?Here you go,? he said, pulling out a DVD.

?What?s that?? I said.

?It?s Dan In Real Life,? he replied.

I was confused, ?does this stem from a previous conversation??

?No,? he said, ?I just had it and thought you?d want to rip it, since it is something that it seems you?d be into.?

My confusion now switched to whether he thought I would be into the movie, or just ripping random DVDs.  I decided it was the movie and I took the gesture for thoughtfulness.

?Thanks,? I said and fired up Handbrake.  The movie was taking too long and he left before it was done.

During the edit session, I got an IM from him asking to drop the DVD off at his house after work.

?No problem,? I typed back.  I was in session with the client so he could have asked me over to wax his back and I probably would have said yes, just to end the conversation and not have the client see me chatting online during the edit.

He soon typed back, ?Could you do me a solid and drop the disc off at the movie place??

?Sure.?

As I left the disc on the counter and walked back to my car, I had the sneaking suspicion that I was merely a pawn in an elaborate scheme to not have to take a movie back to a rental store.

The barsteraunt next door is having trivia night tonight. If I weren’t in my PJs, I’d head on over there and kick some trash. Ha! I kid. Not about the trash kicking, because I totally would. Or about the PJs, because I totally am…in…PJs.

Sigh.

You remember that commercial I wrote? The one with the bricks and the neighbors and the mild amusement? Well, that client is doing another commercial and my boss liked the scripts that I submitted. So I might have another commercial on the air, with more bricks and mild amusement.

Speaking of bricks.

Today, I was writing a script for said commercial and I realized that if I submitted it I would officially be a hack writer. It involved a brick dressed up like Albert Einstein. Let me repeat that: A BRICK DRESSED LIKE ALBERT EINSTEIN. Now I admit that I’m not the best writer in the world, actually, I barely am a writer, but I consider myself one step above hack. Maybe a half-step. I laughed out loud at my hack script. Not because it was funny, but because it was a script for a commercial that if it came on television while I was watching it, it would make me turn the channel. I would hate it. I would curse the writer. And I would be the writer. I closed the Word document and started a new script that might possibly be racist against Mexicans. With context, I think it will be fine.

But at least it is funny.

I guess that just means tomorrow I am going to be cranky.  I’ve been redesigning the company’s website.  I used a template that I twisted to my own nefarious purpose.  Can I come up with my own ideas?  Usually not.

Okay that was weird.

So, like most people, I put the TV on for background noise.  I’ve found that unless it is Thursday (when Lost is on) I end up bouncing between one episode of Family Guy to the next…like all night.

I really need to fix my TiVo computer.

I’m thirsty.

What?

I am currently in Banning, California, just east of Riverside. I worked all day wrapping out for the show which is finally done.

Done.

We had the wrap party in Hollywood last night. Lots of “you were great!” from people who were yelling at me two days ago, but more genuine sentiments than not. For half a second at the party, I had that feeling you get when you realize you will remember this moment for the rest of your life. I will remember standing in a bar looking across the loud group of people I’d worked very closely with for the last month and a half. There was the wardrobe attendant who agreed with me that you don’t have to be a jerk to motivate people to get things done. There was the make-up artist that made me test that theory as both of us had differing opinions over how long it took to curl someone’s hair. The two PAs sat talking in a corner. We ended up combining their names because when you asked for one, you got both of them anyway. There was also the prop girl with whom I had long philosophical/religious/political conversations over our lunch on styrofoam plates. I remembered thinking that I would never have an experience quite like this one again, but I also realized that my life was going to be full of unforgettable moments dotting the landscape of my life until the day that I die.

Hopefully, that day won’t come in a cheap hotel room in Banning, CA.

I’m not really one to get star-struck, but then again, I’ve never seen a “star.” The closest I have come to was to shake hands with one of the Mormon Apostles. I think he was taken aback by my (at the time) yellow hair. Maybe I would get a little star struck. Our executive producer, Emilie, used to work in LA on music videos, movies, and a TV show or two (actually, just one). I unfortunately never can stump her on indie movies and music. I was listening to that “Lazy Eye” song a couple of months ago in the office (before radio play, thank you very much) and I heard her pipe up from the other room. “Is this Silversun Pickups?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Cool,” she said matter-of-factly, “I knew those guys in LA, they would do small jobs for us to make a little money on the side.”

“You knew Silversun Pickups.”

“Yeah, they were pretty cool.”

I sighed and was impressed.

The biggest vicarious starstruck moment I got was when Emilie mentioned that she was John August’s assistant. Yes. The John August. Of http://www.johnaugust.com. Writer of Go, Big Fish, The Nines, Corpse Bride, etc. I even confirmed it on his blog. I actually got star struck…because someone that I work with used to work for someone that I knew.

Starstruckedness is weird. There will be several C, B and a few A-list celebrities on the TV show in LA and I wondered, would I be starstrucked? Would I have to be told to stop staring? I doubt it, but why in the heck are people even prone to being struck by the stars? I read this article about a study involving monkeys and celebrities and celebrity monkeys, but I got bored midway through. Something about faces and success and monkeys. Why is it always monkeys? Why not badgers?

Celebrity badgers.

What were we talking about?

How awesome is that?!

I woke up at 6:00am in order to be in Atlantic Station by 7:00 to take pictures of the sun coming up. It was for work (why else would I be up at 6am?) and I was approached by a security guard. I explained why I was there and she accepted my answer and let me continue. The second security guard, however, radio-ed me in and told me to stop taking pictures. I had to comply. Why? Atlantic Station is private property – even the streets – so they have the legal right to tell people to not take pictures.

I understand that Atlantic Station is primarily an open-air mall and when you have so many high-end (or quasi-high-end) stores you need to be able to keep them secure, but crap, taking pictures? Maybe they should tighten security and prohibit people from going there altogether.

“Tomorrow, I need for you to look up all the different ways to say, ‘poop’,” my boss said as I put on my jacket to leave for the day.

“Okay, I’ll look it up on Wikipedia,” I said as I walked out the door.

That night I flipped through the channels and ended up watching Ugly Betty on ABC. The exploits of the awkward, out-of-place assistant reminded me of when I began as an assistant.

In my After Effects class in college, the professor announced he received a posting for an internship in Atlanta with a broadcast design company. I’d spent the previous month making phone calls and sending emails without any luck for an interview and while I didn’t want to be a broadcast designer, I decided that at that point, I was up for anything. He asked if anyone wanted a copy of the flyer. I was the only one that raised his hand. I sent off the email and forgot about it.

Then I got a message in my inbox.

I was called into an interview the next week. I gave myself an hour and a half padding just in case I got lost. I did get slightly lost, but it only took thirty minutes. That left an hour, so I decided to drive around to get a feel of the neighborhood. After getting lost for another half an hour in east Atlanta, I decided just to sit in the car outside the building. I probably would have punched anyone if they said “Hot”lanta as my air conditioner was on the fritz (by “fritz”, I mean broken for several years).

I walked through the doors exactly on time.

I met with the company’s business manager. After some surprisingly natural small talk, we discussed the internship. One of the questions she asked me was what my end goal was for my career. I replied I wanted to direct. It never occurred to me that it probably wouldn’t be the best answer while interviewing for a broadcast design internship. She said she would do some asking around town to see if anyone else had anything available and that she would get back to me in a couple of days. I was surprised by this. How many interviewers said that they were going to other companies to see if they had anything for their interviewees? Was this normal? It wasn’t like I’d been on that many interviews; maybe this wasn’t all that out of the ordinary.

A couple days later I was in class when I got a call. I ducked into the hallway. It was a director in Atlanta. He’d spoken with the business manager and wanted to know if I could come in an interview for an internship. He needed someone to start right away. I had a class Summer I term and wouldn’t be able to start when he needed, I apologized and the call was over.

I went to eat at Lai Lai’s on the strip with David and Scott. In-between mouthfuls of sweet and sour chicken I listened as they strongly suggested I call the director back. I could worry about the class later. I ducked out of Lai Lai’s to call the director back. I scheduled an interview for two days later.

I woke up at five in the morning and drove to Atlanta. When I arrived at the tall glass building on Peachtree Street I decided that I really wanted this internship. I was a few minutes early (having learned my lesson and lessened my padding for getting lost) and sat in the lobby. I felt amazingly out of place. The concierge at the desk was wearing nicer clothes than I was. I had on black pants and a tie, but in my five a.m. daze I was unable to find any black socks, so I made due with white ankle socks. I was regretting that decision.

The time came and I used the touch-screen callbox in order to be let in. I went through the interview and was offered the job.

Since then I’ve booked flights, hotels and cars, taken calls from VH1 and MTV, sat in on dozens of conference calls with ad agencies, written, directed, and edited commercials, worked as a PA and script supervisor, been an extra, worked as a broadcast and graphic designer, and of course, gotten coffee.

The end scene showed the result of Betty’s boss’ brother’s sex change operation. I decided to read a book the next week.

Hooray.  I’m tired.

I found out that it looks as though I’ll be getting a parking pass for work.  It is sad how exciting that is for me.  No really, I’m stoked.  I am thinking about getting a bike (a road bike, my mountain bike is unpleasant to ride on pavement), leaving my car at work during the week (because I sometimes need it for work) and riding a bike to work.  Let’s see if that really happens.

Since it is possible that the University will discontinue my account after a graduate (which is officially in December), I uploaded my old blog to the new server.  If Blogger Beta didn’t suck so bad, then I could have imported all my old posts into the new blog, but alas such is not the case.

The render is 75% done.  Time for bed.