I haven't been to see The Sweater Queen in a long time.
I've had this horrible cough that's not going away, and I'm hearing reports of it lingering in some co-workers for six weeks. I can't live like that for so long - I sound like I'm in the final stages of some ruinous 19th century disease, and this morning my 'normal' doctor told me there's nothing he can do to make it go away faster, so I went to the Dark Side - of hippie curative tonics, chakras, and discussions about the moon's feelings (or whatever it is hippies discuss. I tend to tune it out).
The Sweater Queen has long fuzzy hair, wears a long fuzzy sweater (no matter what the temperature), a long fuzzy skirt, and has quite a few long fuzzy cats and dogs running around her slightly fuzzy-looking Topanga shack*. She's an odd duck, but boy does she know her shit when it comes to herbal remedies.
She gave me this vile tea to drink - and I mean vile. Bilge water vile. Boiled dirty gym sock vile. Korean acupuncturist vile**.
When I got home and actually made the tea, the smell from the steam was so bad it made the cat run and hide for an hour, but the stuff really works. Minutes after drinking it, the cough hadn't gone away completely, but was noticeably improved. I have to screw up my courage (and hold my nose) in order to drink another cup before I go to bed tonight. I would spike it with vodka (it would still taste bad but then I wouldn't care as much), but The Sweater Queen specifically mentioned no alcohol whatsoever until the cough is gone.
So I'm back at work tomorrow - we're tearing out the Sports Arena rig, and I have to carry a container of this nasty tea with me so I can 'sip it at intervals throughout the day'. Blech.
At least I won't have to worry about someone else drinking it.
*For my non-Los Angeles based readers: Topanga Canyon is what's politely referred to as an "artist's colony" and has been for years. Quite a few of the residents built their own houses - some out of whatever they could find - and despite the real estate boom, there are still quite a few home-built shacks in Topanga Canyon. Hence, "Topanga shack".
**Korean acupuncturists are apparently famous for making patients drink unbelievably nasty-tasting stuff. I learned this from my chiropractor, who, when I was complaining about not wanting to see an acupuncturist like he'd recommended because I didn't want another round of drinking something that came in a packet with no English on it and tasted like radioactive dirt, he said "So don't see any more Koreans." "How did you know he was Korean?" I asked. "That's a trademark of Korean acupuncturists," he said. "I think they think it's funny."
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Nailed!
We had a 6 am call at Culver, which is a good thing - it's before the traffic and I can make it from my place in about half an hour (a 7 am call and it's 45 minutes, an 8 am call and it's an hour. Fucking traffic), but the day I chose to cut it close because I wanted that extra 10 minutes of sleep is the day I got nailed by security - normally, everyone working at Culver parks in an off-site parking area and then walks onto the lot, and most of the time you can just wave at the parking guard and drive on without being stopped. I guess they figure that if you're pulling in at 5:45 am, you're there to work.
Sometimes, though, you get a parking lot guard who demands to see your pass. This means driving over to the main gate of the lot, waiting in line of cars because everyone else tried to sneak it too and got busted so you all had to come over at the same time and are now sitting there waiting like jackasses because if you'd just done this the right way to begin with you'd be at work now and not on the phone frantically trying to call your boss to tell him where you are (whew), then having the main gate guard make 50 phone calls because your name's not on his little list (because the boss didn't call in drive-on passes for the crew, and why should he? We're parking off-lot and don't need them), then being issued a parking pass for the lot you just left, then having to drive past the very smug parking lot guard while waving the hard-won parking pass.
The whole process takes about 20 minutes, so of course I was late.
Once I actually got to work, we spent the whole day pulling out the lights and cable from the perms (nice, happy solid wood 48' perms that don't scare the bejeezus out of me) above the set that's being torn down. They're constructing another set on the same stage, so it was a day filled with paint fumes and worries about whether or not I have enough brain cells left to huff fumes all day without ... wait ... what was I thinking about?
The Madonna dancers in the next stage spent the day rehearsing with their elephant door open, and the disco-ish beat mixed oddly well with the 80's classics coming from our construction crew's boom box.
I'm off tomorrow.
Sometimes, though, you get a parking lot guard who demands to see your pass. This means driving over to the main gate of the lot, waiting in line of cars because everyone else tried to sneak it too and got busted so you all had to come over at the same time and are now sitting there waiting like jackasses because if you'd just done this the right way to begin with you'd be at work now and not on the phone frantically trying to call your boss to tell him where you are (whew), then having the main gate guard make 50 phone calls because your name's not on his little list (because the boss didn't call in drive-on passes for the crew, and why should he? We're parking off-lot and don't need them), then being issued a parking pass for the lot you just left, then having to drive past the very smug parking lot guard while waving the hard-won parking pass.
The whole process takes about 20 minutes, so of course I was late.
Once I actually got to work, we spent the whole day pulling out the lights and cable from the perms (nice, happy solid wood 48' perms that don't scare the bejeezus out of me) above the set that's being torn down. They're constructing another set on the same stage, so it was a day filled with paint fumes and worries about whether or not I have enough brain cells left to huff fumes all day without ... wait ... what was I thinking about?
The Madonna dancers in the next stage spent the day rehearsing with their elephant door open, and the disco-ish beat mixed oddly well with the 80's classics coming from our construction crew's boom box.
I'm off tomorrow.
Monday, April 10, 2006
My big exciting weekend
Working weekends really fucks me up - on Saturday, I kept thinking it was Tuesday, and on Sunday night I kept waking up in a panic thinking it was Thursday and I had forgotten to put out the trash.
Today, I wandered around in a daze, not really knowing what day it was at all, until I saw the Monday chili special at the BBQ place near Culver Studios (and then I went back to being confused as soon as we got back on the lot - must have been the hot shirtless dancers for the Madonna video on the next stage. I know they're gay but they're still nice eye-candy).
The weekend's work was rigging the LA Sports Arena for the DFISM*.
Rigs go in in layers - first the cable and distribution boxes are laid out, connected, "gak"** is added, and once that's all sorted out we hang lighting units, then connect everything together, then fix problems, should they arise.
Laying cable is pure muscle. The technique hasn't changed in 100 years: pick the cable up and put it down, then repeat - first from the trucks that it's delivered in, onto the ground to count it; into a stakebed truck to drive it to the other side of the arena, then onto the ground to sort it again and back into a cable cart to wheel it across the icy arena floor to where it's going to live for the next few days.
Saturday - all 12 hours of it - was laying cable (the LA Sports Arena is very, very large and requires a LOT of cable to get from the generators to the set).
Sunday - yet more cable. For the first half of the day, I got the 'girl job', which was sending coiled cable up to the catwalks via the winch. Not the hand-eating kind of winch, though. We're using a high speed chain motor, which our Local 33 brothers had to operate for us due to some union jurisdiction thing (so basically what I was doing was attaching our cable to the chain and then stepping back while the other guy pushed the 'up' button). The 33 guys were a really cool bunch and it was great hearing stagehand stories for a change (fresh material, you know). At some point, though, all the cable had been sent up and I had to go up high to help the boys run the cable through the catwalks along the roof of the arena (what I really wanted to do was take a nap in the cable cart, but that's not a good thing for my boss to catch me doing).
The permanent catwalks in the Sports Arena are not constructed the way stage perms are - stage perms are made of wood and have a wooden grid underneath them. Not only do they feel solid when you walk on them, the grid gives the illusion of some sort of floor and somehow makes the distance to the ground less intimidating. I'm very rarely nervous or afraid of falling out of a stage perm (the exception being the tall stage at Sony - I think the perms are 70 feet up, and it's scary as hell despite the grid).
The Sports Arena's catwalks, however, are metal (not mesh, either - it's thin metal sheets welded together - they almost look like a wood floor made of metal, if that makes any sense) floored walkways that flex and creak like hell when you walk on them - plus there's no grid so you're looking 80 feet straight down to the deck with nothing to break up the visual of the ant-like co-workers scurrying about below.
Of course, since I have an overactive imagination, the whole time I was up high I kept envisioning that three seconds of free-fall followed by the sudden halt.
After lunch, we had to hang lights on the truss over the ice rink***, and of course they froze the rink before we had to walk on it - the location lady told us she tried to get them to hold off, but they were in a hurry so they wouldn't wait. Oddly enough, the rubber mats we had to walk on (so we didn't fuck up the ice) were more slippery than the ice itself, so we ended up walking on the ice anyways. In case you were wondering, walking on rink ice in work boots will cause it to crack.
Today, some of us were back at Culver to tear out the rig on the main stage - others were left to 'assist' first unit at the arena. I can't even begin to explain how much being on the rigging crew and having to help first unit sucks - so I'll just leave it at my being very, very glad to have been on the tear-out crew (where I'll be for the next few days).
Oh, and the car's problem was the water pump. Three Benjamins later and he's purring like the proverbial kitten.
The cough I can't shake is getting progressively worse - I keep trying to stay home and rest, but I have an aversion to turning down work. My best friend gave me a ride into work today (after I dropped the car off) and spent the entire drive reading me the riot act about not slowing down.
Easy for her to say - she's got a steady job. Me, I have to make enough money to get through the slow periods, plus I'm nervous about the potential SAG/WGA strike next year so I'm attempting to hoard as much cash as possible - even if that means working while I've got a cough.
I'm off to bed - hopefully I won't have any more garbage-can related panics tonight.
*Dumb Fucking Ice Skating Movie
**"Gak" is what we call the little stuff that sits at distro boxes - bates cables to connect lights, extension cords ("stingers"), etc...
***Ice rinks, in their unfrozen state, are smooth concrete, and are prepped by being flooded with about half an inch of funny-smelling (sort of lysol-ish) water, which is sprayed on in layers while it's being frozen via elements in the concrete. Apparently it takes about a day to get the ice ready to skate on.
Today, I wandered around in a daze, not really knowing what day it was at all, until I saw the Monday chili special at the BBQ place near Culver Studios (and then I went back to being confused as soon as we got back on the lot - must have been the hot shirtless dancers for the Madonna video on the next stage. I know they're gay but they're still nice eye-candy).
The weekend's work was rigging the LA Sports Arena for the DFISM*.
Rigs go in in layers - first the cable and distribution boxes are laid out, connected, "gak"** is added, and once that's all sorted out we hang lighting units, then connect everything together, then fix problems, should they arise.
Laying cable is pure muscle. The technique hasn't changed in 100 years: pick the cable up and put it down, then repeat - first from the trucks that it's delivered in, onto the ground to count it; into a stakebed truck to drive it to the other side of the arena, then onto the ground to sort it again and back into a cable cart to wheel it across the icy arena floor to where it's going to live for the next few days.
Saturday - all 12 hours of it - was laying cable (the LA Sports Arena is very, very large and requires a LOT of cable to get from the generators to the set).
Sunday - yet more cable. For the first half of the day, I got the 'girl job', which was sending coiled cable up to the catwalks via the winch. Not the hand-eating kind of winch, though. We're using a high speed chain motor, which our Local 33 brothers had to operate for us due to some union jurisdiction thing (so basically what I was doing was attaching our cable to the chain and then stepping back while the other guy pushed the 'up' button). The 33 guys were a really cool bunch and it was great hearing stagehand stories for a change (fresh material, you know). At some point, though, all the cable had been sent up and I had to go up high to help the boys run the cable through the catwalks along the roof of the arena (what I really wanted to do was take a nap in the cable cart, but that's not a good thing for my boss to catch me doing).
The permanent catwalks in the Sports Arena are not constructed the way stage perms are - stage perms are made of wood and have a wooden grid underneath them. Not only do they feel solid when you walk on them, the grid gives the illusion of some sort of floor and somehow makes the distance to the ground less intimidating. I'm very rarely nervous or afraid of falling out of a stage perm (the exception being the tall stage at Sony - I think the perms are 70 feet up, and it's scary as hell despite the grid).
The Sports Arena's catwalks, however, are metal (not mesh, either - it's thin metal sheets welded together - they almost look like a wood floor made of metal, if that makes any sense) floored walkways that flex and creak like hell when you walk on them - plus there's no grid so you're looking 80 feet straight down to the deck with nothing to break up the visual of the ant-like co-workers scurrying about below.
Of course, since I have an overactive imagination, the whole time I was up high I kept envisioning that three seconds of free-fall followed by the sudden halt.
After lunch, we had to hang lights on the truss over the ice rink***, and of course they froze the rink before we had to walk on it - the location lady told us she tried to get them to hold off, but they were in a hurry so they wouldn't wait. Oddly enough, the rubber mats we had to walk on (so we didn't fuck up the ice) were more slippery than the ice itself, so we ended up walking on the ice anyways. In case you were wondering, walking on rink ice in work boots will cause it to crack.
Today, some of us were back at Culver to tear out the rig on the main stage - others were left to 'assist' first unit at the arena. I can't even begin to explain how much being on the rigging crew and having to help first unit sucks - so I'll just leave it at my being very, very glad to have been on the tear-out crew (where I'll be for the next few days).
Oh, and the car's problem was the water pump. Three Benjamins later and he's purring like the proverbial kitten.
The cough I can't shake is getting progressively worse - I keep trying to stay home and rest, but I have an aversion to turning down work. My best friend gave me a ride into work today (after I dropped the car off) and spent the entire drive reading me the riot act about not slowing down.
Easy for her to say - she's got a steady job. Me, I have to make enough money to get through the slow periods, plus I'm nervous about the potential SAG/WGA strike next year so I'm attempting to hoard as much cash as possible - even if that means working while I've got a cough.
I'm off to bed - hopefully I won't have any more garbage-can related panics tonight.
*Dumb Fucking Ice Skating Movie
**"Gak" is what we call the little stuff that sits at distro boxes - bates cables to connect lights, extension cords ("stingers"), etc...
***Ice rinks, in their unfrozen state, are smooth concrete, and are prepped by being flooded with about half an inch of funny-smelling (sort of lysol-ish) water, which is sprayed on in layers while it's being frozen via elements in the concrete. Apparently it takes about a day to get the ice ready to skate on.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Not again...
The car I've been driving for the past year has just broken down.
On the way home from work*, it started making a rattling noise (which stopped once the engine warmed up, which is why I kept driving even though I spent the entire drive begging the car to make it home), lost oil pressure at idle (the pressure was fine when I pressed the accelerator) and when I got home and opened the hood to have a look, noticed the whole engine compartment was covered in coolant.
Gods, I hope it's just a hose, but I can't do anything about it until Monday, since I'm working all weekend, and my call tomorrow is so early that I'll never get to the garage (I have to be at work at 6:30, and the garage doesn't open until 8).
Luckily, I've got a ride to work tomorrow and Sunday. We're rigging the LA Sports Arena for some movie - I don't even ask what it is anymore. I just want to know what it pays.
*At Culver Studios - there's a rumor around town that it's being torn down to make way for condos, and I'm happy to report that the rumor is 100% false.
The studio was bought by some real estate types, but according to our best boy, they have no desire to tear out 15 or so stages, and undertake a possible hazmat cleanup of the site in order to maybe make a profit in three years if LA's real estate market doesn't crash before then.
They'd much rather do nothing and rent the stages to film crews. Besides, Las Vegas has about half the stages there, so they've certainly got some coin coming in from those guys.
On the way home from work*, it started making a rattling noise (which stopped once the engine warmed up, which is why I kept driving even though I spent the entire drive begging the car to make it home), lost oil pressure at idle (the pressure was fine when I pressed the accelerator) and when I got home and opened the hood to have a look, noticed the whole engine compartment was covered in coolant.
Gods, I hope it's just a hose, but I can't do anything about it until Monday, since I'm working all weekend, and my call tomorrow is so early that I'll never get to the garage (I have to be at work at 6:30, and the garage doesn't open until 8).
Luckily, I've got a ride to work tomorrow and Sunday. We're rigging the LA Sports Arena for some movie - I don't even ask what it is anymore. I just want to know what it pays.
*At Culver Studios - there's a rumor around town that it's being torn down to make way for condos, and I'm happy to report that the rumor is 100% false.
The studio was bought by some real estate types, but according to our best boy, they have no desire to tear out 15 or so stages, and undertake a possible hazmat cleanup of the site in order to maybe make a profit in three years if LA's real estate market doesn't crash before then.
They'd much rather do nothing and rent the stages to film crews. Besides, Las Vegas has about half the stages there, so they've certainly got some coin coming in from those guys.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Day two of the car stunts
I wish I could take a helicopter to work.
Say "spoiled rich actor" all you want, but if I had enough money to pay for a helicopter to get me out of sitting in traffic, I'd do it in a heartbeat - just like our actor today, who showed up for work in a helicopter (turning all of us who sat in traffic for an hour green with envy).
Good for him for having enough money to bypass the Harbor Freeway.
He also had entirely too much fun driving through the stacks of paper in the warehouse (the stacks of paper which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be giant rolls of toilet paper. I had no idea that TP came on ten foot wide rolls and got cut down. You learn something new every day, I guess).
We all had fun too - once we were lit, all we had to do all day was tell jokes and watch the car stunts.
I need more jobs like this one.
Say "spoiled rich actor" all you want, but if I had enough money to pay for a helicopter to get me out of sitting in traffic, I'd do it in a heartbeat - just like our actor today, who showed up for work in a helicopter (turning all of us who sat in traffic for an hour green with envy).
Good for him for having enough money to bypass the Harbor Freeway.
He also had entirely too much fun driving through the stacks of paper in the warehouse (the stacks of paper which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be giant rolls of toilet paper. I had no idea that TP came on ten foot wide rolls and got cut down. You learn something new every day, I guess).
We all had fun too - once we were lit, all we had to do all day was tell jokes and watch the car stunts.
I need more jobs like this one.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Misery, thy name is Harbor Freeway on a rainy day.
Today's (and tomorrow's) mission: some Nickelodeon promo for MI 3 (car drives real fast through warehouse ending in some sort of as-yet-to-be-revealed promotional tie-in featuring some kid who stars in some show on NickTeen, whatever the hell that is), which is shooting in a warehouse on the docks of the LA Harbor in San Pedro.
To get to San Pedro from my house, I have to travel down the Harbor Freeway - one of Los Angeles' more congested roadways. Add today's rain into the equation, and it's the commute from hell (when you move to Los Angeles, the knowledge of how to drive on a wet road is somehow sucked out of your brain).
It took me 40 minutes to get to work, and an hour and a half to get home. I thought if I left right at 5 pm, I'd beat the hopeless snarl of traffic that is LA during rush hour - how wrong I was.
Aside from the traffic, it was a very fun, easy (car stunts mean we light the scene and then sit there, shooting the shit and watching the stunt drivers rehearse everything for hours. Working in a warehouse means no stairs, so we don't have to do anything like picking up a 200 lb light and carrying it up three flights of steps because the elevator's too small to hold any of our gear), and aside from some really fucked up start paperwork*, uneventful day.
More of the same tomorrow.
Random Link:
LA Times Goldfish Cam
These guys have been living in LA River Water for over a month.
I'm really surprised they're still alive.
*The jist of the paperwork is this (I'm paraphrasing since I don't feel like typing the legalese): They're asking us to sign something that basically states that we're agreeing to work in a hazardous situation and we can't sue them EVER if we get hurt because of it.
To get to San Pedro from my house, I have to travel down the Harbor Freeway - one of Los Angeles' more congested roadways. Add today's rain into the equation, and it's the commute from hell (when you move to Los Angeles, the knowledge of how to drive on a wet road is somehow sucked out of your brain).
It took me 40 minutes to get to work, and an hour and a half to get home. I thought if I left right at 5 pm, I'd beat the hopeless snarl of traffic that is LA during rush hour - how wrong I was.
Aside from the traffic, it was a very fun, easy (car stunts mean we light the scene and then sit there, shooting the shit and watching the stunt drivers rehearse everything for hours. Working in a warehouse means no stairs, so we don't have to do anything like picking up a 200 lb light and carrying it up three flights of steps because the elevator's too small to hold any of our gear), and aside from some really fucked up start paperwork*, uneventful day.
More of the same tomorrow.
Random Link:
LA Times Goldfish Cam
These guys have been living in LA River Water for over a month.
I'm really surprised they're still alive.
*The jist of the paperwork is this (I'm paraphrasing since I don't feel like typing the legalese): They're asking us to sign something that basically states that we're agreeing to work in a hazardous situation and we can't sue them EVER if we get hurt because of it.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
It's over!
Of course, I managed to avoid the 'set cough' for almost the entire run of the show - also of course, I started getting a scratchy throat right after lunch yesterday, but I feel better today (I want to meet the woman who invented "Airborne" and give her a HUGE hug).
Our wrap party is tonight, and the producers are asking for voluntary donations for the women's shelter where we shot a good bit of the show.
They (the shelter, not the producers) provide services to women in need of transitional housing, and they're on a really tight budget - the building they're housed in needs repairs (badly), and they were in such need of money that they let a movie crew disrupt their lives (graciously, I might add - I've never met a nicer group of people. Both the residents and staff were friendly and co-operative throughout the entire time we were there, even though it was clearly a massive inconvenience).
In Los Angeles, there are surprisingly few services for women in need of emergency housing, and this one really needs help.
So, should you have some money burning a hole in your pocket and would like to help out your sisters with a tax deductible contribution, please contact the Sunshine Mission in Los Angeles.
Or, mail checks to:
We're downloading the truck on Monday, and then I'm onto something else Tuesday and Wednesday.
Our wrap party is tonight, and the producers are asking for voluntary donations for the women's shelter where we shot a good bit of the show.
They (the shelter, not the producers) provide services to women in need of transitional housing, and they're on a really tight budget - the building they're housed in needs repairs (badly), and they were in such need of money that they let a movie crew disrupt their lives (graciously, I might add - I've never met a nicer group of people. Both the residents and staff were friendly and co-operative throughout the entire time we were there, even though it was clearly a massive inconvenience).
In Los Angeles, there are surprisingly few services for women in need of emergency housing, and this one really needs help.
So, should you have some money burning a hole in your pocket and would like to help out your sisters with a tax deductible contribution, please contact the Sunshine Mission in Los Angeles.
Or, mail checks to:
Sunshine MissionPlease write a check if you can spare it - tell 'em you were with the movie crew.
2600 S. Hoover St.
Los Angeles, Ca
90007
We're downloading the truck on Monday, and then I'm onto something else Tuesday and Wednesday.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Chasing the last bit of sunlight
In Southern California's summer, day exteriors are a leisurely thing.
The sun rises at 5 am, and it's not fully dark until almost 9 pm.
This time of year, however, when it's fully dark by 6:30 pm, day exteriors are a rush - we have to get done before we run out of light.
When the daylight runs out and there's still day exterior stuff on the schedule for the day(this happens all the time), we start having to set up more and more lights in an effort to finish the day while fighting the ever-deepening twilight. The trick is to do the wide shots (where you see the world) while there's still light and then do the close ups after it gets dark - it's easier to fake daylight on a shot where we're only seeing the actor's face and a bit of surrounding area.
No matter how you try to make night look like day on a wide shot, it never, ever works.
Luckily, last night we only ended up with six lights (all big ones - which have to go onto the shelves before we fill the aisle of the truck with carts - but having one's truck "puked" on the last shot of the day seems to happen fairly often. ) off the truck at wrap and got out of there fairly quickly - good thing, too. We almost missed our "hard out"*.
*A "hard out", also called "tail-lights", means that we have to have our trucks pulling out at a certain time - this means that 'camera wrap' must be called an hour or two before hand, so that we can get our trucks loaded in time to make the hard out. In some parts of LA, this time is more flexible than others. Malibu is notorious for having a VERY inflexible hard out time of 10 pm.
It still amazes me how many times a production will shoot past the camera wrap time, get fined or whatever happens to them, and then blame the crew for not wrapping our gear fast enough - particularly if we've told them ahead of time that we have a two hour wrap and they only leave us 45 minutes until the out time.
The sun rises at 5 am, and it's not fully dark until almost 9 pm.
This time of year, however, when it's fully dark by 6:30 pm, day exteriors are a rush - we have to get done before we run out of light.
When the daylight runs out and there's still day exterior stuff on the schedule for the day(this happens all the time), we start having to set up more and more lights in an effort to finish the day while fighting the ever-deepening twilight. The trick is to do the wide shots (where you see the world) while there's still light and then do the close ups after it gets dark - it's easier to fake daylight on a shot where we're only seeing the actor's face and a bit of surrounding area.
No matter how you try to make night look like day on a wide shot, it never, ever works.
Luckily, last night we only ended up with six lights (all big ones - which have to go onto the shelves before we fill the aisle of the truck with carts - but having one's truck "puked" on the last shot of the day seems to happen fairly often. ) off the truck at wrap and got out of there fairly quickly - good thing, too. We almost missed our "hard out"*.
*A "hard out", also called "tail-lights", means that we have to have our trucks pulling out at a certain time - this means that 'camera wrap' must be called an hour or two before hand, so that we can get our trucks loaded in time to make the hard out. In some parts of LA, this time is more flexible than others. Malibu is notorious for having a VERY inflexible hard out time of 10 pm.
It still amazes me how many times a production will shoot past the camera wrap time, get fined or whatever happens to them, and then blame the crew for not wrapping our gear fast enough - particularly if we've told them ahead of time that we have a two hour wrap and they only leave us 45 minutes until the out time.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
So tell me... Do you feel lucky?
Once again today, we were shooting in a small set with only one entrance.
Generally, everyone tries to keep out of the doorway, because no one wants to obstruct someone else from getting in. It's a very complicated dance, but we manage to do it and make it look easy somehow.
Except...
The one guy (I think he was either a producer or a network exec) who would refuse to move and then stare balefully at whomever was trying to get by- as if daring us pathetic drones to challenge his mightiness. He did it to us, grip, the set dressers and even camera (who normally don't get quite as much shit as the rest of us).
So - if you happen to be someone who thinks that refusing to move out of the door into the set we're lighting is some way of reminding us that you're important, remember this:
If - while you're trying to show me how inconsequential I am by not moving out of my way - I accidentally slam into you with a burning hot light or the pointy end of a steel stand, I'll get fired.
My boss will send me home early after telling me that I really fucked up this time and he can't hire me until the next show, and while I'll feel a twinge of guilt about my brothers and sisters working the rest of the day with a short crew, I'll have the afternoon off.
I'll go to the gym, have lunch with a friend, maybe see a movie. Then, when I come home, I'll make a few phone calls and be working on another show the next day. Plus, I'll have a really, really good story.
You, on the other hand, will go to the hospital and will be lucky if you just get stitches.
Really now, who do you think is the winner here?
Generally, everyone tries to keep out of the doorway, because no one wants to obstruct someone else from getting in. It's a very complicated dance, but we manage to do it and make it look easy somehow.
Except...
The one guy (I think he was either a producer or a network exec) who would refuse to move and then stare balefully at whomever was trying to get by- as if daring us pathetic drones to challenge his mightiness. He did it to us, grip, the set dressers and even camera (who normally don't get quite as much shit as the rest of us).
So - if you happen to be someone who thinks that refusing to move out of the door into the set we're lighting is some way of reminding us that you're important, remember this:
If - while you're trying to show me how inconsequential I am by not moving out of my way - I accidentally slam into you with a burning hot light or the pointy end of a steel stand, I'll get fired.
My boss will send me home early after telling me that I really fucked up this time and he can't hire me until the next show, and while I'll feel a twinge of guilt about my brothers and sisters working the rest of the day with a short crew, I'll have the afternoon off.
I'll go to the gym, have lunch with a friend, maybe see a movie. Then, when I come home, I'll make a few phone calls and be working on another show the next day. Plus, I'll have a really, really good story.
You, on the other hand, will go to the hospital and will be lucky if you just get stitches.
Really now, who do you think is the winner here?
Insert-o-rama
Saturday and today I was working on an insert shoot for the last movie. Inserts are those really really close up shots - a pack of cigarettes, the face of an alarm clock, a hand reaching for something, a newspaper headline.
They're usually not shot at the same time as the main movie, and they usually don't use the actors - since all you're seeing is extreme close ups on body parts, a double will do.
The editor's usually there as well, since he or she knows what needs to be shot. They have playback of what's been cut together so far - and the playback is checked constantly, as they have to match the lighting, costumes and props so everything will cut together (although a lot of time the lighting in inserts doesn't match at all and they're counting on the fact that you - the moviegoing public - won't notice).
This time, they have the DP from the movie (running "A" camera. The "B" camera DP wasn't on the movie), the same gaffer, the same electricians and the same grips. This is a very good thing as we usually remember how we lit something - especially if we did something unusual - in Saturday's case, it was a scene in a diner where the gaffer had put a really yellow light outside the window, and the B camera DP wouldn't have been able to match it had we not been there.
Tomorrow I'm back on the TV pilot. It's supposed to rain, so it's a good thing that we're on a stage.
They're usually not shot at the same time as the main movie, and they usually don't use the actors - since all you're seeing is extreme close ups on body parts, a double will do.
The editor's usually there as well, since he or she knows what needs to be shot. They have playback of what's been cut together so far - and the playback is checked constantly, as they have to match the lighting, costumes and props so everything will cut together (although a lot of time the lighting in inserts doesn't match at all and they're counting on the fact that you - the moviegoing public - won't notice).
This time, they have the DP from the movie (running "A" camera. The "B" camera DP wasn't on the movie), the same gaffer, the same electricians and the same grips. This is a very good thing as we usually remember how we lit something - especially if we did something unusual - in Saturday's case, it was a scene in a diner where the gaffer had put a really yellow light outside the window, and the B camera DP wouldn't have been able to match it had we not been there.
Tomorrow I'm back on the TV pilot. It's supposed to rain, so it's a good thing that we're on a stage.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
I have to see that guy more often.
It all started last week - I got that sciatica pain (right at the top of the butt) that normally goes away if I can just get everything to adjust. Normally, all I have to do is swing my hips around and it goes away, but not this time. This time, as the pain continued and I kept swinging my hips around to try and make it stop, more and more things started to hurt - by the end of this week, whenever I moved wrong, one of my hips would make this horrible popping noise which hurt enough to make me yelp like a puppy.
Last night, I called my chiropractor and begged him to see me after I got off work (he'll see me on a Saturday night if I can convince him that it's really an emergency). When I got there, his comment was "Wow - you're really fucked up" and then he proceeded to make it better.
I love my chiropractor. I hadn't realized how bad I'd felt until I felt better.
The problem with working long hours (and having 10 hour turnaround every night) is that it's impossible to get anything done - I come home, go right to sleep, get up and go right to work. So, when I do get a day off, I don't rest - I have to fit a week's worth of life into 12 or so hours - laundry, stuff around the house, grocery shopping, car stuff, etc.. Plus, I feel guilty when I don't work out, so I usually try to go to the gym.
According to the chiropractor, I've been running myself into the ground (not to mention eating too much crap and drinking too much coffee) and am 'toxic' and dehydrated, which has led to some sort of musculoskeletal freakout. When I told him I'd had plans to swim today, he hit the roof. "No swimming, no gym, no bike riding! I want you to rest tomorrow - stay home, stay off your feet."
"I can't stay in bed all day" I protested.
"Well, you should, but try to keep the activity to a minimum tomorrow. You have got to rest."
So, although I didn't work out, I did have to run some errands, so I was on my feet for a few hours. I hope this means I'm not going to hurt like hell for the rest of the week - this morning was the first day this week I've not had any pain, although my feet started to hurt near the end of the day.
Pilot season's almost over, and in a couple of weeks there won't be any work at all, and I can rest like hell then, but I have to work as much as I can while I've got the chance. I just need that smartass spine-mangler (and I say that with love) to get me through the next couple of weeks.
He's also put me on a special diet - no meat, no sugar, limited caffeine, and lots of water. This is going to suck at work. One can only pee so often before it starts to become an issue with one's boss (not to mention the problems finding something edible on the crafty table).
Tomorrow is some additional shooting for the last movie (so it should only be a 12 hour day), and then I'm back on the pilot for the rest of the week.
Last night, I called my chiropractor and begged him to see me after I got off work (he'll see me on a Saturday night if I can convince him that it's really an emergency). When I got there, his comment was "Wow - you're really fucked up" and then he proceeded to make it better.
I love my chiropractor. I hadn't realized how bad I'd felt until I felt better.
The problem with working long hours (and having 10 hour turnaround every night) is that it's impossible to get anything done - I come home, go right to sleep, get up and go right to work. So, when I do get a day off, I don't rest - I have to fit a week's worth of life into 12 or so hours - laundry, stuff around the house, grocery shopping, car stuff, etc.. Plus, I feel guilty when I don't work out, so I usually try to go to the gym.
According to the chiropractor, I've been running myself into the ground (not to mention eating too much crap and drinking too much coffee) and am 'toxic' and dehydrated, which has led to some sort of musculoskeletal freakout. When I told him I'd had plans to swim today, he hit the roof. "No swimming, no gym, no bike riding! I want you to rest tomorrow - stay home, stay off your feet."
"I can't stay in bed all day" I protested.
"Well, you should, but try to keep the activity to a minimum tomorrow. You have got to rest."
So, although I didn't work out, I did have to run some errands, so I was on my feet for a few hours. I hope this means I'm not going to hurt like hell for the rest of the week - this morning was the first day this week I've not had any pain, although my feet started to hurt near the end of the day.
Pilot season's almost over, and in a couple of weeks there won't be any work at all, and I can rest like hell then, but I have to work as much as I can while I've got the chance. I just need that smartass spine-mangler (and I say that with love) to get me through the next couple of weeks.
He's also put me on a special diet - no meat, no sugar, limited caffeine, and lots of water. This is going to suck at work. One can only pee so often before it starts to become an issue with one's boss (not to mention the problems finding something edible on the crafty table).
Tomorrow is some additional shooting for the last movie (so it should only be a 12 hour day), and then I'm back on the pilot for the rest of the week.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Many, many apologies for the three of you who are still reading
My brain is fried.
Monday - call time: 6 am, wrap time: 8 pm
Tuesday - call time: 5:42 am, wrap time: 8:30pm
Wednesday - call time: 6:30 am, wrap time: 10:30 pm
I had today off, and I spent the entire day doing laundry. I'm back to work tomorrow, then I'm doing reshoots for the last movie Saturday, off Sunday, reshoots again on Monday.
I wish I had the energy to type something interesting, but these long days really take it out of me.
Monday - call time: 6 am, wrap time: 8 pm
Tuesday - call time: 5:42 am, wrap time: 8:30pm
Wednesday - call time: 6:30 am, wrap time: 10:30 pm
I had today off, and I spent the entire day doing laundry. I'm back to work tomorrow, then I'm doing reshoots for the last movie Saturday, off Sunday, reshoots again on Monday.
I wish I had the energy to type something interesting, but these long days really take it out of me.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
More turnaround blues
Today's wrap time was 8 pm, and tomorrow's call time is 6 am.
Not only do we have a 6 am call, but we have a night exterior scheduled.
Gonna be a long day.
I'm off to bed.
Not only do we have a 6 am call, but we have a night exterior scheduled.
Gonna be a long day.
I'm off to bed.
Monday, March 20, 2006
The teenage DJ Starbucks
The first question that anyone working on location asks is "Where's the nearest coffee place?"
It's usually a Starbucks, although some of us prefer Peets or the Coffee Bean.
The other night I volunteered to go fetch our boss a latte, since the latte dispenser on the craft service truck was broken, and he was dragging and needed some caffeine.
I don't mind going to get him coffee - he's a great guy and I want to keep him happy, plus while I'm driving I get to sit down, which is a bonus for my sore feet. Also, the real toilets are a nice change from peeing in a portable 'shitter' that 100 people are sharing.
The Starbucks I found was having a DJ night. They had a guy spinning house on the turntables, and the joint was full of the local teenagers, doing whatever it is that teenagers do when they're hopped up on overpriced coffee.
As I was standing at the counter, waiting to shout my order over the din, a kid spotted my walkie talkie (the surveillance headset/walkie contraption is such a pain to take off that I just leave it on) and asked me if I was a cop.
"No," I said. "We're filming in the area."
He brightened noticeably at this. "What movie are you working on?"
Now, sometimes this question is fine. Sometimes I have the time to chat about what I'm doing, what my job is, what the actors are like, how whomever it is can get into the industry, etc..
Sometimes I'm in a hurry or I just don't want to deal with it, and I need a quick 'out'.
On these occasions, there's an answer which will instantly kill the interest of anyone casually inquiring about a film project - when they ask what you're working on, you tell them it's a mayonnaise commercial.
As soon as someone hears the words "mayonnaise commercial" they instantly and completely lose all curiosity about whatever it is I do, whatever else it is I have to say, and the film industry in general.
I don't know why this is. I only know that it's a free pass out of a conversation that I sometimes just don't feel like having.
The other night was one of those times.
I told the kid I was working on a mayonnaise commercial.
"A what?"
"A MAYONNAISE COMMERCIAL", I yelled over the music.
The kid's face fell. "Oh," he said, and turned away, disappointed.
Works every time.
Just do me one favor: if, when you ask them what they're working on, a crew person tells you it's a mayonnaise commercial - please interpret that as a polite way of telling you that they just can't have that particular conversation at that particular moment.
Maybe they're tired, maybe they're busy, maybe they're sweaty and the Gold Bond (tm) just ran out, maybe it's almost lunch or they just got dressed down by their boss.
Just don't take it personally - it really isn't about you.
It's usually a Starbucks, although some of us prefer Peets or the Coffee Bean.
The other night I volunteered to go fetch our boss a latte, since the latte dispenser on the craft service truck was broken, and he was dragging and needed some caffeine.
I don't mind going to get him coffee - he's a great guy and I want to keep him happy, plus while I'm driving I get to sit down, which is a bonus for my sore feet. Also, the real toilets are a nice change from peeing in a portable 'shitter' that 100 people are sharing.
The Starbucks I found was having a DJ night. They had a guy spinning house on the turntables, and the joint was full of the local teenagers, doing whatever it is that teenagers do when they're hopped up on overpriced coffee.
As I was standing at the counter, waiting to shout my order over the din, a kid spotted my walkie talkie (the surveillance headset/walkie contraption is such a pain to take off that I just leave it on) and asked me if I was a cop.
"No," I said. "We're filming in the area."
He brightened noticeably at this. "What movie are you working on?"
Now, sometimes this question is fine. Sometimes I have the time to chat about what I'm doing, what my job is, what the actors are like, how whomever it is can get into the industry, etc..
Sometimes I'm in a hurry or I just don't want to deal with it, and I need a quick 'out'.
On these occasions, there's an answer which will instantly kill the interest of anyone casually inquiring about a film project - when they ask what you're working on, you tell them it's a mayonnaise commercial.
As soon as someone hears the words "mayonnaise commercial" they instantly and completely lose all curiosity about whatever it is I do, whatever else it is I have to say, and the film industry in general.
I don't know why this is. I only know that it's a free pass out of a conversation that I sometimes just don't feel like having.
The other night was one of those times.
I told the kid I was working on a mayonnaise commercial.
"A what?"
"A MAYONNAISE COMMERCIAL", I yelled over the music.
The kid's face fell. "Oh," he said, and turned away, disappointed.
Works every time.
Just do me one favor: if, when you ask them what they're working on, a crew person tells you it's a mayonnaise commercial - please interpret that as a polite way of telling you that they just can't have that particular conversation at that particular moment.
Maybe they're tired, maybe they're busy, maybe they're sweaty and the Gold Bond (tm) just ran out, maybe it's almost lunch or they just got dressed down by their boss.
Just don't take it personally - it really isn't about you.
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