Doodlebops

Check this out. I almost worked on this show. Okay, maybe not almost. I had an interview about a year and a half ago for a position I was completely unqualified for. It was just a little CBC kids show then, but has since hit the bigtime (I'm talking Today Show concert, people). And since John Mayer is my sensitive-singer/songwriter crush, I find this quite amusing.

If only I knew how to troubleshoot their website. And had a car. I could have been part of that...

Lost in Africa

I was going to post about the random pop-culture knowledge I've acquired in the past week or so and the continued adventures in eyeglass-purchasing and better-job hunting, but it all seems so trivial now.

My friend Graydon is in Tanzania, starting a ministry at its university's campus. He's an adventurous guy, a Croc Hunter in training really (the accent is his party trick).

He and one of his teammates went missing in the jungle for two days.

Read about it. His story is way cooler than any of mine.

I want to join the flying circus...

I think I have a crush on John Cleese. The highlight of my workday was Cleese, as a drunk director, talking about a movie he was making:

This film is basically pro-humanity and anti-bad things. And it rips aside the hypocritical façade of our society's gin and tonic and leaves a lot of sacred cows rolling around in agony.

That is all. For now.

Time for a Story

It’s Sunday and it’s not raining. And I love walking. Church is over, and I decide to walk home.

This guy starts walking toward me. He yells something out, either, “I like you stay here,” or “I like your straight hair.” Either way, I’m not exactly swept off my feet. I keep walking.

He gets closer. I walk faster. Then he pulls out four shiny watches. Yes, folks. Those “Wanna buy a watch?” people exist, and they’re after me. I guess he was checking out my bare wrists or something.

Since I couldn’t really understand a single thing he said, I just smiled, shook my head and kept walking. All the way home.

That is my story. The end.

TIFF summary

Thanks to the all-weekend partying of the guy in the apartment behind mine, I’m afraid I’m too tired to write a very cohesive summary of the Sleeping Dogs premiere. Hopefully point form will be easier to understand.

• I’m an “assistant art director,” folks, not a production assistant. This is a very big deal. I can ask for more money next time :)
• My big-screen debut has me picking at cheesecake in the background of a restaurant scene.
• The movie was worthy of being proud of.
• My vomit scene was cut (I made the vomit, I didn’t do the vomiting). The vomit residue, however, was there throughout the film.
• I am now the proud owner of a Sleeping Dogs trucker hat and soundtrack. I could get used to this thing called “swag.”
• None of the creepy crew who want to date me made it to the after-party. Which meant that I actually enjoyed myself. Until it rained (I was on the patio).
• I think I’m officially addicted to moviemaking. I have to do it again.

For those in the KW area, it should be premiering at the Princess Cinema in early October. I’ll keep you posted on details.

I'm off to bed. As long as the guy on the other side of the wall doesn't decide to break out the dance tunes with his buddies (like Friday night). Or the guitar serenades for his girlfriend (last night). Sheesh. Why can't we all have no lives and sleep at night?

The Circle of Life

A side note before I begin: My roommate in first year university and I had an ongoing argument about who was better, Elton John or Phil Collins. It all came down to The Lion King vs. Tarzan. Elton John is the right answer.

Second side note: Brad Pitt does not eat in the food court and Jude Law does not shop at Sears. No celeb sightings for me yet.

Back on track.

I bought glasses today. Again. This time, I went to the Bay. They don’t let you return your glasses. I figured that this was better for me. I don’t know if it’s the frustration with work or what, but lately I’ve found myself wound just a little too tight. I over-think, over-plan, second-guess and put far too much importance on inconsequential things. So I bit the bullet and bought a pair. I will wear them. They don’t look weird on me and I don’t look like I’m trying to be too hip or too geeky or too futuristic or too ancient. The frames also happened to be 50% off, allowing me to buy a brand I normally couldn’t afford to even try on. I’m one of those people who tend to be anti-brand, mostly out of budgetary necessity. I did manage to stay away from Gucci and Prada though (if the devil wears it, it probably won’t look good on me).

I was paying for my eyes (the lady put them as a rush order after she learned that I wanted to wear them to a movie premiere) when I heard an all-too-familiar voice next to me. The guy (I was going to call him a man, but I just can’t do it) who sold me my first pair of glasses at Lenscrafters (after walking away from me, insulting my budget and disagreeing with my choices) was applying for a job.

I’m trying to be more thankful. Today I was thankful that I bought glasses before the Bay hired a new salesman.

Quite the Spectacle

Sometimes, you just need a mom.

I went to the eye doctor’s today. I was slightly concerned that she would tell me I was slowly going blind considering I stare at a computer all day. Instead, she said my eyes felt strained at the end of the day because my glasses were too strong! Yes, folks, my magical eyeballs are improving. Very happy news.

Lenscrafters is next doors to the optometrist’s. No coincidence there. The sales people were eager and absolutely not helpful. I decided on a pair I thought were quasi-hip (not quite Lisa Loeb, but certainly worthy of a guitar or paintbrush). The salesperson said they looked great, I paid way too much, and then walked around the mall for an hour as they got them ready.

For some reason, I started to feel very unsettled. As I wandered through stores aimlessly, I could no longer remember what my new glasses looked like. All I could picture was Harry Potter (I was wearing a striped scarf today; that must have been the influence).

Sure enough, when I got back to Lenscrafters, something just wasn’t right. I tried them on and the arms (is that what they’re called?) seemed to jut out from my head. There was a massive gap between the arms and my scalp, as if my head had shrink significantly in the hour I was away. Then I did what every girl buying glasses must do: I put my hair up. The glasses barely hooked around my ears; the arms’ width forced my ears to pull a Will Smith.

The lady fitting me kept encouraging me, reminding me of their 30-day satisfaction guarantee. I was about to take her advice and take them home to try them out, when inspiration hit me. I leaned in toward her, and looked her straight in the eye:

“Do these glasses really fit me? Pretend you’re my mom.”

Asking someone to represent your mother puts a lot of responsibility on their shoulders. She could no longer be a smiley salesperson. She had to be honest.

“Not really. They’re too big.”

Who needs a 30-day guarantee? I returned them immediately and headed home. I still need glasses, but now I’ve decided that I want them to fit me.

Moonlighting, the Movie and Men.

Moonlighting

David: I remember when they told Sylvia Plath, "Hey, Syl, cheer up!" I remember when they told e. e. cummings, "e, baby; use caps!" But did ol' e listen? No. Little n. Little o.

One of the advantages to subtitling for a living is getting an exposure to shows and films I wouldn’t normally see. Of course, this can also be the downside (a tip for you all: Never see Little Man). And while it’s a pain to title because they speak about 30,000 words a second, I’ve become quite the fan of Moonlighting. There’s something about the rapid banter that slays me. Yes, slays me. So when I heard that FOX was promoting a new show of a similar nature, I made a point to watch it. Big mistake.

Standoff is not Moonlighting. There is no banter. There is no wit. There is no overlapping dialogue. There is no Cybill Shepherd. There is no rhyming assistant. And worst of all, there is no URST. The whole chemistry thing is usually do to Unresolved Sexual Tension. If your first episode reveals that partners are sleeping together, the shark is jumped. It’s over. No tension. I don’t care. And did I mention it’s not witty?

Multiple thumbs down.

The Movie

I stood in line for over an hour today. Outside. In partial rain. It was the first day of ticket sales for the Toronto Film Fest and I didn’t want to miss out on the movie I worked on. Not that it’s necessarily going to be the first film to sell out (I mean, come on, Brad Pitt’s coming to TO), but I’d rather be safe. I bought one lonely ticket. I figure that if anyone wants to come, they can pick up their own. I can’t risk the financial loss if my indecisive friends back out.

If you’re coming, let me know. This leads to my next thought…

Men

No, I’m not going to lament the single life in the city. I usually enjoy it. Here’s the issue: There’s going to be a party after the premiere. I’m dateless. This typically wouldn’t be an issue, but considering that the associate producer, sound guy, 1^st AD, and one of the lead actors all asked me out on the shoot, I’m really not looking forward to venturing alone into their company. It’s just so weird. It was clearly a process of elimination for these gentlemen. I was the only non-lesbian under 40 working on the film. I’ve got a female friend from college who’s volunteered to come with me, which is great, but I wish I didn’t have to even worry about such things. There should be some database available of really great guys who are willing to be stand-in boyfriends for nice Christian girls who just want to avoid the advances of slightly creepy men. Is it dishonest to keep looking at my watch, mentioning that I’m waiting for my husband? It’s kind of true…