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so close the air tastes like sugar
Oct. 18th, 2006 11:53 pmA Polish family lives in the apartment next to or above us; polka music drifts through the windows at odd hours of the day. It reminds me of home - Tejanos having appropriated polka at much the same time as the invention of Tex-Mex. Since Polish polka lacks the essential overuse of "corazon," I do my best to throw it in at appropriate moments. I ate chili con potatoes tonight, in an attempt to inspire through the wall.
Today was awesome, even though I was yet again foiled in my attempt to find shoes that will not leave my feet a bloody mess. Walking sandals are all well and good, but not when the temperature drops to freezing - which it is bound to do, eventually. I find myself watching people's feet everywhere I go (which helps with the coin finding) and envying them their shoes, which I assume in my envy that they find comfortable, even though they are the same uncomfortable shoes I have rejected a dozen times over. I spend a lot of time thinking about Andersen's "The Little Mermaid."
I was also foiled in my attempt to buy dark chocolate within a block of my flat. I did a full survey of all the small grocers (and in so doing discovered an excellent deal on Jammie Dodgers) in the hopes of finding a dark chocolate lover (we comprise something like 15% of the population), but to no avail. All the chocolate to be had was milked. Well, one place had a bar of Lindt, whose dark chocolate tastes like dirt; and one place had dark chocolate KitKat bars, but these occupy a transitional place between chocolate bar and biscuit. I will simply have to maintain a Perugina reserve at all times, which I think requires finding a convenient Sainsbury's.
A highlight of the day was a viewing of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. My experience of the film was enhanced by a lively internal debate over whether Ciro resembles the young Gary Cooper, or whether I simply wanted an excuse to think about Ciro. (Incidentally: Ciro more lithe and graceful than Gary Cooper. Or Jean Arthur, for that matter.) I'd forgotten about the movie's use of the word "pixilated," which at the time meant "crazy; visited by pixies."
Most importantly, my unit has settled on which scripts we're filming and which jobs we're doing on each film. Astoundingly, and presumably without realizing they were doing it, my unit has let me get away with doing all the fun work and none of the lame stuff. I don't have to go up north and stand in the rain; I don't have to do any post production whatsoever; I don't have to work on rewrites; I don't have to deal with budgets, political struggles, permits, or casting. I'm a DP, and I'm a production designer - all I have to do is make the films look good. I feel like I've been handed the keys to the candy store. I feel like I've been handed the keys to the candy store and don't need to use the keys because I and I alone know that the door itself is made of candy and that I can just eat through the door.
Ciro is on his way.
Today was awesome, even though I was yet again foiled in my attempt to find shoes that will not leave my feet a bloody mess. Walking sandals are all well and good, but not when the temperature drops to freezing - which it is bound to do, eventually. I find myself watching people's feet everywhere I go (which helps with the coin finding) and envying them their shoes, which I assume in my envy that they find comfortable, even though they are the same uncomfortable shoes I have rejected a dozen times over. I spend a lot of time thinking about Andersen's "The Little Mermaid."
I was also foiled in my attempt to buy dark chocolate within a block of my flat. I did a full survey of all the small grocers (and in so doing discovered an excellent deal on Jammie Dodgers) in the hopes of finding a dark chocolate lover (we comprise something like 15% of the population), but to no avail. All the chocolate to be had was milked. Well, one place had a bar of Lindt, whose dark chocolate tastes like dirt; and one place had dark chocolate KitKat bars, but these occupy a transitional place between chocolate bar and biscuit. I will simply have to maintain a Perugina reserve at all times, which I think requires finding a convenient Sainsbury's.
A highlight of the day was a viewing of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. My experience of the film was enhanced by a lively internal debate over whether Ciro resembles the young Gary Cooper, or whether I simply wanted an excuse to think about Ciro. (Incidentally: Ciro more lithe and graceful than Gary Cooper. Or Jean Arthur, for that matter.) I'd forgotten about the movie's use of the word "pixilated," which at the time meant "crazy; visited by pixies."
Most importantly, my unit has settled on which scripts we're filming and which jobs we're doing on each film. Astoundingly, and presumably without realizing they were doing it, my unit has let me get away with doing all the fun work and none of the lame stuff. I don't have to go up north and stand in the rain; I don't have to do any post production whatsoever; I don't have to work on rewrites; I don't have to deal with budgets, political struggles, permits, or casting. I'm a DP, and I'm a production designer - all I have to do is make the films look good. I feel like I've been handed the keys to the candy store. I feel like I've been handed the keys to the candy store and don't need to use the keys because I and I alone know that the door itself is made of candy and that I can just eat through the door.
Ciro is on his way.
