Ordinary Extraordinary

Crawling Out From Under The Rock

I have survived Live Events Season.

Let's run a little tally for the past 8 weeks, shall we?

• Number of shows: 7
• Number of days off: 6
• Average number of hours worked per week: 73
• Hours worked last week: 101
• Average number of people on my crews: 75
• Average number of miles walked per day while on site: 7
• Average number of hours worked in a day while on site: 16
• Number of celebratory drinks consumed at 2am Sunday night: lots

No wonder I slept for nearly 14 hours last night.

On the plus side, I was so busy working that I completely missed most of February - my least favorite month of the year. Bonus!

New content coming as soon as my brain as finished resetting itself.

(Future) President's Day

This Tuesday, February 20th, Barack Obama will hold his first rally in Los Angeles since announcing his candidacy for President.

2:00 PM at the Rancho Cienega Sports Complex - I'll be there; who's with me?

Admission is free and the rally is open to the public, but RSVP to guarantee yourself a spot.

Skeleton Crew

I'm going to let you all in on a little secret: I don't watch a lot of television.

I know, I know, I should probably just turn in my industry card now, but I really don't have the patience for most of the "best" shows on television.

Grey's Anatomy annoys me with its whining and emotional exploitation. Lost frustrates me because its lazy writers just keep leading viewers farther into a mired storyline without providing one resolution or answer. I can't distinguish among the various CSIs and Law & Orders, so generic are their characters and plot lines, and I don't even want to comment on the glut of "reality" television shows monopolizing prime time programming.

There are a few that I enjoy: I'll sit down and watch Heroes, NUMB3RS, or What About Brian? if I happen to be home and flipping channels, but none of them grab me enough to make me remember to tune in weekly.

But Bones? Bones makes me want to get a Tivo so that I never ever miss an episode. From the Fox website:

BONES is a police procedural with humor and heart - a darkly amusing series that probes the humanity behind the scientists who probe the inhumanity behind horrific crimes.

The humanity is what sets Bones apart from from every other police/forensic program in production. Although the show does have a heavily technical element that appeals to my inner geek, Bones is more about a group of compelling characters who happen to work in forensics than it is about the science of their jobs. Having grown up around people who deal with the most horrific and heartbreaking parts of life on a daily basis, I know that they don't exist in a suspended state of professional stoicism. So I appreciate the fact that the characters on Bones have depth and complexity. They bond with their co-workers, they make mistakes, and they crack macabre jokes to cope with unimaginable horrors.

The writing is flawless, the cast has genuine chemistry, and the story arcs keep the viewer engaged without making them feel like they're being strung along (*coughLostcough*). Bones is the rare show that has been well thought-out and is being perfectly executed.

Also, would someone deliver TJ Thyne to my door wrapped in a bow. Please? Good lord but that man is pretty. Damn.

Are you people watching Bones yet? Why not? It is, hands down, the best show on television.

Happy Day!

Kathleen, I thought you'd appreciate this one:

So far I've been greeted with both giglgles & applause at work.

OK fine, just to balance out the snark, how about a story about eternal love? (via Teece)

Glamour

Me, crouched under the side of our production truck
(note the tire behind me) trying to stay out of the rain*.

When I tell people that I work in television, their immediate reaction is usually something along the lines of "Oooh, how glamorous!"

Um, not exactly.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job - it's the perfect combination of my inner geek and my inner stage manager. But as you can see from the photo above,  I'm not exactly gliding down the red carpet in vintage Versace. More like well worn Merrell.

Walkie? Tool Belt? Cuddling up next to a tire to stay warm? Nothing but glamour here, baby!

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*For reference, our trucks look something like this. I was under the expansion, the part to which the stairs lead in that photo.

Open Letters: Asshole Edition

You might say it's been a weekend.

Dear Jackass,

When you attempt to follow me into a secured ATM vestibule by jamming your foot in the door when I open it, please do not be surprised when I ask you to use your own card to gain entry. It's 11pm on a Saturday night, there are no open stores or houses within shouting distance, and I am not an idiot. The proper response to my request is "Oh, sure" not "What are you, some kind of paranoid fucking bitch?"

I hope your mother/sister/wife/girlfriend gets mugged by someone for whom she held open the door.

No Love,
Me

*****

Dear Overgrown Frat Boy,

I'm so glad that you and your cronies have discovered Bootie. I know it seems unbelievable that a club this good should exist so far east of the Sunset strip, but it does. Yes, the music really is awesome. Yes, the drinks really are strong. And yes, I AM a fat girl dancing front and center on stage next to the DJ (and looking damn fine doing it, too).

Try to contain your shock next time, m'kay?

Pointing at me, whispering to the girl hanging on you and then making a big theatrical production of snickering is really not necessary, you juvenile prick. It is only out of respect for Party Ben that I did not walk to the front of the stage and kick your smug, capped teeth right out of your face.

Grow up.

No Love,
Me

P.S. A special note to the blonde bitch who kept jabbing her elbow into my back and staring daggers at me: Yes, three of us did intentionally dance ourselves between you & your friends and Party Ben. He's working and doesn't need your drunk asses grinding up on him or slamming into the table and making his CDs skip. Buy him a drink after the set. Much good may it do you!

*****

Dear Plumber Chauvinist Pig,

When you have been called to my house to clear a blockage on the common sewer line, I expect that you will do a thorough job. (I also expect that you'll talk to me and not to my male neighbor who has been at work all night and doesn't know when his bathroom started backing up nevermind when mine did but let's start with the basics, shall we?) In this case, a thorough job means snaking the sink drain, the shower drain AND the common line. The landlord has called you to my house before, you know that the drains are old and problematic.

So, when I ask you to snake the shower before you pack up your equipment (since I noticed you hadn't done it) please do not tell me that "Everything costs money, sweetheart." When I calmly ask how much this basic preventative service will cost, saying "Twenty dollars, cash" will send up a huge, waving, red flag.

Please don't be surprised when I ask you to add that $20 to the receipt you're handing me to sign and and to provide me with a copy of said receipt. The response to my reasonable request is to do so, NOT to call me a "fucking bitch" and then scream obscenities at me.

No, you may not tell me to "fucking deal" and leave without giving me a receipt. No, you may not scribble a receipt on the back of my grocery list when I just watched you write a receipt that has a carbon copy. No, you may not accuse me of trying to "work outside the system" (wtf?) when I tell you that I am entitled to a receipt.

You tried to con yourself into an extra $20 and got caught. By a girl. Deal.

Shut your fucking mouth and give me a copy of the receipt.

No Love,
Me