Bloodsport

In high school I worked at Boston Market for ages. One day I was making pot pies before the store opened and I felt really sick, like, please somebody-stab-me-so-I-can-stop-feeling-so-sick sick. After my boss yelled at me about the pace with which I was pouring pot pie mix into little tin containers I nearly passed out, then drove home and actually did pass out. Turns out I had pneumonia. I missed three whole days of school.

That's the most days of school I ever missed in a row.

The first time I gave blood I ran out to the field half an hour later to play ultimate frisbee. I saw spots in front of my eyes, but I made the best catch ever to end the game in our favor.

In other words, it's kind of my way to not admit that my body has limits.

Lately I've been feeling pretty down. For the past two weeks I've had three emotions: angry, sad or slightly less sad. Lots of things have been piling up and I've had difficulty getting excited about anything. I started worrying that I'm not really me anymore. I didn't know who I was, but I was afraid it wasn't me.

Then yesterday was bloodmobile day. I gave blood at 1pm despite the ridiculous hoops I had to jump through to prove I was over 17 since my ID and blood donor card were both in the purse that was snatched. Anyway, I gave blood. And as the nice lady slid that needle into my arm I realized it was Tuesday. Tuesdays I work out with Trainer. While all the other boys and girls were passing out and throwing up I jumped up and ate my Cheez-Its on the way to fourth period, convinced that I'd be ready to punch things by the time I got on my boxing gloves.

At 5 I was all ready to go at the gym and Trainer and I started our workout. I did some pushups and stuff and kicked the bag and excitedly showed Trainer the double elbow I learned on Human Weapon and I was fine.

Then came punching time.

I got on my gloves and punched Trainer's mitted hands for about one minute, then something went horribly wrong. I felt my inner-elbow throb where the needle had been four hours earlier.

Trainer looked at me as I weakly threw my arm at his mit, my mouth wide open.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Do I look that bad?" I said.

I looked down at my elbow. Blood was leaking from my needlestick and running down my arm.

"You want to do kicks?" Trainer said.

"Sure," I replied enthusiastically as I wobbled and slid to the floor.

He ran and got me some paper towels then sat on the floor next to me.

As I blotted up the blood now gushing from the bruised hole in my arm Trainer offered to give me a free session later in the week.

"You don't have to do that," I said. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have given blood."

"No, I was on the phone a lot earlier and you've had a bad week. I'll give you a free session," he said.

"You don't have to-"

"Emily, shut the fuck up. Tomorrow at 6."

"Ok," I said. Then I looked at my bloody arm and started laughing hysterically. That's the moment when I knew I'd be okay.

"I feel better," I said through cackles.

"I think you're delusional," Trainer said.

"No," I said. "I'm gonna be okay. Look at me. I'm an idiot! I gave blood and then tried to kickbox. Who does that?" More laughter.

"That's because you're a charger," he said.

Then he bought me Chinese food because I have nothing in my refrigerator.

It was a good day.

All I want for Christmas is some sleep

My first period is writing an essay on The Crucible. Yesterday I walked around the room helping them with their first drafts, going from kid to kid to make suggestions. Several kids kept stalling and I told them, "Wouldn't you rather write the paper right now while you're stuck in class anyway and I'm here to help you than wait until you get home, have other things to do and I'm not there?"

Today the rough drafts are due so the kids can peer edit. The same kids who were dragging ass yesterday came in with no essay today, sat down and asked me, "So how do I start?"

Some days this job just blows your mind.

In the meantime, I'm getting ready for Christmas.

For my present my Stepdad is getting me a new laptop so I'm very excited. I gave him a few suggestions - thanks to all those who gave me their recommendations except all you lunatic Mac people - so hopefully I'll get something superior to the Acer Travelmate I'm currently rocking. It doesn't even have Word and it heats up to about the temperature of the sun after ten minutes and if you unplug it while it's still on it goes all blue-screen-of-death.

My mom got me a plane ticket to North Carolina. I have issue with that as a gift because really that's a present for her as much as it is me. I wasn't planning on coming home this year but she really wants me to. It'll be good though. I can use the quiet for a few days and I am almost jumping out of my skin with impatience over an evening I have planned with an old high school friend. So I'm glad I'm going.

Unfortunately the flight leaves from LAX at midnight on December 23 and arrives in RDU at 5 am Christmas Eve Day. Because my flight is so close to Christmas every single person I know in LA will already be gone so I'm trying to figure out whether or not to save money by taking the bus to the train to the shuttle or spend $35 on a cab or park my car in one of the lots near the airport for $65. Then there's the matter of what to do about the cat. If I leave him alone for five days he'll destroy my apartment so that's another $35 to get somebody to come play with him for a couple of days.

But I still have three weeks to solve that problem.

After I arrive in the Old North State my mother wants to go shopping for the little stuff she's going to put under the tree for me, then I have to make black bean spirals for the evening's family thing (we always have assorted appetizers for dinner on Christmas Eve and then the big meal the next day), then we go to some new church I have absolutely no attachment to because the Episcopal church my family went to since I was a child has started suggesting that God does not hate The Gays. Then we all have our evening family get together where inevitably the discussion will turn to how awesome and misunderstood poor George Bush is and my Uncle and I will suddenly get really excited about the cheese balls so we can suppress our desire to speak out.

I can't wait to do all this while jetlagged.

I can't bring my laptop on the plane to watch episodes of Buffy like I usually do because I'll be bringing back a new one and my current one shuts down unless it's plugged in. So I think I'll be reading Writing Drama until I fall asleep. Dear God, I hope I fall asleep. Otherwise I might tumble face first into the chip dip right in the middle of my British Grandmother's rant about the liberal media.

I love my family.

Peas, pasta and vampires

Sometimes life surprises you.

Due to some recent circumstances and poor money management on my part (but I had to have new pajamas!) I currently have no money. Like, NO MONEY.

I can't even buy groceries until Wednesday.

So last night I went exploring in my cabinet and discovered I have lots of spaghetti noodles and pasta sauce and not much else. That's great because I still have parmesian cheese and some cheddar to melt on the top so it's almost like a holiday.

Then I remembered that due to my food shortage I haven't had a single fruit or vegetable in a week except for slices off the one tomato I've been nursing.

So back to the cabinet. A can of green beans, three cans of black beans - tempting, but not a vegetable - two cans of peas and a can of pineapple chunks.

In retrospect the pineapple chunks were probably the way to go but at the time I opted for peas.

I put an entire baby can of peas in my pasta sauce.

And you know it was weird, but not terrible. Peas in pasta sauce with tomatoes and cheese over spaghetti noodles. Yay! I'm healthy again!

Also, Lifetime. I hate Lifetime. It's not television for women, it's television for angry women with evil husbands who abused them and kidnapped their children. That ain't me.

But last night I fell upon Blood Ties, a vampire detective show that doesn't suck. It's like thirty times better than Moonlight although not as good as Angel. It's actually the most real of the vampire detective shows and it's on Lifetime.

So I watched Blood Ties while I ate pea spaghetti.

Pea spaghetti. Not to be confused with pee spaghetti.

It was an evening of surprising events.

Dating made easy

I had my date. It was okay. I'm on the fence about it, but I was expecting it to be horrible so at least it beat my really low expectations.

I'm feeling jaded today so this is like the world's grumpiest post.

Anyway...

We walked around my neighborhood which is nice since I really like my neighborhood and walking around in it. I don't like caramel in my hot chocolate anymore though. When did that happen?

It's weird. Date kept trying to get me to talk about myself, which used to be no problem at all, but I just didn't want to. I feel so ambivalent about everything these days that it seems like so much effort to tell my life story all over again. I mean, seriously, how many times am I going to have to tell a new boyfriend about my daddy issues or that I think Sin City was a terrible film and Jimmy Buffet is the worst thing to happen to music since the plastic recorder? Maybe I should just type up Emily cliff notes and hand them out to my dates so I don't actually have to keep having the same conversations.

Can you see it? Every time someone asks what I teach I hand them a sheet with an explanation of what I teach, where I teach and how I feel about it, together with a note about how I will cease speaking to you immediately if you make a racist joke about my students. Imagine how much easier dating would be if we never actually had to talk to each other.

Fuck it. I'm going to hire a matchmaker like in ancient China. Give her a list of criteria, say, "Must be Jensen Ackles" and then let her go out and make it happen. Then I don't even think about it until I show up to the wedding and meet whichever Jensen Ackles she found. Then I'll give him my cliff notes and we'll sign the papers and eat the cake and everybody wins.

This is all very questionable

I was on the phone with a Potential Date the other day. The guy's a writer/director with three produced features behind him and when the strike is over hopes to resume his work on a studio feature starring some Oscary type people. So far, so good.

The first time I go out with somebody I like to pretend sex doesn't exist. The first meeting is about sizing each other up in the personality game and learning things about each other slowly with no pressure and no assumptions. Also, recent events have made me an untrusting soul.

I don't take compliments well either, especially when I just met you. I think it's because they come across as fake, or because I watched my smooth talking father talk women right out of their money time after time growing up so I don't really trust a guy who's quick with the flattery. Just ask me questions or tell your stories, don't try to get in my pants.

This has also made me "hard to read" according to Ex-Boyfriend, who didn't even kiss me on the first date because he thought I didn't like him even though I thought it was the best date ever.

Potential Date seemed really cool except he broke my rule. He mentioned how close he lived to me and that he could be over at my house in six minutes and we could watch TV together. He referred to me as "hot teacher." He wanted to read my zombie script even though I'm only halfway through the first draft.

Hey, Potential Date, I don't know you. Back off.

But I decided to give the guy a chance because he seems okay despite what I'm writing here and we have a lot in common. We'll see. I made it a day date in a nearby public place with no alcohol because I have learned.

Anyway, he also said something that kind of annoyed me. He asked if I prefer TV or film and I said both.

"Oh, honey, that's not a good idea," he said, as if that unwillingness to attach myself permanently to one form of writing destines me to a tragic end.

Now, this guy knows way more than me about the Industry. He makes a living writing and directing films, so he has an educated point of view.

But what is with this idea that you have to pick one? Is that true? I have to pick long form or serial form, but both is unheard of?

There are writers who do both, I know there are. They start in one and move to the other.

I have specs in both categories so if I meet a TV producer I hand over a TV spec. If I meet a film producer I pass him my feature. Is that wrong?

I don't understand why I have to choose. Don't make me choose.

What I learned on my first short film

Questions! Seriously I love questions about all subjects. It's why I like teaching. If I don't know I can point you to someone who does.

Leif from Australia asked for advice on making short films.

So first a disclaimer: I've only made one and it's not finished with post yet so I can only talk about that one example. I know what it's like to be a girl not working in the Industry who didn't go to film school and doesn't know anything about cameras but still made what appears to be a really good 14-minute dark comedy I wrote with a writing partner.

In other words, I don't know anything but I'm going to pretend I do so you'll keep loving me.

The first thing I did was ask Christopher Stack for some advice. He knows what he's talking about. His most recent film, An Exercise in Vigilance, is currently making the festival rounds. He gave some good suggestions about what a director's job is on set. That was my biggest fear was that I would do everything wrong and everybody would role their eyes at me.

I'm pretty sure some other people gave me advice as well and I thank them for it.

I'd never been on a set before as a member of the crew. I wish I had. I asked a friend who was filming a short if he'd let me PA his no-budget shoot so I could get the feel for how a set works and he actually said no. I'm not really going to be doing him any favors any time soon.

Honestly I got lucky. The crew came to me because the script was good. I had a talented DP, Script Supervisor/AD and gaffer and I didn't even have to go find them. No matter what I learned that you must have an AD on set for your first film. I kept whispering to her to tell me what I was supposed to do. When I said "cut" or "action" at the wrong time she nudged me and quietly gave me the correction. She was fantastic.

For casting I used two friends for the boys. For one of the girl parts I used Breakdown Express. I wrote up a breakdown of the character and waited. Within one day I had over 100 women send me their resumes. I chose 12 to audition. Two showed up. Even though that part eventually went to Lead Actor's Girlfriend who blew me away during her audition, one of the two girls from BE really impressed me. So I called her in to audition for the other part I was still missing.

I have a tendency to decide things instantly based on my gut. She came, she read, she was hired. She was great.

So basically, I got lucky, but the only reason I got lucky was because I had a great script. And it may make me sound like a raging egomaniac to say that, but dammit, it's true.

But here's the stuff that really helped. Robert Rodriguez' Rebel Without a Crew inspired me the whole way. When things weren't quite going how I imagined them, I just remembered Rodriguez saying that sometimes when things go wrong that's when the best stuff happens. Also, The Guerilla Filmmaker's Guide was my constant reference throughout production. It's basically an encyclopedia of jobs on set. So when the DP mentioned his "gaffer" on the phone I ran to the book, looked up what the hell a gaffer is and didn't skip a beat in the conversation.

In other words, the book helped me not look as stupid.

I also got a lot out of Cinematic Storytelling. It helped me get creative in my ideas for shots.

All of those books are linked on my sidebar.

But the biggest piece of advice I can give is to make it cheap and simple. One of the reasons my film was so cheap - $1,000 for everything including set decoration, equipment and food - was because Partner and I wrote it to take place in one room with four people and no special effects. We used my apartment so I got to keep the set decoration. It was weird watching the raw footage in the room where it was shot and still looks exactly like it did then.

But shooting such a simple concept also allowed us to get away with not having storyboards or being really picky about the shooting script. And if we had needed an extra day of shooting we could have arranged it because I lived in the set. We didn't, though. We finished four hours early so I must be doing something right.

Really important: do not skimp on food. I used Boston Market the first day because they deliver and the food is awesome. You can order everything online. It pleased everybody, and when your crew is working for free and your actors are spending the entire day under hot lights on the hardwood floor and one of them is wearing a leather coat in the middle of September, good food goes a long way. The second day we had Subway. I also had apples, a cooler of various drinks, coffee and chips and salsa available all day.

So basically this is what I learned: feed everybody well, get as informed as you can about what you're expected to do and surround yourself with people who know way more than you do but respect your vision. And leave your ego out of it.

*I forgot to mention my PA, who was immensely helpful with continuity, lunch and the air conditioning unit. Love you, P!

Welcome to my life

Because I've had so many new people find their way here in the past month between the Russians and people looking for more strike stuff I thought I'd do a little introduction in case anybody's interested.

I am a high school teacher. I've been teaching high school for seven years now, four in a rural North Carolina town and three here in gangland, Los Angeles. My kids are mostly Latino and don't have much money and sometimes it's like pulling teeth to get them to do anything, but when they're good they're wonderful. I'd rather be here any day than up in Beverly Hills with the smartasses that think they know everything because their daddy drives a Beamer.

Maybe I'm a little hard on the white boys. I've had some bad experiences.

After work I go to kickboxing lessons with my Trainer or run around my neighborhood depending on the day. I love to watch boxing matches on the weekends. I really enjoy controlled violence but in a real-life setting I'm pretty passive. Unless you piss me off.

I'm from North Carolina originally but I'm not a redneck. People from my state love George Bush, Dale Earnhart and Clay Aiken. All three of those people give me brain hives. One of many reasons I now live in LA.

The main reason I'm in LA is to become a screenwriter. Film, TV, I don't care. Either will do as long as I'm working on stories. I like action movies the best. X Men 2, Pitch Black, The Matrix, Hero - these are some of my favorites. So far I've sold nothing but I haven't really tried because I'm not comfortable with the amount of solid material I have to offer. I just shot a short film with an amazing cast and crew and it's still in the editing phase and I'm currently working on a zombie script, shortly to be followed by a superhero action comedy.

I love LA and I have a theory that you should never turn down an invitation unless you absolutely have to. As a result I've had some fun times and met some great people. And whenever I do I write about it here.

I mostly try to write about writing and The Industry, but I also write about teaching and random things that happen to me and assorted other events. I try to make it funny. Sometimes I succeed.

I hate clowns. They are evil and must be destroyed.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was the best show ever on television. If you don't believe that you clearly have no soul.

Just kidding. Farscape and Angel are also acceptable favorite shows.

So welcome. If you have questions, ask. I love questions.

Don Quixote is always the best project

If you sent over comments in Russian I have not approved them because I can't read them and I don't want my blog to turn into a forum for Russians to discuss hot chicks.

But I appreciate the comments from the supportive people and I'm flattered that you are interested in my boobs.

Last night Maggie solved my lack of groceries problem by feeding me her Thanksgiving leftovers, complete with hypercolor mashed potatoes that change from blue to purple when you microwave them but taste like regular old potatoes when you eat them. Utterly fascinating.

Today I'm showing House of Flying Daggers to my seniors. It's a world lit class so we're spending the whole semester on various forms of the hero's journey. They have projects. Each group must read a story and present it to the class along with a rough explanation of the history and the author associated with the piece and an explanation of how each story follows the hero's journey.

But they're having some difficulty grasping the concept even though I've been over it five thousand times.

Hence House of Flying Daggers. It's world lit because it's a Chinese story. But more importantly, it's an interesting take on the old Campbell monomyth. The hero in this case isn't trying to save the world - just win the heart of a girl. Still, in the process he goes through the same major points that all hero's journeys do, and at the end he is a changed man even though he was a pawn in the greater story of rebels versus the law.

It also makes me bawl my little eyeballs out. Let's see if it has the same effect on the kids.

The worry when showing a film that makes you cry around teenagers is that there's always some jackass in the room who chooses to laugh or make a joke at the climactic moment of the story. One year a kid laughed hysterically right when Juliet was about to kill herself and it completely destroyed the ending's effect for the rest of the class.

After I've shown the film maybe they'll be able to figure out what to do with their stories. Their choices are The Iliad, The Aeneid, Don Quixote, Oedipus, 1001 Nights, Faust, and The Song of Roland. I expect many awesome videos to keep me laughing two weeks from now.

добро пожаловать, Россия

First of all, hi Russia!

Yesterday I had 134 individual hits, which is on par for a Sunday.

This morning I casually checked my statcounter and bam! 1,423 before noon. Well holy nesting dolls, Batman.

That would be Russia. My post about the picture of the girl who's not me has gone around the block a few times in the old country, probably just like that girl.

Oh! Zinger! You can't expect me not to make that joke.

I've been having a difficult couple of days, so thanks go out to all my Russian fans for saying nice things about me.

I mean, I think they're nice things. Most of them are in Russian.

Babelfish is not much help. It gave me this: "Emily, in you the theme of sisek is not opened, give already reveal!"

Is that a request for nudie pics or emotional revelations?

No on the nudie pics by the way.

In the meantime I'm exhausted. I'm barely holding it together and as soon as the bell rings I'm driving home and collapsing into bed. I couldn't sleep last night because the guys who robbed me have my keys and my address and every ten minutes I thought I heard them unlocking my door. I have a chain on the door. Did I think to use it? No. Just like that time in Ireland when a guy mugged me and I forgot I had pepper spray.

There are cameras all over my building including one on my door so hopefully that will dissuade them. I also think they were just after the money since they ditched my friend's wallet in a driveway. But between my paranoia and my throbbing knee I spent the whole night tossing over. Even my usual thinking about zombies didn't help. That always helps.

Yes, I think about zombies to sleep. Sometimes when I'm anxious I say "zombies!" and that helps me calm down. Because, you know, zombies are soothing.

I need to go to the DMV. I need to file a police report. I need to buy groceries but I have $17 in my account because somebody stole my cell phone and I had to replace it by using this week's grocery money. Food or cell phone? I choose phone. Last night's dinner was an apple and a piece of pecan pie.

Pie!

I subscribe to Maggie's Pie Makes Everything Better theory.

But now I'm out of pie. I think dinner tonight is going to be elbow macaroni and butter.

The kids have all offered me their extra free lunch tickets to help feed me. They're adorable. They were so mad at those guys who robbed me they didn't even complain when I handed them massive literary tomes they have two weeks to read. It probably helps that I also gave them candy canes.

Last night

No picture today. I can't handle the thought of a happy cat sitting on top of this post.

Last night I went to a couple of bars with some girlfriends and had a grand old time. An adorable Tom Stoppard quoting bartender got me plenty toasted and my Friend and I left the other two girls to hop into a cab for the ride home. I didn't like the cab driver, so I asked Friend if we could get out and walk the last two blocks. She was cool with that.

Mistake.

Almost as soon as we got out of the cab and crossed the street a young Latino male ran up behind us and grabbed her purse, then his buddy grabbed mine. I grabbed his sweatshirt and knocked him back to the ground, but in the process lost my balance and also fell. After flashing me a look of complete shock, he jumped up and ran. I jumped up out of my shoes and ran barefoot after him but he was too fast and I was too drunk. I screamed at him all kinds of valuable moral lessons I'm sure he pondered as he searched through our purses.

I walked back and found my shoes and my Friend, who had been pushed to the ground when she refused to give it up right away. Her knees are in bad shape.

My knee is beat and bloody and my butt is bruised and there appears to be a bruise on my wrist as well. Friend's legs are banged up.

He got my cell phone, my license, my ATM card and some make up along with $20. I had to get a new cell phone and decided to get an LA area code while I was at it so if you had my number you have to email me so I can give you the new one.

Friend didn't even have any cash, but he managed to run up her phone bill with calls to Florida.

Unfortunately it's a 1-800 number so that won't be much help.

I kind of had a melt down right there in the street. I mean, this kid could be one of my students. I spend so much of my time trying to teach them that stealing is wrong, trying to make them understand that just because you want something doesn't mean you have to take it. And it's all irrelevant because for every kid who hears me there are many more who think only of themselves.

This Guy came up to us as soon as it happened and told us he saw the Muggers walking behind us and thought they looked suspicious. Guy didn't offer to walk us home, didn't offer to call the cops, didn't try to help us in any way at all. He just wanted to know he saw the incident take place and did nothing about it.

I decided to walk two miles to Other Friend's place - the only place I felt safe - and as I cried in the hallway waiting for him to get home a neighbor came out and yelled at me to shut up. Even after I told her what happened she had the nerve to tell me to "calm down and be quiet" because she had to get to sleep. She didn't offer any consolation, didn't apologize for being rude, only criticized me for being drunk and called Other Friend on the phone and told him to get home because someone was making lots of noise in the hallway and she wanted it taken care of.

Some people are just rotten.

Me? Or Astro Man?

So there was this picture taken at the WGA protest last week that has appeared all over the place since then:

Her name is Emily Blake. As you can imagine, this picture has garnered a lot of interest among horny boys and various Russians.

But at first glance this does not appear to me be. I can see why people think it is, but I would never be seen in that outfit. Not during the day, anyway. Those shoes don't look comfortable. And look how short that dress is - you are about to see her everything any second now, which explains the horny boys and various Russians displaying so much interest.

Also, if I wore a strapless dress I would spend all day pulling it up. I would not lift my arms over my head at the risk of losing my tiny little stretch of fabric that barely covers anything anyway. Also, my arms aren't that spindly. I have muscles. So you know, I'm thinking, not me but thanks.

But then Friday I had twice as many hits as usual on my page and 100% more Russians than usual because everybody's looking for this girl and they think she's me.

So fuck it.

Yeah, that's me.

The way I figure it, one of four things happened.

1) This is the robot me. Soon she will show up at my door and take over my life and have me sent to Hell where I will be forced to play Death at various board games until I win the ability to get back to Earth to rescue the princesses.

2) I have a superpower of which I was previously unaware. I can be in multiple places at the same time. So I sent Ring Girl Emily out to the rally while Teacher Emily stayed in the classroom. But Ring Girl Emily doesn't want Teacher Emily to realize her power so she wiped my memory and will soon show up at my door and take over my life while the real me becomes more and more dull to the point where I start wearing tweed suits and paying my bills on time.

3) That's Alternate Universe Emily. Like on Sliders. She was out there on a mission to protect our dimension from the AMPTP because in her world, they have caused an apocalyptic rupture that destroyed everything. But now that she's saved the world through some deed we'll never understand, she'll show up at my door and take over my life and pretend she's the real Emily while she kills me and buries me in the park and starts the writing career I was supposed to have.

4) That's me from the future. I knew if I went out and got in that picture the hits on my site would double and some producer somewhere who really likes leggy blonds would find me and sign me to an eight picture deal. But none of that would ever have happened if Future Me hadn't come back and gone to the rally while Present Me was at work. Now Future Me has gone back to the future where my evil is law. If only she had come by before she left and explained how she keeps her hair that straight.

Man, I hope it's number four.

How I did my Christmas shopping in one weekend

My family is far away in North Carolina, so last night a Friend and I went to two Thanksgiving parties and ate and played games and had a generally good time. On the way to party number two we passed the Best Buy on La Brea in Hollywood.

Good lord. It was 6:35 p.m. and there was a line of people literally camped out. They had tents. They were sleeping there.

I went to the same Best Buy today at 10:30 this morning and didn't really see what all the fuss was about. They still had plenty of copies of Rock Band.

Which, by the way, is one of the games Friend and I played at party number two. Fun! I did really well on the Garbage song "I Think I'm Paranoid" but discovered that "Should I Stay or Should I Go" is completely out of my range and I should never attempt to sing it ever again for the good of society. I sounded like a caterwauling monkey.

But the good news is after one trip to the aforementioned Best Buy and the Target next door I am almost finished with my Christmas shopping. This Sunday I'll go the Larchmont farmer's market and pick up some spicy peanuts for an uncle. I also have to drive to Santa Monica this afternoon to a British pub where they sell British foods that please my British grandmother. I gave her figgy pudding from that place last year and I think she creamed her pants.

Haha. I made you think of my 80-year-old British grandma creaming her pants.

Anyway, I survived the day by having a really laid back attitude. I discovered last year that if I just wake up in a good mood and decide not to let anything get to me all day then I'll be fine. While people were stumbling all over themselves trying to get to the $3.98 DVD shelf I waited against the wall and selected my DVDs from a distance so when the crowd briefly cleared I just walked up, grabbed what I wanted and threw it in my bag. And I always bring a cloth bag so I can throw it over my shoulder and deftly breeze through the aisles. Never get a cart if you want to maintain your sanity.

But about those $3.98 DVDs, right now Target and Best Buy both have DVDs for cheap as hell. Target was selling Memoirs of a Geisha and Blood Diamond and Batman Begins and some other movies that I didn't care about for $3.98. Seriously. And Best Buy had The House of Flying Daggers for $5. So I stocked up on DVDs, some for me, some for people. So now everybody will think I spent way more money than I did, which is great because I spent my Christmas shopping money on making a movie.

Know what else is good about buying people lots of movies? Easy to pack in a suitcase.

I bought my people other stuff too, though. I'm not that stingy.

But now comes the really fun part. My stepdad is buying me a new laptop for Christmas, so he wants me to scour the Internet to find my top ten laptops so he can choose one. How awesome is that?

Any recommendations?

For all the fans

FYI, I am not the Emily Blake with the hot legs and uncomfortable shoes who was at the rally on Hollywood Boulevard and was in a few newspaper photos today. That's a different Emily Blake. I would like her to change her name now before this gets more complicated.

Clowns, page one

At one of Bill Martell's seminars at The Expo this year he said something about writing about the interesting things you encounter in your life, the things that separate you from other people. Actually, I think at the time he was talking about how to separate your query letter from all the others, but whatever the point was it gave me an idea.

I started thinking about all the things that are quirky about me. The teacher thing is done to death and the world has plenty of Southern movie stars and we don't need another movie about aspiring writers and I could do a great kickboxing girl story if Girl Fight and Million Dollar Baby and Against the Ropes hadn't already mined what was left of the boxing genre.

"What else have I got?" I thought.

Well, I'm afraid of clowns. A girl who's afraid of clowns. Surely there's something in that.

So I got a title: Fear of Clowns.

And I got a character: a girl.

So as you can see, I was well on my way.

I kept trying to force clown stories into this title, but it soon became clear that I had to let the story come to me. It sounds like a drama, doesn't it? About a girl trying to conquer her fear of fake people? Or something.

Every night as I fall asleep I write my latest story. For a long time it was the zombie story, which I had put on pause while I do a little research, but make no mistake I plan to finish that by Christmas. But I often come up with stories as I teeter on the edge of sleep. I am a fortunate soul in that I almost always remember what I create. I don't even keep a note pad by my bed because I never forget my good ideas.

I know. Don't you just hate me?

Then one morning I had a dream about Batman pissing a bunch of people off. I woke up and realized what an interesting angle I'd just thought up - a way of looking at Batman that I've never seen explored. I realized that if I changed Batman to my own girl it would be freaking awesome. And I could call it Fear of Clowns.

I mulled over the story for a while as I continued work on the zombies, then a couple of nights ago as I was pondering possible events I wrote the opening. And it was different from anything I'd written before. I'm writing about life in a small town in North Carolina - Coats, to be exact, a town I used to drive through on my way to work each morning - so I started to write it in my Southern girl voice.

And if you don't know what that is, read some Clyde Edgerton or T.R. Pearson's A Short History of a Small Place.

Now, without further ado, the current opening scene to Fear of Clowns:

EXT. COATS - DAY

It's a green town in a green state where little kids still run around barefoot in the woods. There is one major two-lane road running through town, and the only stop light anybody pays attention to is the one that intersects the other major two-lane road running through town. Anything directly outside of Coats, North Carolina is asparagus farms and the gourd museum.

In the middle of a sea of little backyards, a blazing inferno envelops a house in trees.

INT. TREEHOUSE - DAY

Fire. Flames engulf the entirety of what used to be a finely crafted treehouse, with slats nailed together with the precision of Bob Villa. Rock posters and pinup girls melt off the wall. Playing cards burn on the floor next to a digital camera, pillows and other assorted odds and ends little boys like to keep around their secret clubs. In one corner, the blackened remains of a space heater.

Outside a boy cries and men yell.

In another corner, a kitten named SAM - terrified, adorable and unable to plan an effective escape.

A hand claps itself around Sam and lifts him to a shoulder. Sam scratches the white face next to his paw and scrambles unsuccessfully to get away.

That face belongs to ERIN COLE, 23, a girl who's been doing her best to hide the fact that she's nice to look at. A thin bloody line appears on her cheek where Sam scratched her.

ERIN
Dammit, cat!

She lifts the cat and looks at it.

ERIN
I'm trying to save your life here!

She looks down the hole in the middle of the treehouse, where the rope ladder has burned away.

Below, the ground.

Sam looks down.

They look at each other.

Erin doesn't realize that her sweater is on fire.

SAM
Mrawr!

ERIN
Okay.

She leaps into the hole.

Ode to Los Angeles part three

Rhys asked me a question. I love questions! She asked if I feel like it was worth it to move to LA even though I didn't have a job in The Industry.

If you asked every transplanted aspiring and professional writer this question you'd get some very different answers, so all I can do is talk about my own experience. And I admit, I'm a bit biased.

I love Los Angeles. As in, I don't understand how I haven't lived here forever. I love North Carolina too, and I'm glad to be going home over Christmas to visit my parents and this really hot dude I went to school with and hang out in the peace and quiet for a few days.

But then I'll be ready to come back.

I've written about my love for LA before in parts one and two, but that was mostly in relation to the creation of my short film and how easy it is to do in LA. My main point in those two posts is that this is the best place to be if you want to make a short film because you can't spit without hitting a cinematographer, an editor and about fifty actors. Making my movie would have been ten times harder back in Raleigh.

It's also about support. In North Carolina the only friends I had were Ex-Fiance's friends. I was terribly lonely and isolated. And when I first moved out here I brought my Ex-Fiance with me, although at the time he was just Fiance. When his mom and I were hopping around the city of New Bern looking for the right place to order the light blue chocolate wedding cake nobody ever ate, she asked me how long we were planning to be out here while I gave this lost cause a shot.* "A year?" She said, "two?"

Ummmmmmmmmm..............

Here, when you say you're an aspiring screenwriter nobody mocks you. Most people say, "Oh! Have you had any luck? What are you working on?"

Actors hand you business cards. Producers give you career advice. Other aspiring writers ask if they can read your scripts. It's so damn friendly.

And people ARE friendly here. Sure, on any given night you can run into ten phony bastards who are just looking for a way you can help their career. And I understand them because it does get frustrating to work your ass off every day and find out you can't get a spot in that office on the lot because some other girl had sex with Spielberg's cousin. So it is a struggle to keep yourself from becoming that shallow person you hated when you moved here.

But if you just spend your time around honest people, this is the greatest place to be. I've been very lucky to build up a group of friends who support each other. Most of my friends have hidden industry jobs like being PAs or packaging proofreaders or PR gophers. But those are their jobs today. Tomorrow we'll all be writers and stunt men and executives. A win for one of us is a win for all of us.

I had no idea this world existed until I moved here. Now I don't want to live anywhere else.

I've been here over two years so who knows - maybe I'll get sick of it. Maybe I'll change my mind after a few more years of trudging through the studio system. I wish it would rain sometimes. I wish my rent wasn't so high. I miss running around barefoot (I'm not fond of shoes and if you ever spend time with me will discover I will at some point slip them off). The constant traffic and noise gets old. The constant traffic gets old. And growing up I never locked my door.

And parking. Jesus. When I went home last year for my class reunion I parked like a mile away because I didn't believe I was allowed to park in the lot right next to the bar. I forgot I wasn't up on Hollywood Boulevard.

But to me, these are issues easily dealt with in exchange for what I get. The other day I saw Seth Green at the grocery store like it was any other day. I've sat next to Jane Espenson and picked her very wise and pleasant brain. I met Adam Busch and Amber Benson and tried to pretend I wasn't completely star struck while they discussed Adam's band. I learned to kickbox. I made a movie. I made new friends. I get to go out on my balcony every morning and see the constant sunlight reflect of the fancy houses on the hills, and if I look to the right and stand on tip-toe I can see the Hollywood sign, ever constant in the distance. And every weekend I have to decide between like three parties. And last week I ran out and walked in circles with professional writers and urged passersby to honk their horns for justice.

Know what I did before I moved here? Planned a wedding. Watched TV. Played XBox. Stared out the window. Drank.

Sadly, that's kind of true.

And if I sound a little sappy it's because I'm listening via headphones to a really victorious Bloc Party song on Pandora while the teacher who shares my room drones on about something that is evidently boring the crap out of his class.

So as the music swells, I will complete my thought by saying the following:

Yay!

Los Angeles isn't for everybody. But it is for me.


*She didn't actually call it a lost cause, but she was thinking it.

This is not a story

Those of you who have been reading my ruminations for a while may have noticed that weird things happen to me. It's not coincidence. I like to put myself in situations where weird things will happen because I enjoy the adventure and the possibility of mining the event for future stories. It's why I volunteered for things. It's why I volunteered to be a seat-filler for last night's American Music Awards. Can you imagine the possibilities?

The possibility that never occurred to me was that nothing would happen.

The dress code was "hot club attire". No jeans. Cocktail dresses. It was a sea of little black ones, myself among them. But there's no coat-check so if you bring a coat you'll have to carry it all night. It was like ten degrees outside last night and we had to stand outside for an hour waiting to go in, then stand in line waiting for the shuttle on the way out.

To add insult to injury, they gave us all extra-large AMA sweatshirts we were to immediately put in our cars before hopping on the shuttle. Hey girls, here's warmth! You can't have it!

Throughout the night I wished I owned a black pashmina. After a while I developed a routine of imagining the pashmina around my shoulders, feeling the phantom wooley warmth for a few seconds before I remembered that I was freezing to death.

The men mocked me in their sport jackets.

The AMA people told me to wear comfortable shoes but my comfortable shoes made my legs look short and squatty. My nice party shoes make my legs look fantastic but cramp my toes. I opted for fantastic legs in case I sat next to Akon and he invited me to his after-party where fantastic legs would come in handy.

Yeah, that didn't happen.

Fortunately the AMA people fed us dry turkey sandwiches with chips and a cookie and an apple. They were out of water so my plan of stuffing a water bottle in my purse and sipping on it all night was foiled. I drank a Diet Coke, ate the sandwich and put everything else in my purse with my emergency bag of cookies and a granola bar. So basically I was a walking pantry. That way, if I sat next to John Mayer and he expressed a feeling of hunger I could open my purse and say, "What would you like?"

Yeah, that didn't happen.

It was a lot of hurry up and waitness. Then, as the show was about to begin, we were shoved into empty seats with wild abandon. Then it was my turn.

I was told to sit between a blond guy and a guy in a hat. Guy In Hat said his wife was sitting there. I told him I had to sit there until she showed.

She showed five seconds before the show started. Guy In Hat was super nice, as was his Blond friend, but I had to take off in a flash because the seats must be filled with no stragglers when the cameras pan over the first ten rows.

If you're up front during the commercial break you find a new seat. If you're in the back during the commercial break you wait for them to come and choose you.

I was now in the back. I never sat in the front again.

When the first award was announced - breakthrough artist - Guy In Hat and Blond Guy got up and went to the stage with the rest of the band. I had been smack in the middle of Daughtry. In case you didn't hear, they kind of had a big night last night.

So that was cool. It's all I have to hang on to really, since I sat at the back of the theater dancing with two very excited college freshmen girls the rest of the night. If it hadn't been for those girls I'd have been lonely and miserable so whoever they were, they were fantastic and I thank them.

They made me dance to Chris Brown and Alicia Keys, and I admit that Alicia Keys performance rocked the house. But then came Duran Duran and "Hungry Like the Wolf".

I jumped up and yelled, "This is my music!" And rocked out like the aging white lady that I am.

They tried to dance too, but couldn't find a way to work the Rockaway into a guitar-heavy eightees song. I glanced over and was highly amused at their complete failure to comprehend why anyone would listen to this.

They waited all night, begging the guy in charge to send them to the front. Finally, on the last commercial break he sent them up front and left me behind. I hope they sat next to Beyonce.

And that was it. I went home. I ate some chips. I watched The Simpsons. I went to sleep.

Next time I'm jumping into the first open chair I see.

Why Best Week Ever and The Soup are still on the air

In the past few days a bunch of people have come here to find out why The Soup and Best Week Ever are still on the air during the strike. I posted that query here and got some good answers, but nothing definitive. The question was still bugging the hell out of me. Because we'd established that they were nonsig shows, but I know BWE ever has union members on its staff. How does that work?

So I emailed Paul F. Tompkins from BWE - 'cuz we're tight like that - and asked him myself.

Here was his response:

I don't know about The Soup, but yes, BWE is a non-Guild show. I myself am a WGA member, but can do the show because a) it's an interview format, where I am not writing in advance, I am improvising in response to questions and b) if that IS considered writing, according to the Guild, performers are allowed to write for themselves. This is how Letterman and Carson were able to do shows during the last big strike. As far as the people who put the shows together, that's another matter. I would say it's probably all right because shows like BWE and The Soup are not the types of shows that are in question-- there's no real resale of them and no residuals.

I would NEVER want to do anything that went against the cause for which we are striking. Hope this eases your mind.

Paul

Homage or copy cat?

The other day I saw Snatch at the grocery store for $9.99 so I picked it up. I didn't remember anything about the film other than that I liked it and there was a dog and Brad Pitt boxing and doing a funny accent and Jason Statham.

What more do you need in a film, really?

So I watched it and it's still fabulous, but I go this really eerie feeling throughout the movie that I'd not only seen it before, I'd seen echoes of it all over.

And as soon as the movie ended I put in Shaun of the Dead, which of course I own.

Those cheeky moneys.

I mean, I recognized the camera moves right away of course. The quick CUT TOs are so Guy Ritchie. But the actual opening scene of Shaun includes a song from the soundtrack to Snatch. I expect zombie movie homages, but that film is an homage to Guy Ritchie in general.

Of course I realize I can't be the first person to notice this. But, you know, I thought it was worth mentioning since I never noticed it before.

Things I learned today at Ralph's

1) I hate grocery shopping on Saturdays. It's crowded and there are old people. Why do I continue to torture myself?

2) Old people hate you. They don't care how much you want to get to the deli meats, they got there first and if they want to carefully examine each individual brand and calculate how much they're paying per ounce of shaved turkey before they make a decision you and your cart will fucking wait. Get off their lawn.

3) Seth Green is kind of normal. He stood with his arm around his much taller and completely adorable girlfriend while they discussed their selection of Pepperidge Farm cookies. They also bought diet Sprite and Christmas wrapping paper. It's possible it was not Seth Green since the guy had his hat pulled down over his face to hide his identity, but that little redhead is hard to miss. I'm 99% sure it was him. I was on a mad store-wide search at the moment to find tortillas and wanted more than anything to say, "Hey Seth Green, do you know where the tortillas are?" It is now my greatest regret in life that I did not do this.

4) I buy diet soda now. When did that start? And did you know they make diet cherry Pepsi? The world truly is a wondrous place.

5) I am still amazed by the ability to pull liquor off the shelf and put it directly in my basket at the grocery store. In North Carolina you must go to a tiny government-run room in the middle of nowhere where they run your ID through a background check and give you a three-day waiting period before you're allowed to purchase a bottle of Sour Apple Pucker's. Even at Von's in the dirty neighborhood where I used to live they kept the vodka with the condoms behind a locked glass case so you had to tell the whole world your plans to get drunk and screw before anyone would give you the tools to do so. At the fancy Ralph's in my fancy Jewish neighborhood they just let you grab all the booze you want and pay for it with no fanfare at all. Who wants appletinis?

6) Cashiers at Ralph's aren't quite sure what to do when you bust out your canvas Trader Joe's bags and insist on using those instead of plastic. Forget saving the environment, you can throw your grocery bag over your shoulder as you carry it up the stairs.

and

7) I need someone to follow me around and carry my groceries up the stairs. I can pay you in appletinis and diet cherry Pepsi.

Strike-related Craigslist ads part 2

1) Our firm specializes in outsourcing mercenary work from Fortune 500 companies that need to keep their hands clean. We act as middlemen, designing offensive logistics with our clients, and then through intermediaries give you the assignment. Upon completion of an assignment, we will leave cash in a designated area that is tax free and untraceable. We will only communicate with you via e-mail. We are reaching out to writers because nobody in corporate America knows who you are, plus you have the imagination needed to be resourceful in a pinch. Please e-mail your resume and salary history. Crime Drama Writing experience a plus, but not necessarily required.



2) The strike will go on for a long time. It is time to get balls and come back to work. The producers will break the union. Get paid now and work now. If you come back now we will forget and let the past be gone. I need writers to keep making shows for sweeps. FOX Idol will not be only show viewers will look forward too. Man/women up and come back.

We have bought extreme SUV's with darken (more than normal) windows to get you onto the lot. No one will know. Work in a special unit trailer and video conference your input to the stage. You can wear a stocking so no actors will notice you when on the video conference. We will write contracts through agents and keep everything confidential. If you need cash please apply. NO 24 writers please.



3) Untapped NON-UNION talent. I won't lie, I have no published experience. But I CAN and WILL deliver. I live in Pittsburgh but can e-mail GREAT writing at a moment's notice. Strikes mean nothing to me. I have ideas for new shows and can write for current shows in a heartbeat. And I can beat the pants off any of your pampered, union writers without hesitation.

Don't believe me? Just send me a short e-mail, whatever you need, first script's free. Cost you nothing but a few minutes, and the reward will be well worth it.

Need to start shooting next summer's popcorn fest? It's right here, waiting. Need a script finished at the last minute at great expense? Don't bother! I will beat any scab's script and any scab's price! Just try me! I dare you!


4) Allow me to be your stand-in on the picket line.
Hours, days, weeks, months....I'll walk the line.
All that I ask is that when this strike ends
Your agent or manager read my script!
It's getting cold out there, e-mail me,
I'll meet you at any studio.