Alone again

Literally five minutes after that last post, I was walking out the door to go home when Steven, the other intern, showed up. Eventually, the nice producer ladies I'm actually working for showed up too and I got to do some actual work. I did even more actual work today, and though I mess up half the time I'm getting better and I almost don't have to ask everyone to repeat their name five hundred times because everyone here talks so fast. I thought I talked fast. I'm the fast-talker in the family. I'll go on and on and on and my mom will go, "What the fuck did you just say?" But I'm in the big leagues now. Soon I'll be like that guy at the end of medication commercials who tells you this product may cause spontaneous gender reassignment.

After work yesterday I drove out to the place I'll be subletting starting this weekend. I forget if I've told you this, but it's actually someone's living room. These people just wanted to bring their rent down a little so they decided to let someone live in their living room for a small price, which is actually not that small but it's smaller than anything else I could find. Almost. I sealed this deal before even taking a look at the place, and I'll admit I was a little worried. Who places an ad to sublet their living room? More importantly, who the hell answers that ad? Well, you're looking at him. (Or at the very least his blog.)

I figured if the place was good, it would be one of those stories you tell about your poverty leading to quirky and unique making do. If the place wasn't so good, it would be one of those horror stories you tell about what you went through before you became rich and famous off your stripper-nun screenplay. Either way, I'm the one telling the story, so why don't you just shut up and listen to me.

Well, the living room was fine. Perhaps slightly better than fine, because it was 10 minutes away from work instead of an hour and a half. Ye Olde Living Room isn't sectioned off in any way, but maybe I'll put up a curtain or something. Or make my flatmates witness me in various states of undress, and wait for them to put up a curtain for me. No, they were very cool. I talked to one of them on the phone, and met Jonathan, the other one, when I came to take a look at the place. It looks like this living situation is going to be a winner, at least until I find a more permanent place.

Looks like it's closing time. The producer ladies I work for left hours ago. I'm waiting for someone to deliver a script but they should have been here ages ago and I don't want to get caught in traffic. What to do!

All dressed up and nothing to do

I'm not really all dressed up -- it would be more accurate just to say that I'm dressed. But I may as well not be, because I'm sitting here at the office all by myself. In fact, excuse me one moment while I get naked.

Today is supposed to be the first "real" day of my internship at Abandon Pictures. I woke up at 7 AM, left the house by 8:15 AM, got here at 9:30 (hooray for LA traffic, not) and had to use the key they made me last time to get inside. That was 45 minutes ago. When I was in university classes, the unofficial rule was if the professor didn't show up after 15 minutes, we were free to go. But this isn't university! This is my internship! What are the rules now?

As you have probably gathered, I'm back in LA now. My couple of weeks in Seattle were a lot of fun, especially because Luke's brother got married and his whole family was in town and I love them to pieces. I don't know if they still love me to pieces, because when I was showing them pictures from my year abroad, I obviously did a poor job sorting out the objectionable material because they have now seen me squatting over a jellyfish and making an o-face. Whatever, we've all done it!

I also got to see a lot of friends I was too culture-shocky to call last time, although sadly for most of them our hello was forced to double as goodbye. Getting older is weird. The people you love spread out all over the place and you never know when you'll see them again.

I know when I'll see some people again, because I'm already planning another trip to Seattle for Laura's birthday and the annual slut festival that is Club Fergie. Yes, the Fergie Committee has decided that last year's basement bash in honor of the whitest member of the Black Eyed Peas will henceforth be an annual event.

"This year, the theme is 'trash,'" I announced.

"Because last year's theme was 'class'?" Katie said.

"Fine, just wear something that shows your butt cheeks and we'll call it a day."

I also had a good time spending some time at home because my Filipino grandparents are staying there. I love them to pieces, too. And they got to meet Luke! They're pretty old, but my grandma especially is still sharp enough for me to see where my mom got her weird sense of humor. I wish I could give you an example of that but most of my mind is now occupied wondering where the fuck everyone is.

Maybe this is some sort of initiation ritual they have here at Abandon Pictures. The new intern arrives at an empty office and while he's sitting there wondering where everyone is they unleash a pack of wolves on him. If he successfully defends himself, he gets to stay! Most people don't live through this test so it is very hard to get interns around here.

Then again, the lack of wolves chewing open my throat suggests that perhaps something else is going on.

I'm about ready to give up and go home. It's been two hours. If there ain't wolves by now, there ain't no wolves.

Guess I'll put my clothes on now.

Good news for someone who expects bad news

I got an email a few days ago that pissed me off so much I wanted to drop my university education for good without ever finishing up my degree.

It was from the International Programs & Exchanges office. It said, "Your transcript has arrived from overseas and you are now ready to begin the credit conversion process. You will visit the appropriate academic advisor for their review of the courses and awarding of UW credit." This was pretty alarming because I'll be in LA for two months starting on Wednesday and frankly I don't have time to do these people's job for them. I was told about a "credit conversion specialist" being brought in to take care of all this, and I was told to sit tight until The Process was completed. And I've been stressing out of my mind trying to make plans around its mysterious outcome. Now I have to make appointments with all these departmental advisors and wait to see how many credits they think I deserve?

And there is still this question looming over it all: IS MY DEGREE FINISHED OR NOT?

Today I dragged myself, and an enormous binder containing all my coursework from Aberdeen, all the way to Seattle to begin this tedious process. I picked up my "Guide to Returning From Studying Abroad" and a form to bring around to all these departments so they could authorize the credit conversion suggested by this "credit conversion specialist." (I don't know if you can tell, but I am far from sold on the validity of this profession.)

I was bitter. We're talking about walk-in after walk-in during summer office hours on the only day possible I could get this done before moving to LA. If I didn't get all these signatures today, they would have to wait at least a month and I needed answers months ago.

To make a long story short, you know what? It pretty much worked out. In fact, it more than worked out. I'M FINISHED. My degree will be in the mail in a matter of months. I will be a university graduate.

More importantly, my trip to down to LA the day after tomorrow has suddenly taken on a lot more importance than I had originally planned. This is THE MOVE. Suddenly, I'm not staying in LA until I go back to university in the fall. I'm staying in LA. Suddenly, there is nothing to "until." There are no stable landmarks in my future to tell me where I'll be a year from now, or five years from now. It's just my life, and I can do whatever I want with it.

I didn't think it would feel so great to graduate considering how little I actually challenged myself academically. But it sure feels good to finish something I worked on for four years. And while I'm so nervous about what's going to come with all the freedom it brings me, I'm not particularly scared because I feel as on top of things as I'm going to get at this point.

So...HOLY SHIT!

Car none

It's official: the Rav is totalled. It's kind of sad, but in the same way it would be sad to give the man who burgled your house up for adoption: we've been through a lot, but all it ever brought was trouble. It's best for everyone involved that we part ways.

The bad news is I don't have a car anymore. The good news is it doesn't really matter because I'm heading back to LA next week and get to use Luke's car. I told you he has two cars and I get to use one. Well, since I've been informed that I can withhold sex until the cows come home (and probably longer since I don't give it up for livestock) and Luke won't give me his automatic, I have a handful of days to learn how to drive a standard.

Let me tell you what happened the first time I tried to drive standard. It was almost three years ago. Luke and I were living together on Capitol Hill. I'm sure I asked him to drive me somewhere stupid, so he decided I needed to learn how to drive his car so if the situation arose again he could just lock himself in the bathroom until I went away.

We got, like, five blocks away from the apartment before I was somewhere between screaming and crying. The car was jerking all over the place, stalling in front of people who honked at me as they whipped around to pass me. Stupid people with automatics, I thought. They don't understand how hard life is. In retrospect, I'm sure lots of them were driving standard and simply didn't suck the balls at it like I did.

I drove through a clothesline. Eventually I got out of the car and walked home fuming while Luke drove the car back to the apartment.

I've been getting a lot of visitors in the past few days since I'm leaving town next week. Greg came over on Monday and I was like, "Hey! [Incredibly fun activity] sounds stupid. Want to teach me how to drive?" He was a very good teacher. He told me the hardest part of driving standard was getting the car started, and once you're in the other gears it's no sweat moving around.

I never made it to the other gears that day. I stayed within the confines of my neighborhood, leaving black tire marks everywhere as the car violently jerked to life over and over. Every time I got the car started and moving, I would start screaming with elation ("OH MY GODDDDDDDDDD I'M DRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVING!") which would usually lead to stalling again. Poor Greg. I bought him a milkshake for his troubles. But not one from Kelis, because then it would be made of sperm.

A few days later Grainne came over and I got to drive her car. This time I made it out of my neighborhood and into the next one down. We practiced starting the car on a hill and shifting smoothly into second and then third. My mind was entirely on the task at hand and it didn't occur to me until later that I was motoring through residential areas at like 40 mph. Still screaming ("I JUST SHIFTED INTO THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRD!").

Finally, today I drove my friend Lisa's car and I rocked I rocked the shit. I drove us all over town without killing us once. I only stalled three times, and two of those times were pretty much in the same spot so I believe they count as one. I got us to lunch, the post office, and back to my house. I find myself getting all cocky, like it makes me better than everyone else on the road (and, let's face it, in my life) that I have this amazingly unique and complicated skill. Someday I will realize that I am in fact the last horse to cross this finish line and I have never met anyone who didn't learn how to drive standard when they were 16.

But for now, know this: I rock. And if you hear me coming up behind you on the freeway (it will sound like this: "I'M DRIVING ON THE FREEWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"), get the hell out of my way.

FINISHED!

I am officially done writing Sisters By Habit. It was written, revised, and tweaked. The page count has been brought down from an epic 145 to a more manageable 104 by cutting out several subplots and upping the funny in the ones remaining. The formatting is flawless and I am a rock star. Now I can sit back and watch as nobody on planet Earth comes within 100 miles of producing it.

Now I can finally start working on the sequel I've been planning!

My mom should go to LA

I get a lot of personality traits from my mom. There are times when it seems like we're the same person, especially in the way we think of things or react to them. Because of this, when we fight, we fight hard. But when we're on the same wavelength, which is most of the time, the rest of the family has no idea what we're on about.

Another thing I've gotten from my mom is the compulsion to invent elaborate backstories for complete strangers or people who don't even exist. While we were staying in Stockholm, we heard people arguing loudly in the hotel room next door. My mom named them Chona, Alberto, and Beatreese and told me all about their love triangle and how it related to some bounced paychecks and a block of cheese.

While I was high in Amsterdam, I couldn't stop staring at this woman standing across the canal waiting for the canal bus. She was wearing a purple scarf, and was waiting for what seemed like hours. I explained to Jen and Laura that this woman had stolen the purple scarf and was trying to get out of town before the authorities could get their hands on her, but she couldn't afford a taxi or a getaway car, so she had to take the canal bus. "This isn't the first time she's done this, either," I said. "Does it look like she paid for that handbag?"

So the other day, I'm on the deck with David and my mom. David suddenly points and says in a horrified voice, "Ugghhh, there it is!" I look over and see a large crow landing in a nearby tree. When I politely ask what the fuck, David says to my mom, "Tell him about Kate and Gideon!"

My mom says, "Kate and Gideon are the scientists who discovered the crow with human lips." (Never mind that this is the first I've have heard of any crow with human lips, but whatever.) "Kate was analyzing results on the computer when she looks up and sees the crow with human lips standing in the window staring at her. She is so surprised that she drops her coffee mug, which shatters on the floor" (very cinematic, mom!) "and calls Gideon over. It stares at Kate and Gideon, puckering its lips at them sensuously for several minutes, and suddenly-- oh, and Kate's last name is Sanchez, because she's Mexican. She was born in America, but her parents moved here from Mexico. They don't get along."

There was more. I didn't know what to say, other than, "Of course." Somehow, it all made sense to me. Besides, it's not like most Hollywood movies and their characters' motivations wouldn't sound just as outlandish if you tried to explain them. I'm revising Sisters By Habit at the moment, and embracing plot and character developments which are both wildly illogical and blatantly plot-serving. I don't know if I would know how to tell a story any other way, but luckily this method is proving to be a comedy goldmine. Just like my mom.

Hit and run

My brother was the victim of a hit and run today, as he was on his way to pick me up to the airport. He is fine, but our car is a bit sad-looking. It deserves to be sad. This car is a shit magnet. Not just literally, although that is true too, which is kind of weird.

There was the time I smashed in the door running into a parked car. Or the $150 speeding ticket I got. Those things are clearly the car's fault. There was the time we parked the car in Seattle and came back to find one of the windows smashed in. There was the time it broke down on the freeway while Marianne and I were road-tripping up to Vancouver, and it cost $200 to have it towed back to my house. There were mystery malfunctions, like the failing brakes, and the fucked-up steering wheel that vibrated like a washing machine with an unbalanced load. And now there is this.

Here's what happened: David was on the 405, heading to the airport to pick me up. Traffic was backed up, and a few moments after coming to a complete stop, a woman he described as having "one of those white lady afros" crashed her very, very large SUV into the back of the Rav4, smashing in the back fender and blowing out the rear window. Apparently, she pulled up next to David, looked at him strangely, and sped away in the swiftly-moving carpool lane.

So, here's why this is funny.

David is not always the most on top of things, particularly when it comes to driving. I love him, but I've seen the boy forget to start the car before trying to drive it. David and I also share a severe ineptitude for the estimation of transportation times. So when I asked him if he would pick me up from the airport, I told him, "Try and calculate how long it's going to take you the get there ahead of time. Then add half an hour." Then we laughed, but I'm not sure why.

The point is, he was TOTALLY going to be on time picking me up when he got hit by that lady in the truck. He was on top of things! And he got hit by a car for it!

Now, here's why this weird.

I was not supposed to come home today. I was 100% convinced I had bought my ticket home for Friday, but I got an email from David at 2:30 AM last night asking me why I didn't wait for Friday when he wouldn't have to leave work to come get me. Now, if I hadn't read that email, I would have slept in this morning and went to the airport on Friday to find I didn't have a flight home. And there was no reason for me to be checking my email that late, because I got up early that morning to meet pamie for coffee and I'd been crashing all evening. But I stayed awake a few extra hours for some reason or another, and solely thanks to that, I was able to get on that airplane to Seattle.

If David had been anywhere but in that exact time and place, he would not have gotten hit by that truck, he would not have had to pay for it to be towed a million miles back to our house (my dad mentioned to him that the gas tank was in the rear and might have been damaged, so we didn't want him to blow himself up trying to drive it). And every single thing that led him to that exact time and place was out of the ordinary.

Maybe I've been watching too much Lost, but it all seems mighty spooky at the moment.

I would also like to point out that NOBODY stopped to help David after the hit and run, and he insists none of the cars were going more than 20 mph. They totally saw what happened and nobody pulled over to ask if he was okay. And this is Seattle, where people are supposed to be friendly and helpful like that. Also, he called the police to report the accident and they put him on hold until he hung up. Poor David was stranded at an abandoned Park & Ride with a cell phone whose batteries died just after he got there.

At that moment, I imagine he felt like he had a lot in common with those poor bastards on Craphole Island (tm TWoP).

Interning

Here I am, sitting at my desk on the first day of my first internship in The Film Industry. Or my first internship ever. I find it is a lot like work, but without the work. Summer was a good time to decide to start weaseling my way into this town.

Let me catch you up a bit. I haven't posted much in the last week because I've spent most of it on my ass in Luke's apartment. My daily walks were becoming a bit repetitive, as I was staying within the same two-mile radius every time. In a city this big, the good stuff is farther apart. So I was getting bored. But not bored enough to put much effort into finding a job. I would lie on the couch thinking, If I really wanted to, I could write something brilliant and become an overnight success. I'm just enjoying the last of my anonymity right now.

Luckily, Dmitri passed my resume on to someone important and now I have an internship. I'm going to write a book called "How To Get An Internship Without Really Trying," and inside will be nothing but photographs of Dmitri. If Dmitri ever reads this, THANK YOU. I needed to get off my ass.

Luke helped me make my resume last week. It surprised me to find that I had actually done things to put on it. Not so much in the way of work experience, but it's nice to be in a city where I can put my blog and a certain stripper-nun screenplay on my resume. Everyone tells me that a year spent studying abroad is like gold on your resume. If that's not true by itself, I get to relate it to writing by saying, "Bitch, I blogged it. What's up now?"

I write things! Please, someone care!

Today is basically a warm-up day. I have accepted that I will basically be the office bitch and spend a lot of time fetching things for people. That's okay because I just witnessed a meeting between a producer and her assistant discussing actors they should consider contacting for a script she wants to produce. This is where it happens!

I feel that way about this whole city: this is where it happens. The person who's going to read something I wrote and give me lots of money to make more of it? They could be down the street. They could be next door. Well, probably not (although Luke does live just above the guy who played the giant bunny rabbit in Donnie Darko). I'm just saying, it has not ceased to amaze me that film and television have a headquarters and there is no reason I can't be part of it.

Movie stars and television shows are not created on some elevated plane of reality, unreachable by mortal beings. Just the opposite: they come from Hollywood!

Today my job consists of sitting in front of this computer, alternating blogging with updating a database of some sort, and occassionally running an errand in my car. (I say "my" car -- it is actually Luke's new car, leaving him to commute all the way to Long Beach in his shitty old Geo since I can't drive a manual. I plan on withholding sex until he signs this one over to me.)

On Friday, I'm flying back to Seattle for two weeks before spending August and part of September here as full-time office bitch. There's so much to learn. I can't wait.

Fireworks

As anyone with a calendar knows, yesterday was the 4th of July. It was an interesting holiday to celebrate a week and a half after coming home from a year abroad. Luke spent all day trying to find something fun and Los Angeles-y for us to do that night, and we ended up getting into the Hollywood Bowl for "An Evening With John Mauceri and the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra."

I have found that I'm really bad at keeping my wonder to myself when faced with things like this. When I founding myself treading the Hollywood Walk of Fame an hour after I got into town, I squealed "WOOOOW!" like Charlie Bucket in the Chocolate Factory. When I saw the Hollywood sign: "WOOOOW!" When we drove down Hollywood Boulevard: "WOOOOW!" When I stood outside Madonna's old house in the Hollywood Hills: "WOOOOW!"

Other instances have inspired me to utter the same word, but in a very different tone of voice. Such as when I paid $14 to see Bewitched, or when I stood at the top of Runyon Canyon and could barely see the city a few miles ahead of me. The visibility in this city (or lack thereof) is unreal. After six days, I can already feel it getting progressively easier to forget that there is a world outside LA, and now I can understand why someone might believe that is literally true.

Anyway, the 4th of July. We convinced Luke's flatmate Dmitri to come along as well. The show at the Hollywood Bowl was sold out, but Luke was confident we could get tickets from people selling them outside the door. Sure enough, we had barely started heading up the hill when a guy walking by in sunglasses muttered, "You want some tickets? I got three tickets. Great seats."

The guy was selling tickets for $30 each, but that was pretty unacceptable. Then, something interesting happened: my boyfriend disappeared and a haggler took his place. Luke was working this guy. His speech and his stance totally changed and he seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it to get this guy to lower his price. I have to say, it turned me on. I think it's hot when he knows how to handle situations I know nothing about.

We ended up paying $40 for all of us instead of $30 each, which was still kind of a rip-off, more so when we read the tickets and realized they were only worth $3.50 each. Those were his "great seats"! The situation got funnier with every escalator we had to ride to get up to our damn section. We were so high up I'm surprised there wasn't a nosebleed epidemic going on around us.

We arrived in time to catch some guy in a tuxedo playing the piano and singing "It's a Small World." That was my first clue that in my haste I had missed the program's subtitle, "Jacking Off to Walt Disney and His Various Theme Parks." For the next few hours we witnessed orchestral renditions of countless Disney classics, including but not limited to "A Pirate's Life for Me (Yo Ho)" and an additional performance of "It's a Small World."

Four enormous screens were showing footage of Disneyland, Disney World, Disneyland Paris, and Tokyo Disneyland intercut with laughing children who I can only assume have never experienced true pain. Between songs there were clips of Walt Disney saying things I wasn't listening to because Dmitri leaned over and whispered, "Wasn't he involved with the Nazis?"

They played this totally revolting montage on the screens to the song "America the Beautiful" before, finally, the fireworks started. They were the real reason we were there. They were okay. When an enormous sign lit up saying "LIBERTY & FREEDOM!" in sparklers, the crowd went wild and I felt a little uncomfortable. I'm not saying we shouldn't be proud of our country, but all this seemed a bit excessive and gross.

Afterward Dmitri said, "That was shit. Anyway, I'm English. What am I doing here? What am I supposed to be celebrating?"

"The fact that you got rid of us?" Suddenly why I wondered why the 4th of July wasn't even bigger in Britain than it is in America.

I'll say this about the holiday though: it's a nice excuse for a barbecue.

Behind the times

One of the biggest things I have to get used to now that I'm back is how much pop culture has changed since I've been gone. Keeping up with this stuff has always been so important to me, and now I feel like Sydney Bristow when she woke up and found out that Michael Vaughn married someone else. I'm like, "Lindsay Lohan is BLONDE now?!"

For example, how is Jessica Alba the next big thing all of a sudden? Or the current big thing? What did she do to get everyone to forgive her for Honey? Cure AIDS? Short of early retirement, there's nothing else that would inspire me to label her "America's Hottest Starlet." Unless she was burned alive.

I can't remember if I knew Britney Spears was pregnant before a few days ago. I just saw her picture in a magazine and thought she was letting herself go and then I thought, Oh no. Ohhhhhh no. Actually, I think I did know, because I remember joking with David that she would name the kid "MILF."

I missed an entire season of American Idol, and I don't know who this Carrie Underwood girl is but I don't like her one bit. I missed the entire Oscar race and ceremony, so I remain unable to comprehend that Wanda from In Living Color is now in possession of an Academy Award. Also, Rob Thomas became a popstar? What the fucking fuck?

I knew that Gwen Stefani released a solo pop album because I heard her songs once in a while in Aberdeen, but I didn't realize what a big deal it was over here. I knew that Mariah Carey was trying to come back again, but I didn't realize anyone was happy about it until I got here. I can't believe how big Kelly Clarkson has gotten since I've been gone (and I don't mean in a Kirstie Alley kind of way).

I missed America's reaction to Star Wars: Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith. I'm not even a Star Wars fan, but I feel weirder about that than missing the 2004 presidential election.

I missed the Desperate Housewives phenomenon, and until a week ago I assumed Lost was just another shit reality show about voting people off an island.

What is this Crash movie everyone keeps talking about?

LINDSAY LOHAN IS BLONDE NOW?

My boyfriend is listed on the Internet Movie Database!

I am here

And "here" happens to be Hollywood. How did that happen?

Four days ago, Luke got on a plane back to LA. Two days ago, he called me and said, "I miss you. Get down here!" Yesterday, I got a one-way ticket and now I'm several blocks from the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Eek!

I'm not sure what I'm doing here. I always assumed on some level that this is where I'd move after I graduated from university. I hadn't really thought about what I'd do when I got here. Since I have one more class between me and my degree, I thought I'd be able to put it off a little bit longer, but why? As Gwen Stefani so wisely moaned, "What U waiting for?" I won't be able to take that one remaining class until January anyway, so now is as good a time as any to jump into this town armed with nothing but my beloved comedy journal, a pretty funny (okay, REALLY funny!) screenplay, and outlines for about five more.

I didn't give them a lot of notice, but before I left, my parents kept on telling me what a big deal this was, and offered all sorts of good luck wishes. I didn't get it -- I was like, "I'm going to visit Luke and maybe see if I can get some work! What's the big deal?" David shared thoughtfully, "I think of Los Angeles as one of those cities that will just swallow you whole." That was nice to hear.

It wasn't until I was on the plane that I realized that I had actually made a decently major life decision without even realizing it. Sure, I would be back in Seattle in three weeks for Luke's brother's wedding, but did I think I would stay there? I'm doing this! Luke is talking about finding us a flat if I get work down here! OH MY GOD!

On the one hand, I'm kind of shocked that my life is going through even more big changes when I just got back from spending the year abroad. I got to relax for a week, but now I'm on the move again. I thought the adventures were over, but they're just beginning.

On the other hand, getting on that plane successfully erased almost every trace of reverse culture shock -- I'm traveling again. This is what I'm used to. Hanging out at home, that's not for me! Bring on new cities, new people, new places! Suddenly I was in a very good mood for the first time in a while. It occured to me that I no longer think of my parents' house as "home," and I may not again for the rest of my life. Sometimes there is great pleasure to be found in such simple realizations as the fact that you're growing up.

I don't know what I'm going to do in LA. They say it's all about who you know, and Luke has a certain number of "connections" to offer, but he works in production and I want to write. Still, if I have a plan at all, it is to do what Luke did: work as a PA and see if that opens any doors for me. I'm still in awe of how many times Luke has single-handedly made things happen for himself. Yesterday, I went straight from the airport to his set and got to meet everyone working on Lobster Mirage. I did not get to meet Jesse James or Sandra Bullock (she visited the set the other day though), but I have decided that I am going to bump into her in the hallway one of these days and impress her with my nonchalance. "Hey, Sandy. What up?" I'll say in a bored voice. She will respond, "I am Sandra Bullock, yet you appear to be unimpressed. How refreshingly down-to-earth of you! Do you have any scripts you would like me to produce?" Of course, I will say yes. What, do you think I'm some kind of idiot?

It's not much of a plan, but if I think about it too realistically, I'll probably just start stripping and crying.