Look up "Cluster Fuck" in the dictionary..

And there should be a photo of Friday night.

Some genius scheduled a night exterior in Hollywood on a Friday night.

Hollywood Blvd near all the nightclubs - complete with loud motorcycles, honking horns (for some reason, people see a movie set and they start honking their car horns like crazy. I still can't figure out why). Add that to the screaming and yelling because we had blocked traffic lanes, and you have quite the din. I can only imagine the sound guy's unhappiness at trying to record dialog in that. He probably went through a whole bottle of antacids.

There was massive confusion about the crew parking - I couldn't figure out where crew parking was, and there were no signs (there are usually signs). There were also THREE different companies shooting within a mile of each other, so I had to make sure I was in the parking for the correct movie. I got into an argument with the parking lot attendant (he claimed to not know there was a crew parking there - even though I recognized the cars of folks I knew, and tried to charge me 15 bucks), and had to phone my boss to sort it out.

Since I had to take a shuttle from the parking to the set, I was late to work. Late to work means no dinner. Damn.

This is a movie ("Material Girls") starring a bunch of Duffs - there's about 12 Duffs involved, and according to the guys, the Duffs are really, really sweet, fun to work with and very nice to the crew.

On every movie set, they have craft service -it's basically a food table that's set out to circumvent osha's meal break laws (if we had to give the crew a break as often as osha mandates, we'd never get any work done - so they have a sort of nosh table available for the crew). The craft service guy on this movie is a man that I worked with years ago - who was notorious for having an unbelievably dirty truck - the medic used to warn folks not to eat the food unless it was sealed. He has a new truck that looks much cleaner now, but I was still afraid to eat anything he might have touched.

I ended up going up after all - the chassis of the nightsun was in a traffic lane, so they put up cones and stationed an off duty cop at the base to protect me from the drunks.. the good thing is I wasn't 'full stick' (as far up in the air as the basket will go), so I was only about five floors up (a survivable fall should a drunk hit the chassis. Yes, this has happened. Not to me, but I've seen cars hit lifts before. It doesn't knock the lift over, but the shock to the base swings the arm really, really hard. Whatever's not tied down will come out of the basket.) - the bad news is that I wasn't full stick so all the engine revving, drunken revelry and occasional profanity (shouted from the window of a moving car, I'm certain) kept me from getting any sleep.

Over the walkie, my boss kept a running commentary of the fights that were breaking out (as the clubs let out) right outside the truck.. it got crazy at 2 am - the streets were full of people walking. It looked like New York for a few minutes.

Oh, and two people got popped for DUI right behind the truck as well.

call time 5 pm
wrap 4:30 am

Went straight from work to Mr. Movie Star's house, where I passed out on the couch for most of the morning (I'm so glad I managed to talk him out of coming by the set.. the teenybopper extras would have torn him limb from limb).

He pouted about my 'ignoring him', despite my efforts to explain my not being able to sleep last night. It would have been cute if I weren't so tired.

Actors.

Damned daytime insomnia.

My attempt to take a nap failed (I'm really sleepy until I lie down, and then I'm wide awake), so I'm just going to have to suck it up.

Call time is 5 pm (4:30 for dinner), and I'll probably not get out of there until 7 or 8 am tomorrow, which will make it over 24 hours for me (I woke up this morning at 7). It's not too bad until about 4 am, and then I hit the wall - I can't drink any more coffee at 4, or I'll be up all day Saturday as well, so those last 3 or 4 hours are the hardest.

The shoot tonight is close to my house, but I have to drive because I have too much crap to haul on foot. It might rain (chance of showers), so I have to bring the rain gear, and if I do go up in the nightsun, I have to bring all my crap for that.

I look like I'm bringing my whole house to work:

• Rain Jacket (two of them - Gore Tex is only waterproof for 6 hours)
• Rain pants (ditto)
• Waterproof shoes (wet feet are the most horrible thing in the world)
• Spare socks
• Sleeping bag (whatever the temperature on the ground is - it's 15 degrees colder 80 feet up in the air)
• Sleeping bag pad. The grips will put furniture pads in the basket, but I don't even want to think about where those things have been.
  
• Since it might rain, I have to bring a waterproof cover for my sleeping bag. The grips can waterproof the basket, but this generally entails wrapping the basket (of the work platform) in heavy plastic, which acts like a sail - the basket sways and jerks in the wind anyway, but it's a hundred times worse when it's wrapped in plastic. I don't like that, so I bring a sleeping bag cover.
• Pitcher with lid (The guys can pee in a bottle, but I can't. You didn't think they'd let me come down to go to the bathroom, did you?) and t.p.
• Trash bag
  
• Haul bag (this is climbing gear - it's used to haul stuff up on a line. I use it for the same thing - If they have to send something up to me - parts for repairs, water, dinner, etc... I'll just drop the bag down. Watching some guy try to tie a line onto a dinner plate is hilarious, but it generally doesn't have good results. No one likes getting hit by chicken cordon bleu and a side of rice pilaf that's been dropped from 70 feet up).
• Something to read. I used to bring a laptop, but one night the wind gave the arm a really good jerk, and the laptop flew off my lap, out of the basket, hit the producer's car and shattered - both the computer and the front windshield of a really expensive Benz. Ooops.
  

This is in addition to my normal bag:

• Toolbelt
• Loose tools that are too big to go on my belt, but which I still need.
• Spare shoes (I have to change shoes at lunch or my feet kill me)
• Hat (it's cold at night)
• Jacket
• Sweatshirt
• Spare socks (I change those at lunch too - works wonders if you get sore feet)
• Heavier jeans (aforementioned cold)
• Tampons (yup, it's that time of month)
• Glasses (my normal ones and spares)
• Headset for my walkie talkie
• Newspaper

Most of the first list will stay in the car if I don't have to go up.

Works every time!

As soon as I file for unemployment, I'll get called for work - usually within 24 hours.

Yesterday, it was eight hours between the time I filed and the time I got the call to work.

Sweet. The only downside is that it's a night shoot (5 pm call), so I'll be up all night, and I am SO not a night person.

Hopefully, I'll get to go up in the Nitesun so I can sleep.

I don't know what show it is yet. I'll know when I walk onto the truck and fill out the start paperwork.

Mr. Movie Star is threatening to come by the set and 'say hello'. I'm doing my best to discourage this - the last time I went out with an actor (this was years ago and the guy was a nobody), it took months for the boys to stop teasing me about it. If Mr. Movie Star waltzes onto a set and starts pawing at me, I'm never, ever going to hear the end of it.

I think this is some sort of milestone.

I actually got Mr. Movie Star to agree to come over to my house (I don't feel like making the trek out to the coast, and quite frankly, it's about time the bastard came over my way).

Mr. Movie Star is one of those tragic folks who won't come east of LaCienega* unless it's 'on a call sheet', and I live in the dreaded 'points east', so this is huge.

Long Story Short:

After getting yelled at by my accountant for an hour or so about my 'spending patterns' (the man who owns the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf is a saint, and I'm putting his children through college), said accountant sent me home to go through my credit card statements in an effort to find more legit deductions and reflect upon the sins I've committed at Barney's.

In the midst of this, Mr. Movie Star called - asking if I wanted to come over tonight (the sex has gotten much better - he admitted to being 'nervous the first time with someone' and he does take direction well), so I told him he'd have to make the trek here as I was buried in paperwork.

I was really expecting him to refuse, but he said he'd come over, meaning that I still had to stop what I was doing, plus I had to clean the house so he wouldn't think I live in complete and utter squalor.

It's all good - he's going to bring dinner and some movies, and I've been promised some fun sympathy for getting yelled at by a satanic CPA and getting wrung out by the IRS - although I seriously doubt that Mr. Movie Star has even balanced his own checkbook in a long, long time.


*For my non Los Angeles readers, La Cienega Blvd is a major north/south street, and it's the unofficial dividing line between the glorious and beautiful "westside" (where the 'beautiful people' live) and the unwashed masses in Hollywood and 'points east'.

Photo page is up!

I got the photo page on Flicker working - here's the url:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/38371584@N00/

There's only a few photos right now (I'm on my way to do my taxes), but I'll add more!

Yup, it's slow...

When it's busy, I don't have to expend any energy to find work - all I have to do is call the union hall, and they'll send me out..

Now, with there being less work around, I'm forced to actively look for work. Normally this means a phone call to someone I think may be hiring - in which I try to sound not desperate.

Everyone's telling me that they're off now, but that they "have something coming up", so we'll see.

It's starting to get hot, too, and I hate working in the summer - everything takes much more effort when it's 90 degrees out, and for some reason, Murphy's Law kicks in and all the work is in the hottest places around (the desert, large parking lots, unairconditioned warehouses, etc...).

Uh oh.

Work has slowed down, finally. It always happens in the summer - this time of year, I'm lucky if I get one day a week. When I called the union to register as being out of work, our call steward said "you and everyone else all of a sudden". So, I'm stuck having to do all those things that I normally don't have time for: taxes, cleaning the closets, any redecorating (I have a painting in my living room that's been there for years - it's recently started to bother me, and I've decided it must go), and really getting those hard-to-reach dust bunnies out from under the back of the couch.

This also means that I have more time to spend with Mr. Movie Star, who's been kind of sulking at my being too busy for him (you think he'd understand, but apparently not).

I went over there last night (to make up for my being in Vegas Monday night), and he was really happy that we got together, but..

I don't even know if I should type this.

The sex was bad.

I don't mean bad like "you freak" bad, it was just lame. He was sort of doing his thing, and not really paying attention to me at all.

I feel like.. I don't know what I feel like. I just sort of lay there for the rest of the night thinking "Why?"

I cut out of there really early and came home. As soon as it gets late enough to call a girlfriend, I have to bounce this (no pun intended) off someone.

Viva Las Vegas!

I've just gotten back from an impromptu trip to Vegas with The Blonde for her 'friend's' (nudge nudge, wink wink) birthday. He said we could crash in his hotel suite, but it turned out that there were about 5 other guys there, and a couple of bimbos that he'd picked up somewhere on the strip..

Eeew.

We ended up getting our own room (in "New York" - complete with screaming baby next door), blowing off his birthday party and just hanging out the next day before we drove back. We went to the shark reef in Mandalay Bay, snuck into the hotel's pool (Mandalay Bay has a terrific pool) and stayed there until it closed (the pool, not the hotel). We had dinner, saw the lions at the MGM Grand, and then headed home Tuesday night.

Due to homegirl driving like a bat out of hell, we got back in about three hours - we left Vegas at a little before 9pm, and I walked into my house at midnight.

Still no internet. Damn you, SBC!

Once again I'm posting from an internet cafe, drinking weak coffee and listening to bad rap while I type (There is good rap. They just don't play it here).

Friday night was fun - James Beach was packed! It's a nice room, although I wasn't really impressed with the food. It was the birthday party of one of the actresses in the short film - as soon as her friends found out that I'd directed, they started buying me drinks - not a bad thing, but I had to do some driving. Nice bunch of folks, and I had a great time!

Went from there up to Mr. Movie Star's house, where I....

Fell asleep on the couch in front of the big, romantic fire - hey, I'd been up since 4:30 am, and even I can only chug so much coffee in a 24 hour period. I'm okay as long as I'm moving, but when I sit down... zzzzzz. I'm sure the alcohol didn't help either.

I feel really bad, as he'd clearly gone to some lengths to create some sort of mood.

I woke up Saturday morning, to a note saying that Mr. Movie Star had to go to a 'photo thing', and would be gone all day, but would call me later that night.

I poked around, jumped in the pool, ran on the beach (damn, I forgot how running on sand works your legs. I can barely walk today, and I have to keep telling people that no, that's not the reason), showered and came back home.

What's really surprising is that Mr. Movie Star actually did call me later that night. He was busy last night, I'm busy tonight (party at The Blonde's - we're looking at the rough cut of the short, so everyone's coming over), so we're going to try to hook up Monday night.

I'm not working Monday, and I'm going to try to get into the doctors so he can look at the foot.

Ah, Friday.

I'm posting this from an internet cafe, as whatever company Pacific Bell became has decided that DSL lines don't really need maintenance on the weekends, after all - I probably won't have access until Monday, or that's what the customer service rep said.

I'm used to having one of those fancy ergonomic keyboards, and I can feel the standard PC keyboard here giving me carpal tunnel as I type this, so I'll keep it short.

Today was my last day on "Emily's" - they finished shooting last night, and we just came in to wrap the lights and do the returns. The first unit boys showed up for a few hours and wrapped their personal stuff, and then split, leaving us to organize a ton of equipment that had just been thrown everywhere.

That's more of a problem than it sounds like - aside from the obvious cable tangle (also known as 'spaghetti'), lights have more than one part (some have more parts than others - I'll explain later when I can type without munching my wrists), and if the parts aren't all kept together in some semblance of order, things get lost and then I have to spend an hour looking for one tiny little thing that's missing. Usually it's not a big deal, but we've had the set guys pulling out all the furniture as well, so we spent the entire day tripping over one another.

I usually wear work boots (I step on a nail about once a year, not to mention dropping heavy things that sometimes land on my feet), but because of the toe I've had to wear tennis shoes this week. They're more comfortable, but offer much less protection. Luckily, I haven't stepped on a nail, but I've definitely stubbed my toes a bit, and I've dropped a few things on my feet as well.

I'll be happy when I can get back into my work boots, and I never thought I'd say that!

Tonight, I'm meeting some friends for a birthday celebration at a bar in Venice (James Beach - it was terribly trendy about two years ago), and then I'm going up to Mr. Movie Star's house to 'hang out'.

I think "hang out" is a euphemism for "have sex", and it's past the third date, so I shaved my legs just in case.

The dangers of thinking, and the consequences thereof.

Call today was 8 am (1+ hour in traffic to Sony), and we had a stage move (moving from one stage to the other) right at our call time. First Unit set lighting came in on a 'pre-call'(you get a pre call when you've got to do something that will take extra time before shooing - like moving from one stage to another) at 9:30, and the rest of first unit came in at 10:30 am.

We got there, saw the list of stuff we were to take over to 26 (Joan of Arcadia's Stage), and started moving..

Looking at the call sheet - we thought that there was about three hours work on 26. Since this director is slooooow, we figured that meant about six - seven hours (which puts the move back to 22 at about lunch), so we decided that the day would go like this:

Move first unit to 26.
Come back over to our stage (22)
Strike the office set that first unit 'shot out' (completed) last night
Do some returns.
Go to lunch.
Come back as they're finishing up - just about the last few shots, and start loading whatever they're not going to use into the stakebed to move.
Go back as they've wrapped and complete the move to 22.
Get them started and go home.

Sounds like a plan, right?

We started sending one of the guys over about 1 pm to check and see how much they had to do - Rob, the rigging key grip, said he thought they'd move about 3pm. The gaffer said maybe 4. The A.D. said he had no idea and to stop bothering him.
We decided to go to lunch early (at 1:30), just in case - that way, in theory, we'd be ready to go when they did move.

Boy, am I glad we went early - when we got back at 2:30, they'd just moved, and the gaffer was screaming at us because he couldn't find us or Clive (the rigging gaffer - he's a Jamaican guy, and he's terrific to work for - he also finds stuff to do off stage because he can't stand first unit's panic and chaos. This isn't normally a problem - it's actually nice to not be micromanaged - except when the shit hits the fan and we can't find him). We explained to the now purple in the face gaffer that were were on our scheduled lunch break (six hours after call time), and we had no idea that they'd called the move, as none of us have walkies. What we didn't mention was the repeated trying and failing to get an accurate time estimate for the move. When someone's that worked up, you can't really reason with them.

The gaffer, in a moment of panic, had called Clive on the phone to yell at him for not being there at the exact moment when they called the move, and said that we'd not done something they'd asked for, which wasn't true - Clive ended up having to get in his car and head back over to the lot where he caught up with us on 26 and we explained to him what had happened (Clive's hilarious when he gets upset - he stomped out of stage 26 saying "I'm gonna go over there and tell him to fuck off, mon").

Turns out the gaffer was just panicking, as we'd gotten them as ready as we could (given that once again, we had no notes about what they wanted), and all we had to do was bring back the big lamps for them. Once we did that, we loaded our stakebed got everything back to 22 and finished up.


We got finished halfway through first unit's lunchtime, and decided that discretion is the better part of valor, so we split.

6 am call tomorrow - I think it's going to be the last day.

A visit to Joan

Six am call at Sony - Still on the same show (my boss told me I'm on through Friday, which is good. I like the shorter days - although there's not as much overtime, it's nice for now to have a life after work.

Tomorrow the shooting crew are using "Joan Of Arcadia"'s sets (we're shooting in what looks like a science classroom - I've never seen "Joan", so I have no idea what the name of the set is), so we had to go over there and get that ready.

The problem with walking on to someone else's stage is that you don't know where anything is - we had to turn on some overhead flourescents, and we had to actually go find the show's best boy (who was called in during his hiatus for this) so he could tell us how they were powered (from the greenbeds, and they came on when the stage power got turned on).

Plus, it kind of feels like snooping in someone else's house. When you come in on a working crew, someone shows you around first thing in the morning so you can find stuff.. there's no crew, it's just the empty sets.

The plaster work on "Joan's" sets is cracking and falling off the walls - I'm sure it cracks all the time (I guess plaster doesn't like heat from lights), but there's usually a crew to repair it - since the show's 'down', there's no one there, so there are piles of fallen plaster all over the place - when we left, there were two P.A.s sweeping it all up.

I hope it doesn't fall tomorrow while we're shooting and hit someone on the head.

Yay! Maybe.

Just got the lab reports back, and the good news is that I don't have Rheumatoid Arthritis or Gout (although the latter would have been a good opportunity to practice my Bobby Hill impression).

The bad news is that the Sony affiliated doctor has no idea what's wrong with my toe, so I'm to go in for more tests, whenever I can make the time to get to my doctor.

Mr. Movie Star has taken to asking if my foot's fallen off yet - every time he talks to me. It's getting less funny every time he says it.

Can you tell this is a sore spot with me?

There's a post on LAist today about someone who's had a film crew in her neighborhood and is unhappy about it:

http://www.laist.com/archives/2005/04/18/heights_of_resentment.php

Having a production in your neighborhood can be horrible, I'll agree.

What I do not agree with is blaming the crews for this. This person's post (and one of the comments) talks about how arrogant the crews are and how we're all assholes for not being mindful of the neighborhood, take up all the parking, and behave like shitheads in general. (I'm paraphrasing, of course).

This is not my fault.

I get a call to come and work. I say yes, because I have to pay my bills. I show up at work, fill out my paperwork and do what I'm told to do until it's time to go home. I have absolutely nothing to do with when we're shooting where, how late we're shooting, how much parking we're taking up, whether or not we block the street, or how many lights are aimed where.

I've been screamed at, called names, threatened and shot at, all because neighbors were pissed off that the producers and the location manager chose to shoot in that area at that time.

Granted, having a movie shoot in your neighborhood can be annoying, and I've cursed production companies more than once for complicating my drive home at 4 am, but screaming at me (or any other crew member), and blaming the chaos on me (in person or via the internet) does no good. I can't change anything.

Anyways, I got wound up enough about it that I posted my own rant in the comments section.


No work today - they're not 'carrying' a rigging crew (which means we're there all the time), but only calling us in when we're needed - but we're back tomorrow - I've got a 6 am call, which is fairly civilized after Monday's O-dark-thirty adventure..

The non daily show, and here's why

I actually do post just about every day, I just don't publish every day..

When I get home from work, I'm totally wrecked and can't think, so I write these Rosie O Donnellish haikus and then collapse into bed.
Because I'm vain and if I'm going to publish a blog, it may as well be halfway coherent, so I'll go back later and prose it up, so to speak.

So, this entry was written Monday evening as I was crushed from fatigue, and then rewritten today (Tuesday).

Here's both versions - first, the haiku thing:

4 am call
late because looking for coffee
stage locked
got sucked in with shooting crew
toe still hurts. labs not back.
equipment returns all day
stuck in traffic

I think that may actually be more incoherent than Rosie's blog.

Here's the prose version, written after I was feeling human again:

Back on "Emily's Reasons Why Not" (thanks, EcamirG for the mental prod).

Today was a 4 am call - Of course I couldn't get to sleep Sunday night before 11, and I had to get up at 3 am. I'm not even sure that counts as sleep.
It being a pre-boutique coffee shop hour, I had to drink 7-11 coffee, and was late to work because I had to drive around and look for a 7-11.

It didn't matter that I was late, though - the stage was locked when we got there, and it took about 15 minutes to find someone on the lot who could open the stage (Studio Operations needs to sleep too, I guess).

After we got inside, we 'struck' (took all the lights out) the bedroom set and did some other busy work, because of course, we weren't given any notes on how they wanted today's set lit - but I found out that the lack of notes is because the D.P. (Director of Photography) can't light until he sees the frame on the monitor. That explains the cluster fuck that is first unit on this show - of course we all got sucked into lighting the set with first unit (except for my boss who conveniently 'had to go to the perms to count stuff' just as soon as they showed up).

Most riggers hate working first unit. I don't mind being 'show boy', but I have to be mentally prepared. When I'm told it's a rigging call, I expect a more relaxed pace, so I'm not ready for the 14 hour hustle that is first unit.

Anyways, we had to hang a bunch of lights while the A.D.'s (Assistant Directors - they do all the dirty work so the Director just has to worry about actually directing) kept asking every 5 minutes how long it would be until we were finished. Hanging lights takes a bit of time - they have to be hung from the grid (which in a dressed set means using ladders as you can't get lifts in around the furniture), powered, and aimed. Having an A.D. stop you every five minutes to ask you how much longer just makes things go slower.

When first unit finally got up and running, we had to start returning equipment - which involved trying to sneak stuff out of the stage between takes so the dock boys could do the check ins (and take the stuff away) outside where we could make noise - at Sony, the lamp dock comes to your stage and counts the stuff there, which is nice - makes things go faster.

My toe still hurts, and of course I dropped a 'chicken coop'* on my foot as we were loading them into the tuggers to go back to the dock. I still have no idea what's wrong with the toe, as the labs haven't come back yet.

Returns took up the bulk of the day's work - we had to hang some more lights when first unit went to lunch, but once that was done we were out of there - just in time to hit traffic on the way home, of course.

I think the prose version is considerably less pathetic.

* chicken coop: An overhead suspended light box that provides general downward ambient or fill light (definition courtesy of "The Set Lighting Technician's Handbook"). Also called a 'coop'. They look like this: