the wilderness. Each time you listen to the woman within–your authentic self–you do the same. Remind yourself of this often. “You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition,” Alan Alda advises the inner explorer in you. “What you’ll discover will be wonderful. What you’ll discover will be yourself..”

Yes, I do need to find a safer place to live where I can begin to thrive. Staying in L.A. or going to Colorado would be costly in different ways. I struggle being middle-aged and trying not to think of scarcity of years. But we’re here now. What’s the point in worrying about what is–all we have is today forward.

It’s about the journey, I chose to be on safari. I will remove myself from the most dangerous animals, sure. But I will stay and work on making my way through the jungle to my own discoveries and achievements.

——————————————————

Back to today. March 20, 2020. Lockdown, Day 1…

Describing part of what I was coming to L.A. for, I would often say, “to find my tribe.” It occurred to me over the past few days as I have been texting some of the people I know to check in with them as the situation has worsened; particularly friends who, like me, live alone, the Universe was indeed bringing into my world those women who, although they have their own dreams, their own priorities and responsibilities, are becoming part of my tribe. Those people I care about, who care about me, women whose projects I am excited to be part of, and women who I am excited to say, want to be part of my works, and who we can count on each other. I am grateful.

In regards to the recently imposed ‘Safer at House’ situation, I believe I am prepared. Over the past few days I have managed to bring in a good amount of groceries, some for eating healthy, some for indulgent snacking. I have water. I have friends only a text or phone call away, including an actress and trombonist (and jogger), whose door is only yards from mine. I have packets of Ester-C from another of my friends. My laundry is all caught up. And I decided the best way to start today is by wearing my Finding Dory underpanties. I have no clue why, but it was a conscious decision so I am sharing it with you.

The threat of this virus is scary, and particularly in this, one of the most urban areas of the country. I was relieved yesterday when the mayor ordered the inevitable (inevitable because proper measures weren’t taken upon the first appearance of the virus) lockdown. I want this threat to be eliminated as quickly as possible.

The nester that I am, I do not mind being sequestered in my cute, cozy apartment to avoid catching, or possibly contributing to the spread of, this disease.

I’ll watch movies. I’ve already started a ‘Meryl-a-thon’. Come on, what better way to be inspired at a time like this than watching every Meryl Streep movie I can between DVDs and Blu-rays and Netflix and Amazon Prime?

I will clear clutter, read, continue to create my vision board, wash my makeup brushes, finally get that metal spiral thingy from my smoothie cup that fell behind the oven, and write.

And I will continue to do my dreams.

And there you have it, ladies and gentleman. A ‘win’.

Oscar Sunday!

This past week I saw as barriers and temporary structures went up in my neighborhood. And living only blocks from where it all takes place, of course I ventured out this morning to check out the scene on Hollywood Boulevard on the day of the 91st Academy Awards.

There is a chain link fence on both sides of the boulevard blocking vehicle and foot traffic from crossing the street. But the hustle and bustle on the sidewalk of tourists and shopkeepers was as usual. I made my way in the direction of the Dolby Theatre.  It was still pretty early in the day, too early for celebrities to arrive, but spectators had started lining up, staking out their spots along the fence at the intersection of Hollywood and Highland where the fence ends and the red carpet begins.

I hung out for a few minutes people-watching, though all I could really see was the back of people’s heads as they stood on their toes and stretched their necks trying to catch a glimpse of anything through the fence and across the street.

A few hours from the actual event still, I decided to roam in the other direction, away from the activities and enjoy the afternoon sun.

I really need blackout, insulated, noise-reducing curtains for my bedroom windows so I meandered into the Bed Bath & Beyond. As I browsed up and down the aisles, it was so funny to suddenly hear over the PA system, “If you are parked on the street out front, please move your car now. They are starting to tow cars for the Academy Awards.”

Now I am home watching the red carpet coverage. I am so giddy knowing all this is happening just up the street from where I am sitting in the comfort of my own ten dollar chair I purchased yesterday from the thrift store specifically so I wouldn’t have to watch the show on a plastic folding chair.

Between moving to Hollywood, having my own apartment, feeling so inspired to move ahead on my film projects, I am feeling so many emotions, naturally all at once, that I can’t think how to write all I am experiencing right now.

Time to get in my cozy clothes and pop some popcorn–the awards are starting soon!

10-4 Good Buddy, Headed on a Big Run to the Sky

With my car in the shop,  I figured a walk was the order of the day.

I showered and headed toward a coffee shop because I had a blog post in mind I wanted to write. It was a 50-minute walk, and along the way, when I reached Ventura Boulevard, I did some window shopping and browsed boutiques along the way.

My phone in hand, ready to respond to any texts with job opportunities that might pop up on my screen, I entered a little shoe store. The woman behind the counter greeted me with a friendly, “Hello” then went back to whatever was consuming or distracting her on her own phone.

A moment or two after I entered, she said something to me, but the door was open so outside noise prevented me from hearing her clearly. Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe what she said.

I asked her to repeat it, and this time there was no questioning her words.

“Burt Reynolds is dead.” She nodded toward my phone then looked back down at hers and said, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it, it’s all over social media.”

I froze and took in the news.

“How did he die?” I responded as my eyes began to well up.

“Heart attack,” she replied without looking from her phone.

I slowly walked around the small shop, my sunglasses concealing my tear-filled eyes, not really able to see anything, just trying to catch my breath.

Eventually I wandered out, headed down the street and made it to my destination.

A huge fan of his Smokey and the Bandit movies, I loved Burt’s on-screen and off-screen persona, and his mischievous, yet loving, connection with Sally Field and her character. I always got a blast out of watching his law-breaking, fun-loving ways with his sexy, devilish grin.

Bandit: For the good old American life: For the money, for the glory, and for the fun… mostly for the money.

He has said himself that many of his choices were for fun, and that if he’d done it differently, perhaps people would have seen that he had genuine talent, but that by the time he realized this, no one would take him seriously. Personally, I think if you take a moment, you see his talent, though probably more prominent in his later years like in his  Oscar-nominated role in Boogie Nights.

It’d been my intention to write about something else today, but as I sit here, tears streaming down my face in Starbucks in Studio City, all I can think of is Burt’s passing.

The man at the table next to me, apparently more motivated by my sobs than deterred by my headphones, asked how I’m doing. I summoned a weak smile and said I was fine and asked how he is. He said, “It’s really hot.”

Was it hot in here? I couldn’t tell. All I know is that a fantastic leading man, with a twinkle in his eye, and a sweet grin has died, and the tears keep coming.

One of my favorite of Burt’s onscreen moments is the one below from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. To me it doesn’t feel campy or overdone. It simply feels genuine.

It’s interesting how with some people, we feel their loss like they’re part of our lives.

Thank you, Burt. I will always love you.

“Inch By Motherf—— Inch”

If you’ve read my posts in the past at this time of year, you know I love awards season. And obviously this is the biggest weekend with the Independent Spirit Awards yesterday afternoon, and the Academy Awards this evening.

I have watched the Academy Awards since I was a young girl laying with pillows and a blanket on the red carpet of our living room watching the gala on an old tube TV.

In those days the daydream was that I would one day win an Oscar for acting which was my original foray into this industry. However, with time, things change. Instead of being an actor, I’ve found my creative place behind the camera directing and writing.

In past years, I’ve viewed Hollywood’s biggest night from a variety of places. My own home curled up on the couch alone with a bottle of wine, hotel rooms around the world when I was a flight attendant, friends’ extravagant parties, and I hosted a red carpet event for several years.

The Film Independent Spirit Awards, started over three decades ago, didn’t come to my attention until they’d been around for about 10 years. Taking place the day before the Oscars, those also became a staple to my awards show viewing.

So the irony was that this year, I now live about 30 minutes from where the Spirit Awards are held, and 12 minutes, yes 12 minutes, from the Dolby Theater where the Academy Awards take place, but I had no idea where I was going to watch them.

We don’t get network TV channels at our apartment, and the only party I knew of was a viewing party for the Oscars with a high, $60 ticket price–high for me anyway.

Film Independent has a Spirit Awards viewing party at their offices which is free for certain members at a higher tier than basic membership, which is where I reside.  Doesn’t matter anyway, because when I inquired, a kind woman told me there was a waitlist.

Last week, the days leading up to the ‘big’ weekend that I might not get to watch, was one with extreme ups and downs for me. People ask me how I feel since coming to L.A., which always surprises me because even with the low moments, I am still so glad to be here. However, I understand how even people who are socially apt can become lonely in this city of 4 million people. Not having a place to watch the upcoming awards only reinforced that I have yet to find my tribe.

I have met some wonderful people here, and one of them, a screenwriter, has become a friend, showing me around a bit, taking me to gatherings and filling me in on events I might be interested in. However, last we spoke she said she would be watching the shows at a couple of  gatherings with longtime friends.

Time ticked on.  Then, I was thrilled to receive an email that a spot had opened for the viewing party at Film Independent for the Spirit Awards. And I could bring a guest.

Things were looking up!

I considered if there was anyone I knew who would be interested in going with me. On a whim, I asked my screenwriter friend, mentioned above, if her plans were still on or if she would like to join me. As it turned out both of her gatherings were cancelled this year for various reasons. She was definitely in!

And it was so fitting because she and I met in January at screenings for Film Independent voters of the Spirit Awards.

After she said she would love to join and appreciated the invitation, I took it a step further and asked about her plans for the Academy Awards. She wasn’t sure. We both knew of a party, but tickets were pricey for me, even though there was a $10 per ticket discount if you bought two. (Talk about penalizing the singles!)  I took a chance and asked if we could watch them at her house.  She liked that idea.

Not only was I going to get to see both awards shows, I was going to have the fun of partaking in both days with a new friend, Tish, in Los Angeles.

Yesterday, Saturday was Spirit Awards day, so she picked me up and we headed to the Film Independent offices on Wilshire Boulevard.  We stepped off the elevator and the first thing to see was a Film Independent step-and-repeat , a photo studio background with the sponsor logos. There is nothing that says ‘Hollywood Party’ like a designated spot for taking photos in your fancy attire.

We took a couple pictures before heading into the party. After checking in, we scouted out a place to watch the festivities. The show only minutes away from starting, Tish spotted what might have been the last two chairs available. Since I had heels on, I was particularly grateful.

Now that we had seats, we headed to the bar for a cocktail and the buffet for some snacks–a cheese plate, strawberries, pretzels, and chocolates.

Along the way I met a few other Film Independent members. I guess because I was probably the most dressed up person there, one man pointed to the screen where the show was about to begin and said to me, “You are going to be there soon.” I smiled at the notion, told him it was nice meeting him and took my seat. I didn’t want to miss a thing.

Here I sat dolled up in my favorite red dress, next to a kind new friend, in a small crowd of fellow cinephiles from all over the world who have come to L.A. to strive in their own unique ways to be telling their stories, all of us members of this organization created solely for helping those movies get made.

As winners were announced there’d occasionally be applause or reaction in some regard from my fellow viewers.

After a couple awards had been given out, I took a moment to look around the room for what I could see. To take this all in.

My eyes began to water. I didn’t know anyone there very well, but still I felt a part of something.

After the show and most people had disbanded, we lingered to chat with a few different folks. I exchanged cards with some of them and we made plans to get together and discuss more about our projects and our personal goals.

As we headed to the elevator, a bright-eyed woman posed in front of the step-and-repeat as her male companion took her photo. Timid for a moment, she began to jump into some fun poses as he clicked away.

It can be nerve-wracking having your photo taken,especially when there is an ‘audience’, so I admired her willingness to go for it. As I watched the scene, I suddenly stopped when I noticed her face. It seemed familiar. Did I know her, or did she remind me of someone?

Ambika Leigh

Then I knew.
We caught eyes and I asked, “Are you Ambika Leigh?” She smiled and said, “Yes.” I could see the apology in her expression as she didn’t recognize me. And no wonder, it’s been about 11 years since we’ve seen each other!

Yes, here I was in Los Angeles, California, at an event where I knew one person coming in and I bump into this wonderful, talented woman I knew years ago in Colorado.

I was planning when I came out here to reach out to Ambika at some point. However, it had been so long since we’d been in touch, and my world is so much in disarray, I didn’t want to impose. Well, the universe imposed for me.

We hugged and she asked what I was doing there. Excitedly I told her I’d moved to L.A. and her eyes grew wide. She teased that I had better not have been here more than a week since I hadn’t reached out to her yet. Guess I might not be as much an imposition as I had thought.

Ambika, 2nd from right.

She asked where I was sitting during the awards show and we realized we’d been sitting on exact opposite sides of a column separating the back of the room.

After more hugs she introduced me to her boyfriend, David.   When I asked Ambika if she knew another Colorado transplant, Roe Moore, her boyfriend mentioned he did. Hearing my question, two nearby exclaimed, “We know Roe!” So, of course, we had to do a “We Know Roe” photo and I posted it to her on Facebook.  Roe commented on the photo that she felt like she might be the next Kevin Bacon, as in Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Ambika and I agreed we need to get together soon, then said our good-byes and parted ways after one more big hug.

l to r: David, Me, Ambika Leigh (sounds like the name of a song!)

After a long, fantastic day yesterday, today holds a comfortable evening at my friend’s house sharing a bottle of bubbly, and of course ballots filled out with our predictions. This weekend provided me the best of both worlds.

As I settle in for the Academy Awards show to begin, who knows where I’ll be watching these or the Spirit Awards from next year. Maybe I’ll be there in person. Regardless, I’m reminded, as tough as it is to live with patience at times, things, like making friends and getting jobs, don’t often happen in leaps and bounds. And as Oliver Stone urged when giving the keynote address at the 1989 Spirit Awards, he said “stick to your soul and to hell with your egos; it’s inch by motherfucking inch.”

POW! Holy Batgirl! It’s Women Storytellers!

Last year, I was elated to hear there was a Batgirl film in the works. It was a Joss Whedon project which was fine with me at the time because I felt he was decent at how he portrays women characters. However, I also thought how fantastic it would be if a woman wrote and/or directed this newest female superhero story.

Batgirl was the first superheroine I knew and admired. I loved the Batman television series from the late 60’s (watched it in syndication) and was absolutely thrilled each time I had the opportunity to see the third-season episodes when Barbara Gordon/Batgirl was in the storyline. She was a librarian and I was a book nerd.  She was a smart crimefighter. There was no one else on TV like her. She had her own agenda and wasn’t portraying a victim, or someone’s wife. And oh my god, she rode a motorcycle! She didn’t take back seat to someone else on their ‘hog’. Batgirl was her own entity.

I remember asking my mother if I could be Batgirl for Halloween. I don’t recall her reasoning why I couldn’t, but I think I ended up going as Topo Gigio that year. And to be honest, I’d have to look up who Topo Gigio was. Not sure I knew even then. But I’ve never forgotten Batgirl.

Fast forward to 1997, it was a huge letdown when Batman & Robin turned out to be the  disappointment it was. I remember being so excited that Barbara Gordon (though her name was Barbara Wilson in the movie) was being brought to the big screen. I sat there in the theater, almost in disbelief, and waiting, hoping that if I watched long enough the movie would transition from it’s laughable state to being something entertaining and inspiring with Batgirl in the story. It never happened.

While Batman & Robin was in the theaters, I was often told, “You look like Alicia Silverstone in that Batman movie!” I’m not sure if it was because we both had long blonde hair or because I wore a black leather jacket or what, but I’ll admit, I liked the comparison because it was Batgirl.

Knowing a Batgirl story is in the works, I am anxious to know how her story will be developed.

So, although I originally wanted to trust the movie to Whedon, I was so excited to hear he stepped off the project this past week because pretty much everyone is saying the same thing I was thinking–with the white guy known for superhero movies out of the way, this movie needs to be in a woman’s hands.

To me that opens up the likelihood to bringing more dimensions to this female character.

And as Scott Mendelsohn of Forbes puts it:

“We’re past the point where a female-led genre film, be it a bawdy comedy or an action thriller, is in itself a big deal. The next stage of evolution is actually hiring women to write and direct these movies on the regular. Sure, female filmmakers shouldn’t just be hired for movies about/featuring women in the lead roles, but until that becomes normalized, situations like Michelle MacLaren directing Chris Pratt’s Cowboy Ninja Viking (nice work, Universal) or Catherine Hardwicke directing something like The Fighter will be all the rarer.”

When Patty Jenkins was brought on in 2015 to direct Wonder Woman, which had been in the works since 1996, people took notice. Jenkins had her fans and her critics as she undertook the massive story. And she was able to bring a superhero to the screen who is confident and compassionate, two traits the world needs more of in characters that are role models.

Here is a huge opportunity for the decision-makers of the filmworld. Roxane Gay, (Bad Feminist, Difficult Women) offered via Twitter to pen the Batgirl script. And what is so fantastic is the reply she received from DC Entertainment–if Roxane’s serious, she should contact them.

And journalists and other enthusiasts are putting forth a number of suggestions of other female writers and directors that would be a great fit for bringing the Batgirl story to film.

And as Batgirl Yvonne Craig demanded back in this fabulous 1974 PSA as she saves Batman and Robin from an explosion, whoever does take over the project, their pay should be at least equivalent to what Joss Whedon’s pay would have been.

Batgirl needs an opportunity to stand on her own platform. She needs to have a story worthy of women and men, and little girls and boys, who are looking for strong female role models. She needs to have a woman at the helm. And we need Batgirl.  And her motorcycle!

And you know how I’m going to dress for Halloween next year!

Three Billboards on Sunset Boulevard

A week ago I moved into an apartment (a sublet for February) in West Hollywood. Several times I’ve walked the two blocks to Sunset Boulevard for fun and a time or two for inspiration and encouragement.

There is a ton of activity and energy on all levels. Horns honking, cars zipping around each other, cars stopping and starting at busy intersections, people hustling to yoga class or work, skateboarders, well, skateboarding. So much to take in-different people from all walks of life from the homeless to the high-powered and even more in-betweeners. A huge variety of restaurants, stores, coffee shops, banks, boutique businesses, and apartment buildings.

Another visual–the large billboards looming over everything.

The other day I turned the corner onto Sunset, and gazed up and read this in huge letters on a billboard:

“Be anything you want to be. And be many things.”
–Ralph Lauren

I stopped on the sidewalk and read it a second time.

Ralph Lauren, obviously a very successful fashion designer had said it. He should really know what he’s talking about. I so wanted to be inspired. I would have loved for it to be the quote that brings me to enlightenment. A mantra to bring my world together and make everything happen for me if I say it one hundred times a day. Or at least words to make me feel good inside at the moment and motivate me for a couple of hours.

Instead, the phrase left me unsettled.

Perhaps it has something to do with my resume.

Believe it or not, I have several friends and acquaintances who have kindly offered to get my resume into the hands of people who could potentially hire me. Yes, you read that correctly. And I haven’t sent it to them, yet. One woman has been waiting several weeks.

It’s embarrassing that this is hanging over me that I haven’t been able to send my resume to anyone. It really is.

I’ve sat down several times and tweaked it, sent it off to my sweetheart who is great at helping me edit and format the document.

One of the difficulties is that although I have my aspirations of directing feature films, at the moment in order to get my foot in a door, I am applying for entry level work. And in this business that can be any number of departments. And since I do not know who will see it and what positions they might have, I am struggling with how to present my resume to appeal to a variety of roles while also maintaining a sense of direction. The first question most people ask me is “What do you want to be doing?” Ultimately? Directing feature films. What do I want to be doing now? Making a paycheck as I apply my skills and experience in a position that will afford me the opportunity to be learning.

The challenge of putting my strengths, what I can do, and my experience on one page sucks the energy out of me. So, I tweak it some, send it off to my sweetheart, then go do other things the rest of the day, instead of waiting for his revisions and diligently finishing it.

Mind you, if it were somebody else’s resume, I’d be there whipping it into shape for them, moving things around, adding this, removing that, and in no time they’d have a 1-page document worthy of framing.

But when it’s me, it is tougher.  And especially because I am searching for my own little (or big!) personal doorway into the film and television industry in Los Angeles. I am confident in face-to-face meetings with people, however, how do I create a resume that will get me that meeting? How do I make it perfect? How do I make sure it looks right?

Back to Sunset Boulevard where I came upon the next billboard. A Lifetime Channel ad read:

“(we) believe (in) women.”

Now that is a slogan I can get into.

I am a writer and director and proponent of women’s stories. Reading this billboard I feel it is letting me know there are places in this town for someone with my sensibilities and that is encouraging.

But before I will find my ‘place’ I am going to have to do the work and that starts with getting my resume in the hands of people who have so generously offered to pass it along to the the ones looking to hire.

So today I am committed to completing my resume.

And you know why?

Because just as Lifetime believes in women, I believe in me.

There is no way to have one page that will cover everything and be appealing to every person in every aspect of every area of every department of production.

And that is okay. I am going to trust that it will find its way to where is meant to and into the best person’s hands. Or perhaps the friends I send it to will have suggestions for revisions based on their experience or knowledge.

And here is the third billboard.

“Time to Fly.”  (Inspiration from Greta.)

My resume will never be perfect, and there is no right way. The exciting thing is that it will be my resume. It will represent a part of me as it is sent out into the world. So, as daunting as this is at times, it also leaves me feeling excited and alive inside.

It is time to stop clenching to fear of who will see it and what will they think of me and let my resume fly.

Sorry, Ralph Lauren. Your quote might stir something wonderful to some, but for me, I am inspired by the words my very dear, departed friend, Patrick wanted those he left behind to remember:

“Believe in yourself” and “Be you.”

And soon I’ll have it in writing–my resume–to prove it.

Pain of a Growth Spurt

This morning I awoke similar to how I went to bed. Sad, somber.

I would lean on my sweetheart at a time like this, but I’m not ready. He is amazing and sweet and supportive. He will assure me that “everything will be okay”. “It is all for a reason even if we never know what that reason is.” “You’ll learn from this and next time will know better.” Or he’ll throw Daddy’s words at me, “That’s just the way things go sometimes.”

As I said though, I’m not ready, and right now none of those words of encouragement feels the least bit true or comforting. Maybe I want to wallow. Or perhaps I want to suffer the frustration and hope to grow on my own.

Last night I had the opportunity to go to an event where Greta Gerwig was the guest director. If you are not familiar with Greta, she is an actress who is also the writer and director of the Oscar-nominated film, Lady Bird.

I’ve been excited since they announced through Film Independent that Greta would be one of the directors taking part in a Directors Close-up program I had signed up for.

Many of the things I do since I’ve come to L.A., like spending days looking for a place to live, don’t feel directly related to why I’m here. They are necessary, but don’t fuel my creative and professional pursuits as a director.

On the other hand, attending a forum specifically for directors, with a woman in attendance whose talents and sensibilities I admire and appreciate would be very inspiring.

Well…it could have been.

Another element to my day is oft spending what amounts to hours redialing Central Casting trying to get bookings as background talent. One of the agents will post information for a particular look of background actors they need for a shoot along with instructions to either submit through email or their phone number.

There are thousands upon thousands of people in the Los Angeles area registered with Central Casting all vying for these openings. So you can imagine what it is like when a post goes up and those thousands upon thousands all start pushing the buttons on their phones. And pushing the buttons again and again.

That’s part of the process. Redialing over and over until it rings, and even then, more often than not, after it has rung a number of times, a recording comes on letting you know the roles have been filled. You also might get through and they pull up your photo on their computer and let you know they don’t have a place for you. For example, in my case they might not need more women, or they only want brunettes at that point. And then there are the responses like the one I received on Monday.

I was seated at a noisy coffee shop in the early afternoon searching online for housing, periodically clicking over to Facebook to see if there were any new Central Casting listings. Eventually one was listed for which I fit the description so I began the calling process.

After hitting redial about 64 times, the phone rang. I grabbed pen and paper and ran outside.

Unfortunately I was near a busy road and the loud traffic prohibited me from hearing properly. I was so happy to have actually gotten through, I didn’t want to miss the chance to work. They have so many people calling and they have to do it all so quickly, if you don’t respond as soon as they answer they will hang up and move on to the next call.

My heart was racing and though I could barely hear her, I blurted out the first five digits of my Social Security number which is all they want from you when they answer. She asked my name to confirm. As I gave her my name, I frantically looked for a less noisy place in the parking lot but there was nowhere nearby. She asked a couple of questions which I had to ask her to repeat.

So far I was making the cut! I was going to work on Tuesday!

I could barely make it out, but I was fairly certain I then heard her say, “I have one more question.”

Questions? Go ahead! I’ve got answers. I had dialed and dialed and gotten through. The Holy Grail. I was getting a day on set and a paycheck. Ask away!

“And are you available Wednesday?”

This time I’d heard her. But I asked her to say it again to give myself a moment, and to be positive.

“Are you available Wednesday?”

Wednesday evening was the Director’s Closeup with Greta. A gathering of other creatives all taking advantage of a special opportunity to learn, in person, from someone whose directorial debut is nominated for five Academy Awards.

Was I available Wednesday? At this point the agent doesn’t have call times, and you never know how long a shoot day is going to go. So if you say you are available, you are committing to all hours, any time of day, it’s required. My concern was if I said I was not, would that make me ineligible for the shoot Tuesday? In hindsight I realize I could have asked if this was the case, but in the heat of the moment I felt so rushed because I know their line is ringing off the hook with at least hundreds more people anxious for the same opportunity I was getting right then and the agents are hurried.

The next moment has replayed in my head countless times since Monday…
“Yes,” I uttered.

Struggling to hear her, and probably in shock over saying I was available Wednesday, I thought I heard her ask if I had pen and paper ready. I told her I did.

Maneuvering my phone, and pen and paper, to where I could write without a surface, the sheet of paper blew out of my hand. I squeezed the phone to my ear even harder trying to memorize what she was saying as I watched the paper flutter under a car. In my mind I considered telling her I just remembered I couldn’t work Wednesday. But I turned over my hand and began to write the details on my palm as they quickly came over the phone.

I don’t remember if she said “Good-bye”. I just recall the phone line going dead, and the bittersweet feeling I had as I stood in the parking lot, holding my hand open so the ink wouldn’t smear and watching the paper mocking me as it blew back out from under the car in my direction. I was going to be on set the next two days. But there was a good chance I was going to miss Greta.

What had I done? The ‘responsible’ part of me saying you cannot possibly turn down any respectable chance to make money to pay bills and buy groceries had won.

The rest of the day I grappled with the reality of what I’d said.

Here’s a huge other reason why it was all so overwhelming and why my heart is in pain.

Today, Thursday, a very, very dear friend in Colorado is being laid to rest. My friend, Patrick Sheridan, passed away last week. And though he fought with conviction, cancer took him from us. I toiled with the decision whether to skip the Director’s Closeup Wednesday evening to fly to Colorado. However, after going back and forth, I realized even Patrick would have told me to go to the forum. He would have followed it with a goofy, self-deprecating, sarcastic comment like, “Sure, MaryLee. Yeah, I see how it is. You go ahead and do that little ‘in person time with an Oscar-nominated director’ thing and skip the shindig where they put my body in the ground.” He’d say it with a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face.

Patrick and I worked together on a number of the short movies he wrote and directed. He and I, along with Jim Brennan, produced Patrick’s feature film, Jimmy Said. When I decided to try my hand at directing, I turned to Patrick to write my first short film.

The film, The Necklace, screened in 26 festivals around the country and won five awards.

As crazy and overwhelming as the production of a movie can be, with all the things we’ve worked on, Patrick and I have been through a lot together.

Not attending his funeral today was a hard decision, but I did my best to trust it was the right one. And then I go and mess everything up anyway by getting booked to do background talent for a TV show yesterday.

Tuesday morning I went in and I worked a half-day on the same show. I had fun and was glad to be there, but in the back of my mind I gave thought to calling in and saying I couldn’t make it Wednesday. It wasn’t a continuation of the same setting so continuity wouldn’t be an issue. As a matter of fact, Wednesday I would be portraying one of 300 audience members.

Discussing with my sweetheart on the phone as I drove home from the shoot Tuesday night, we went back and forth over the options, and pros and cons. If I called in, would it be a mark against me getting future bookings? Not to say they would immediately stop considering me, but being new to the business of background talent, and new to L.A., I wasn’t sure how big of a deal it would be to them, and whether I wanted to take the risk.

I did know, however, as my sweetheart also knows and mentioned, that it would be a fairly big deal to me. It is very difficult for me to back out of a commitment. Once I have said I will do something, I fulfill my obligations. Particularly professional obligations.

And I was also still considering flying to Colorado late Wednesday for the funeral if I could get a flight.

It all felt so soul-wrenching. After all, I came here to find my way as a director. Background talent work isn’t my dream, it is a way to make some cash for now. That may seem dramatic, especially as I couldn’t begin to guess how many homeless people with tougher issues there are within a 50-mile radius (heck, even a 1-mile radius) of where I live. Nonetheless, that is how my heart felt.

Since I didn’t need to be to the set until 1:00 in the afternoon, yesterday morning (Wednesday) I walked the two blocks to Sunset Boulevard. Starbucks was my destination, but I knew I was heading to Sunset hoping being in a high energy area would perhaps help me feel better about everything.

Passing a bus stop where someone had built a tent for however long they could stay there out of old blankets, cardboard, sheets and any other materials they could find, I thought perhaps if I remembered the things I am grateful for it would take some of the sadness away.

So that is what I did as I stood in line at Starbucks. Then I placed a bottle of orange juice on the counter and placed an order for my drink. Crossing again in front of the makeshift tent on my way home, I set the bottle down near a small opening and continued to walk.

I wish I could be a better person and tell you I suddenly felt renewed and a load was lifted. Nope. Though I was genuinely grateful to be able to do that tiny gesture for whoever was under the shabby linens, and it certainly didn’t hurt, I was still annoyed with myself.

Why did I say “yes”? Or why hadn’t I at least spoken up on the phone and asked if availability for Wednesday was required for the booking Tuesday? But I hadn’t.

Which was why last night, I sat outside under a tent, in a dress and heels, freezing cold with 299 other background talent. As always, I did my best to be in the moment and enjoyed being part of the shoot and meeting some other background talent. But my mind went several times to an auditorium an hour away where Greta Gerwig was sharing her experience with other directors.

This morning, I was still sad about what felt like a missed opportunity. However, it did encourage me to get out of bed and come directly to a place I could write and share without letting myself get distracted by looking for housing or checking for Central Casting jobs. A creative place. From the time I started typing this morning to now, I do feel better, more positive, less pitiful. Like I grew on my own.

My sweetheart is right though. I may never know why I said yes, and why things turned out the way they did. And next time I will know.

Perhaps I’ll meet Greta another time. I really hope so. But that’s why I came out here. The city is filled with amazing, talented people I can learn from.

It is about the journey. Even when it might not feel like it, I am doing my dream,

 

Five-Star Day!

Aware of my restlessness, maybe six or seven years ago, a mentor who had lived in L.A. and worked in the film industry, then left California, and then years later had gone back, told me that perhaps it was time for me to make the move west myself. She said it matter of fact, as though it was inevitable that I come out to the coast.

Her argument was that in Los Angeles I could be immersed in the film and television world. She went on to say it would be difficult to not be immersed. And she’s right. There are plenty of communities out here that have nothing to do with making movies, but in some way, everyone is connected to the entertainment world.

In Colorado, I was used to most news headlines this time of year having to do with snow. If you are a skier or snowboarder you want to know what the slopes are going to be like. And even if you are not a skier, in some way you are affected by the amount of snow. Perhaps you are involved in tourism, like the restaurant or hotel business. Or you are simply trying to decide whether to go meet up with friends at a pub or stay in and binge-watch a show and avoid the potentially icy roads.

Here I n L.A., even when I am not involved in an activity that is directly movie-business based, all around me I hear the references. And particularly with the Oscar nominations out this past week, the conversation is everywhere.

Overheard at a coffee shop (not on a studio lot like the one in La La Land):

“Dunkirk should get for cinematography.”

“You liked that better than Darkest Hour?”

“No, but war movies always win for cinematography.”

“What about that Blade Runner movie? Isn’t that up for it too?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t see it.”

“Where are you going to watch the Oscars?”

“I probably won’t. They are on the day before my review.”

(Occasionally, it deviates from movie talk.)

“Do you think you’re going to get grossed out putting your fingers in people’s mouths?”

“I’ve already had to. We mainly use tools anyway.”

But often it comes right back:

Friend nods and goes on, “Did you see Shape of Water? I thought it was kind of sweet, kind of weird.”

And those are the kinds of chatter I overhear daily.

And though most cities, Denver area included, offer a variety of cultural events, the enormous number of offerings in L.A. is actually a bit overwhelming to me as a new arrival to this town.

From clubs to groups, from tiny stage to humongous screen, from extremely casual to black tie, this place has it all on a regular basis.

Bit by bit, moment by moment I am navigating my way. Which has brought me to Culver City where I will be spending all day at the Arclight Cinemas. Yes, as a member of Film Independent, I will be screening five movies in a row today!

To some that might sound trite, spending the entire day in the theater, but to me it is exhilarating. It allows me to witness other people’s stories, take part in the conversation, become part of the tribe. Learn from what I like and what I am not as impressed by.

In the same vein, last night I saw The Big Sick, which I very highly recommend- loved it!) and Emily and Kumail (co-writers whose story it is based on) took part in a discussion afterward. The opportunity to hear directly from the filmmakers, the storytellers, is a huge benefit to being in the right place.

I’ve watched five films or short film programs in a day before, though usually at a film festival.

Guess this is kind of a festival!  My LA fest!

Time to head to the theater and get in line so I get a good seat. It’s almost showtime!