Nigel

About 10 years ago, a good friend of mine was going through a nasty divorce and, in a successful attempt to piss off her husband, sold me (for a thousand bucks) the Range Rover he'd bought her instead of an engagement ring.

I was stoked. A five year old Range Rover was a huge step up from my geriatric Volvo wagon that smoked, drank and passed out cold in the street every so often - usually during rush hour when I was on my way to work.

In a fit of early 20's irony, I named my shiny new Rover Nigel - and aside from the occasional overpriced British breakdown, he ran reliably (which, for a Range Rover, is unheard of).

Despite having only 11 inches of clearance, Nigel tore up dirt roads - I never met a jeep trail that Nigel couldn't take - most of the time without even heating up his engine, and he still looked good in Beverly Hills even when he was really dirty.

I tied all kinds of things to his roof, stuffed him full of all types of work gear, estate sale finds, lumber, electronics and in one memorable day - three cheap 'street corner' area rugs and a full set of patio furniture.

Over the years, Nigel's paint faded from a snappy British Racing Green into sort of a just puked pea soup with a side of rust flakes - I never had him repainted, though. I still loved him - faded paint, torn stained upholstery, non-working rear windows, cracked dashboard - even the occasional part falling off as Nigel got older.

A few days ago, his engine died, and Nigel left me stranded on the side of PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) in Malibu.

I got the bad news from Mike the Mechanic (yes, that's really his name). To get Nigel running again will cost about twice what he's currently worth - and since Range Rover didn't make big changes to their body style for over 10 years, Nigel's worth more in pieces than he is as a whole. Mike hooked me up with a local junkyard, who gave me a surprising amount of money for Nigel.

The flatbed took Nigel away yesterday. I went and cleaned out all my stuff (My CD's, the mini disco ball hanging from the rearview mirror, an "Austin Powers" action figure under the seat that I thought I'd lost) and said goodbye, then stood there in the middle of the street, watching Nigel get towed out of my life.

I'll miss you, Nigel. It's not going to be the same around here without you.

D'oh!

"Material Girls" production office didn't issue me a check, as they lost the timecard.

My boss just told me that he'll reissue the timecard, which means that it'll go in today, get processed over the weekend, and the check will get cut on June 9th.

Paid on June 9th (actually, by the time I get the check in the mail it will be June 14th) for a day of work on May 15th.

D'oh.

Murphy's Law in Action.

I finally made the trip up to Santa Barbara with Mr. Movie Star - even if it is dead, I don't want to go too far away in case I get called to work (fat chance, but Murphy's Law rules my life most days). I figured Memorial Day was safe, though, so off we went. We stayed at some really, really nice 'resort hotel' up there (I keep wanting to call it "Chicken of the Sea" because of 'LA Story').

Speaking of Murphy's Law - I had a great time, but managed to lose my wallet.

I have one of those eensy 'evening' purses that stuff just barely fits into - the wallet must have fallen out at dinner Sunday night, and I didn't notice until we were back in the room.

Whoever found it kept it, of course (Isn't SB full of rich people? Why the hell would they keep a wallet with no money and no credit cards? Maybe they just wanted my library card or my almost full Coffee Bean Pink Card).

Dammit. I'm more upset about the Pink Card than the drivers license. I never did like 'frankenphoto'.

One of the points of friction between Mr. Movie Star and me has been inappropriate behavior in public. He's constantly pawing at me in front of people, and I'd really prefer to keep the R rated stuff private and not put on a show - Mr. Movie Star gets really upset at this, and says it's because I must be 'ashamed to be seen with him'.

At this (celeb infested, of course) hotel, the staff just seemed to turn a blind eye to anything that the guests did. At one point (in an area where other guests could see us) Mr. Movie Star had half my neck in his mouth and a hand up the front of my shirt, and the staff just smiled blandly, refilled drinks and acted like nothing was going on. Surreal.
I understand - much more now - why Mr. Movie Star is the way he is.

We came back early yesterday morning (we were going to come back Monday, but decided to stay an extra night), and I spent ALL DAY replacing the stuff that was in my wallet.

Dead, dead dead...

There's absolutely no work out there - the current pastime is trying - via our union's email list - to guess when it's going to pick up. The most popular guess seems to be "in a couple of weeks", but that may just be wishful thinking.

In my experience, it's normally dead from June until August (all the TV shows are 'down', and there's just not that much feature film work left in Los Angeles. Most of it's gone to Canada or Australia).

So far, I've managed to drum up just enough work to fuck up my unemployment (of course).

AND - I didn't get my last check for "Material Girls" - I should have gotten it a week ago, and it never showed up. My first thought is always "maybe it got lost in the mail", but that normally doesn't happen. Production usually forgets to issue them, so it's just a matter of calling and telling my boss that I didn't get the check. He'll then call production, and they'll cut a check.

The production office is open long after the movie finishes shooting (I think "Material Girls" wrapped last week) - they stay open until the movie finishes with post production - special effects, sound editing, ADR/Foley, etc..

I'm off to Santa Barbara. I'll be back tomorrow night.