So... I've temporarily folded my Pure Romance self and put it in a drawer for a week so I could once again temporarily don my production self and come out to D.C. I'm helping out on one of the Inauguration events. I was hired on Sunday afternoon. Travel booked Monday afternoon. Flew out on Tuesday morning and was sitting in the office of the Presidential Inaugural Committee headquarters by noon, breaking down Jonas Brothers songs. Our event airs on Monday night on the Disney channel.
When I was called on Sunday afternoon to come out, I said yes immediately since I had no parties this week. Besides, who wouldn't want the chance to be part of something historic?
But later that day, a bit of concern started to creep in. See, five or six years before I left Los Angeles, I took a job which was a move up position-wise. Although the show should have been easy for me to handle, for some reason, it quickly turned into a logistical mess and a show that was WAY over my head and abilities. I hung in for a while, struggling to keep my head above water, but ultimately, they decided I wasn't the right fit for the show (aka I was fired). Honestly, I was never angry about it, because I would have fired me too. I was terrible on that show and totally drowning in my inexperience. When they fired me, I was COMPLETELY relieved and anxious to get back to shows I would enjoy. So when I was booked on the Inaugural I got very nervous because the production company and two of the producers on the show are the ones who fired me back then.
But ultimately, I got over it and realized that they fired me so many years ago and haven't seen me since and probably would not remember me at all. (Which it turns out was right for one of them. In fact, yesterday, after having worked with one of the producers for three days straight, I sent him an email and he asked the people in his office, "Who is Sheri Spitz?") So off I trotted to D.C. and all has been well so far. In fact, I've kind of enjoyed having the chance to redeem myself to "P," one of the producers who I am working with very closely. I can tell he has changed his opinion of me and his attitude has changed with it. I feel very triumphant.
The only TV show I normally do tends to have the same people on it year after year, so the added bonus of coming here and doing this show is that I have been able to see people some people I hadn't seen in years. Years before I left LA in some cases. It reminds me a lot of a family reunion. I remember a lot of them and most of their names. Most of them remember my face, some of them remember my name. I have decided to give them all the easy way out and pretend we've never met and introduce myself. Then, later, I pretend to have an epiphany and say, "Hey, didn't we work together on something before?" To which they say, relieved, "Yeah, what was that again?" At least, I do that for the people I like. The ones I don't like, I just say hello, call them by their names and let them twist in the wind while they try to remember who I am and what my name is. Ha.
So all has been going well here. The horrific nightmare of a production schedule I anticipated never really happened. Should happen tonight, but tomorrow is show day so no big deal. I'm having fun catching up with people and it's been easy, as usual, to shrug back into the script department role I played for so long. I've had my rough moments with certain higher ups, but other than that I'm having a good time. At least, I was. Until last night.
We actually made it out early(ish) last night and for some reason, the gods were smiling down upon us and we made it to a 9PM dinner reservation. It was super awesome! My fellow scriptie and I returned to the hotel to meet our fellow diners. The new FOSS (Fan of Sheri Spitz) producer "P" was joining us as well as one of the writers and a few other people. At the last minute, two people arrived at the hotel who had just flown in from LA and they wanted to join us. I knew the guy looked familiar, but I just couldn't place it. So we waited for them to drop their stuff in their rooms and headed to the restaurant.
The whole time we were walking in the F-ING FREEZING COLD to the restaurant, I was looking at him... trying to figure out what show we did together. No big deal, I thought. Probably some show back my early years and I haven't seen him in a while. But then someone called his name and it hit me... like a ton of bricks. I know where I've worked with him before.
A few months ago, I wrote a post about a sushi restaurant. In it, I talked about my first experience learning that as a Script Supervisor I should be seen and not heard. I talked about how I got spanked, AND HARD, when I was fired from my second job out of college. What I didn't really go into in that post is how I committed all these cardinal post-production bay sins... I lounged with my feet up on the desk. I talked at random. I ordered coffees for myself not realizing they weren't free. All kinds of things that I would never even THINK of doing now. (In fact, one of the producers just went to Starbucks and I'm half asleep and he would have been happy to get something for me if I had asked, but I was too uncomfortable to do it.) I plead ignorance. It was, as I mentioned, my second job (and only six months) out of college and I just didn't know any better. The problem is, I continued these habits unabated (cause no one told me not to) for over two months. Finally, when the post-production supervisor let me go, he explained in detail everything I did wrong. I have never been so humiliated. To know that all this time, I had been making people mad and making mistakes and acting completely wrong and had no idea and no one told me? Ugh. I hated myself for doing it and them for not telling me.
So back to our current story (can you guess what's coming?) We're walking to the restaurant and I realize, the man I recognize is "R", the very Post-Production Super who fired me all those years ago. 13 years ago, to be exact. I instantly panicked, but at the same time I was highly amused. Strange combo, I am aware, but none the less, those were my thoughts.
So we get to the restaurant, all 10 of us, and walk to the table. I am the first to arrive at the table and so I pick out my leftie seat as usual. At this point, I'm trying to decide if I am going to re-introduce myself to "R" as though we have never met and let him just assume that's the case or remind him and own it like a grownup OR ignore him throughout dinner altogether. Option three was the winner in my mind, but apparently not in fate's mind. Cause he was the last to the table and there was only one seat left. Yes, next to me. On my right. Oh, and did I mention that "P" was sitting directly across from me? (It's also worth mentioning that "P" and I have never talked about the fact that he fired me. We are pretending that never happened, apparently.)
So there I am, surrounded by my own failure, deciding between the catfish and the crab cakes. "R" is mostly turned away from me, talking to the woman on his other side and I thought maybe I could ignore him the whole dinner after all, but then I decided that would be too tiring and I'd spend the entire dinner nervous. So I bit the bullet. "R," I said, drawing his attention. He turned to me and I stuck my hand out. "I'm Sheri." He shook my hand and said, "Yeah, we'e met before." I said, "Yeah, we worked together a VERY long time ago." "Where was that," he asked. "I can't remember." I pretended for a moment not to remember while I tried to decide whether or not to bring it up. Finally, I surrendered. "Disney," I said, looking him in the eye as much as possible. (BTW, I just realized that not only was that a Disney show, but the other show I was fired from was Disney as well and SO IS THE ONE I'M DOING NOW! Hmmm. And you guys wonder why I hate Disney!) I watched recognition dawn. And his face changed. And I knew he remembered. And for some reason, it made me laugh. Probably inappropriate, but unavoidable none the less.
He recovered quickly and we talked about how difficult that show was, neither of us actually acknowledging the giant pink elephant sitting on my shoulder, and then we both turned back to the people on our other sides and continued other conversations. We spoke a few more times during dinner, but for the most part, remained in our seperate corners. Later in the evening, one of the other producers there who had too much to drink started talking about how grateful he was that I was there doing the show and how great a job I was doing and how fantastic I was. And, of course, I humbly acknowledged his praise and thanked him graciously. In my head, I was thinking, "Yeah 'P' & 'R'! Suck it!"
At some point, the irony of sitting at a table with two men who have fired me became too much to shoulder alone and I told the AD who was sitting on my other side. He and I shared a laugh and he asked me if there was a third person who fired me and if we could expect him to show up on the show anytime soon. I assured him that the list ended with "P". Unbeknownst to me, I got up to go to the bathroom ("R" had already left to go meet friends at another restaurant) and the AD told the table what I had told him. According to my fellow scriptee who shared the story when we were back at the hotel heading up to our rooms, "P" adamantly denied that he had EVER fired me and then said "And it was a long time ago, anyway." Which made me laugh all the way up the elevator to the 9th floor and down the hall to my room. It never happened, officer! And even if it did, it wasn't my fault.
My mother has decided that the reason fate gave me the opportunity to do this show was so I could go back and prove to these men who were such bad memories for me that I am a good, competent script pa. She could be right. Who knows? Either way, last night was definitely a lesson in humility. Shall I pass the bread and butter to the two people who fired me at this table in chronological order or alphabetical? But either way, I got a ton of amusement out of it.
How appropriate that this all happened at Obama's Inauguration event. See, it's a lesson that Obama taught me! Can I survive a whole night of socializing with people who don't like me?
Yes, I can.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Gentile's Guide to Chanukah (or Hannukah... or Hanaka... or however you choose to spell it)
So... on this, the 2nd night of Chanukah 2008 (2nd night, right? Who knows. I can't remember if it started on Sunday night or Monday night, but whatever. Close enough.) I thought it might be prudent to give the Jewish challenged folk in my life a little lesson about this holiday which is so often misunderstood. Call it my mitzvah for the year. (Jewish Challenged People: The word "mitzvah" is Yiddish or Hebrew or something for "good deed".)
So, below are some of the FAQ I receive here in the south where Chanukah is so widely mizunderdastood.
Q. Why is Chanukah at a different time every year?
A. My ancestors thought it would be fun to keep the gentile guessing. OR... because all Jewish holidays are celebrated according to the Hebrew Calendar which is different from English calendar. Just to illustrate this point, while you non-Jews will soon be welcoming the year 2009, we Jews will be waiting until Rosh Hashana in Sept. to begin the year 5770. The Hebrew calendar is shorter than the English calendar, so the holidays move around. That's why you hear us Jews talking about "Chanukah/ Rosh Hashana/ Purim is early this year!" It's our favorite thing to talk about. (well, 2nd favorite. Our favorite thing to talk about is what we will be eating at the next meal as we consume the current meal. But I digress.)
Q. What are you celebrating at Chanukah? Does it have something to do with Christmas?
A. No. Nothing to do with Christmas at all! Zero, zilch, nada. The fact that there are presents on Chanukah and it happens around the same time as Christmas (sometimes) confuses people into thinking the two holidays are kissing cousins or something. In reality (and long story short) the Jewish temple was trashed by some bad people and after the damage was assessed, it was determined that there was only enough oil left to last one day. (Or something like that. Give me a break Jewish friends. It's been a long time since Sunday school.) But the oil lasted seven days instead and Chanukah is a celebration of that miracle.
Q. What's with the candelabra you always light?
A. That's called a menorah.
It's got eight candles on it. One for each night of Chanukah and then the 8th is the candle we use to light all the others. You start out by lighting one candle the first night, two on the second, three on the third etc. There are a few prayers that you say, I think three on the first night and then two on the second. We sing them in Hebrew and that is probably atrocious for anyone who can hear. Then in the morning, after the candles have burned out, you pull out a metal skewer normally used for cooking shish-kabobs on the grill and dig out all the melted wax. (Of course, that may have just been at my parent's house.) It was always my favorite part. Strange? Yes. Are you surprised?
Q. How cool is it to get so many presents?
A. And herein lies the crux of the confusion. I can only speak for my family, of course, and the families of friends I grew up with, but here it is. You may want to sit down for this one. It's a bit of a nasty shock if you don't see it coming... Celebrating Chanukah is NOTHING like Christmas. In the past, when I have attended a Christmas celebration, I have seen orgys of present opening under the Christmas tree. Piles of presents in beautiful paper... toys... games... clothes... stocking stuffers. Good God but you all get a lot of stuff.
At Chanukah, as a child, you get about one present a night. Perhaps two. And one of them is always socks. Or some pair of shoes you don't want to have to wear to Temple. Or, worse comes to worse, Chanukah gelt. (Those are the little gold wrapped chocolate coins that come in the yellow fishnet. Gelt means "money" in Hebrew.) The gelt chocolate doesn't even really taste all that great, to be honest. So on the first night of Chanukah, you may get a gift from your parents. The next night may be from siblings. The next night, you get one from crazy Aunt Mildred who lives in Florida. She got you a sweet little hat to put on your keppie (yiddish for "head") to keep you warm in the cold Cleveland winter and if you would just come down to Florida already you wouldn't have to be so cold and then you could get a real gift. Oy, why do these meshuge (yiddish for "crazy") kids never come to visit?
So you see, all those kids who sit and picture eight whole days of Christmas Morning-style partying are so sadly mistaken. At my parent's house, as I believe I mentioned in an earlier blog, we would light the Menorah during a commercial from the evening prime time TV. Then Dad would make us march around the house singing Chanukah songs and then either make us hunt for our gifts or just give them to us. Whole thing would be over before the commercial ended. And that's not to say I didn't look forward to the holiday. I always did. I liked lighting the candles (I looked forward to lighting the match and would pick out my favorite box matches every night to use. Young pyromaniac for sure!) and digging out the aforementioned wax every morning. There was always something really peaceful, as well, about walking into the kitchen after the candles had been burning for a while and standing in the dark, watching the colorful wax melt into int
eresting designs onto the tin foil beneath the menorah that kept the wax from sticking to my mother's pristine counters. I always liked arranging the colors of the candles too, sometimes alternating between two colors, sometimes going with a block of color, sometimes just putting together a random sampling of colors from the blue boxes we always had in abundance because they gave them out to us at Sunday School every year.
But did I walk away from any Chanukah with an overwhelming bag of booty? No. I do remember walking away one year with an excellent new Olivia Newton John album ("Totally Hot") but that's about it.
Q. Do you and your family get together for Chanukah?
A. Another harsh truth to be faced. Chanukah is for kids. Really, it is. My parents still give me a gift every year, but that's it. I don't run around trying to find a gift for my Aunt on my mother's side or my brother-in-law's cat. In fact, I give a gift to my niece, one to my cou-niece (that's the daugher of my cousin who is more like a sister than a cousin so her daughter is more like a niece than anything else. I am her Coz-Aunt Sheri and she is my Cou-Niece Sara.) and one to my oldest friend's kids. And that's it folks. So there is really not all that much enthusiasm about getting together at Chanukah. It's not a big family holiday for us (and by "us" I mean the Reform Jews. Conservative and Orthodox Jews may feel differently, but either way, it's not a major holiday for us. Rosh Hashana is much more important!) Thanksgiving is the big winner in the Spitz house.
So those are a few of the questions I get most frequently. If you have more, by all means, ask me. I probably won't know the answers, but I can certainly point you in the direction of a website which will explain it allllllllllll.
In the meantime, I wish every reader a Happy Holiday Season and a happy healthy New Year. Shalom, out.
(Oh... yeah, Shalom means peace. And Hello and Goodbye. So it's a confusing language. What can I tell you?)
So, below are some of the FAQ I receive here in the south where Chanukah is so widely mizunderdastood.
Q. Why is Chanukah at a different time every year?
A. My ancestors thought it would be fun to keep the gentile guessing. OR... because all Jewish holidays are celebrated according to the Hebrew Calendar which is different from English calendar. Just to illustrate this point, while you non-Jews will soon be welcoming the year 2009, we Jews will be waiting until Rosh Hashana in Sept. to begin the year 5770. The Hebrew calendar is shorter than the English calendar, so the holidays move around. That's why you hear us Jews talking about "Chanukah/ Rosh Hashana/ Purim is early this year!" It's our favorite thing to talk about. (well, 2nd favorite. Our favorite thing to talk about is what we will be eating at the next meal as we consume the current meal. But I digress.)
Q. What are you celebrating at Chanukah? Does it have something to do with Christmas?
A. No. Nothing to do with Christmas at all! Zero, zilch, nada. The fact that there are presents on Chanukah and it happens around the same time as Christmas (sometimes) confuses people into thinking the two holidays are kissing cousins or something. In reality (and long story short) the Jewish temple was trashed by some bad people and after the damage was assessed, it was determined that there was only enough oil left to last one day. (Or something like that. Give me a break Jewish friends. It's been a long time since Sunday school.) But the oil lasted seven days instead and Chanukah is a celebration of that miracle.
Q. What's with the candelabra you always light?
A. That's called a menorah.
It's got eight candles on it. One for each night of Chanukah and then the 8th is the candle we use to light all the others. You start out by lighting one candle the first night, two on the second, three on the third etc. There are a few prayers that you say, I think three on the first night and then two on the second. We sing them in Hebrew and that is probably atrocious for anyone who can hear. Then in the morning, after the candles have burned out, you pull out a metal skewer normally used for cooking shish-kabobs on the grill and dig out all the melted wax. (Of course, that may have just been at my parent's house.) It was always my favorite part. Strange? Yes. Are you surprised?Q. How cool is it to get so many presents?
A. And herein lies the crux of the confusion. I can only speak for my family, of course, and the families of friends I grew up with, but here it is. You may want to sit down for this one. It's a bit of a nasty shock if you don't see it coming... Celebrating Chanukah is NOTHING like Christmas. In the past, when I have attended a Christmas celebration, I have seen orgys of present opening under the Christmas tree. Piles of presents in beautiful paper... toys... games... clothes... stocking stuffers. Good God but you all get a lot of stuff.
At Chanukah, as a child, you get about one present a night. Perhaps two. And one of them is always socks. Or some pair of shoes you don't want to have to wear to Temple. Or, worse comes to worse, Chanukah gelt. (Those are the little gold wrapped chocolate coins that come in the yellow fishnet. Gelt means "money" in Hebrew.) The gelt chocolate doesn't even really taste all that great, to be honest. So on the first night of Chanukah, you may get a gift from your parents. The next night may be from siblings. The next night, you get one from crazy Aunt Mildred who lives in Florida. She got you a sweet little hat to put on your keppie (yiddish for "head") to keep you warm in the cold Cleveland winter and if you would just come down to Florida already you wouldn't have to be so cold and then you could get a real gift. Oy, why do these meshuge (yiddish for "crazy") kids never come to visit?
So you see, all those kids who sit and picture eight whole days of Christmas Morning-style partying are so sadly mistaken. At my parent's house, as I believe I mentioned in an earlier blog, we would light the Menorah during a commercial from the evening prime time TV. Then Dad would make us march around the house singing Chanukah songs and then either make us hunt for our gifts or just give them to us. Whole thing would be over before the commercial ended. And that's not to say I didn't look forward to the holiday. I always did. I liked lighting the candles (I looked forward to lighting the match and would pick out my favorite box matches every night to use. Young pyromaniac for sure!) and digging out the aforementioned wax every morning. There was always something really peaceful, as well, about walking into the kitchen after the candles had been burning for a while and standing in the dark, watching the colorful wax melt into int
eresting designs onto the tin foil beneath the menorah that kept the wax from sticking to my mother's pristine counters. I always liked arranging the colors of the candles too, sometimes alternating between two colors, sometimes going with a block of color, sometimes just putting together a random sampling of colors from the blue boxes we always had in abundance because they gave them out to us at Sunday School every year.But did I walk away from any Chanukah with an overwhelming bag of booty? No. I do remember walking away one year with an excellent new Olivia Newton John album ("Totally Hot") but that's about it.
Q. Do you and your family get together for Chanukah?
A. Another harsh truth to be faced. Chanukah is for kids. Really, it is. My parents still give me a gift every year, but that's it. I don't run around trying to find a gift for my Aunt on my mother's side or my brother-in-law's cat. In fact, I give a gift to my niece, one to my cou-niece (that's the daugher of my cousin who is more like a sister than a cousin so her daughter is more like a niece than anything else. I am her Coz-Aunt Sheri and she is my Cou-Niece Sara.) and one to my oldest friend's kids. And that's it folks. So there is really not all that much enthusiasm about getting together at Chanukah. It's not a big family holiday for us (and by "us" I mean the Reform Jews. Conservative and Orthodox Jews may feel differently, but either way, it's not a major holiday for us. Rosh Hashana is much more important!) Thanksgiving is the big winner in the Spitz house.
So those are a few of the questions I get most frequently. If you have more, by all means, ask me. I probably won't know the answers, but I can certainly point you in the direction of a website which will explain it allllllllllll.
In the meantime, I wish every reader a Happy Holiday Season and a happy healthy New Year. Shalom, out.
(Oh... yeah, Shalom means peace. And Hello and Goodbye. So it's a confusing language. What can I tell you?)
Monday, December 15, 2008
Twilight... And the Reason the Chicks Dig It
So... in case you don't already know, Twilight is the first in a series of books by Stefenie Meyer (who is strangely Mormon and NOT a Member of the Tribe... huh) which is currently making women across the country swoon and sigh in their love of vampires and werewolves and the Pacific Northwest. (Oh my?) The movie is currently burning up the box office and women have arrived in droves, waiting for their chance to see Edward and Bella fall madly in love under cover of rain and clouds while all manner of creature attempts to kill Bella, Edward's first true love in 100 years.
Last night, I went to the movie with the girls in my book club and we went out for dessert afterward to discuss the movie and book at length (aka my chance to pick the movie apart and alienate several members of my book club with my movie snob ways...) We have already decided that the second book in the series will be next month's book and some members of the BC have already finished it. One girl has finished all four in the series. So it was difficult to have the discussion without giving things away.
Let me take this opportunity to fill you in on my history with book clubs. The first one was in LA. All my girlfriends in the script world and one errant Line Producer drew straws to determine the picking order of each book. The first book was "Emma" by Jane Austin. Ouch. Very few people got through the whole thing. And based on the nature of our work lives at the time, we never really were able to get around to actually getting together to talk about it. Which was sad. The next book was by the author of Owen Meany and that further alienated any of the remaining members who were interested in reading. And we once again had an aborted attempt at meeting and discussing. Basically, by the third book, "Deliverance" (which my friend Leslie picked but was bitterly disappointed by because the "squeal like a pig" line was not in the book) it had become less of a book club and more of a suggested reading list for Sheri. We disbanded after the third book, I think.
Shortly after my arrival in Charlotte, I started one here with a few girls. The first book was a great easy read. I think it was called Ella Minnow Pea. And it was about a town where you were not allowed to use certain letters. So the actual text omitted letters from the book as the characters were no longer allowed to use them. Fun! Sometimes had to read aloud to understand, but fun none the less. We actually met, discussed the book for a few minutes before turning to celebrity gossip and picked another one. I think we continued in that vein for a few months, although once again, I became the only, or one of the only, people to read the book. Frustrating!
So one morning this summer, I was standing in line at Best Buy to buy a Wii and the girl in front of me said she might like to have a PR party with her book club. I jumped all over it and invited myself to join them. I finally met the Novelistas a few months ago and what a difference! They all actually read the book! And come to the meeting prepared! And have discussion questions ready! And don't deviate into celebrity gossip until all book business has been finished! I love it!
So, in true Novelista fashion, one of the girls had prepared a list of questions to aid in our discussion of the phenomenon that is Twilight. And one of the questions she asked was, "Why do you think this book appeals so much to women?" To me, the answer was immediate. "Because Edward is a man who says exactly how he feels and doesn't mess around with stupid 'how-many-days-til-you-call-your-babies' stuff. Plus, he is totally damaged AND really protective and will not hesitate to put his body between his woman and danger. Which is HOT!" I received resounding approval from everyone at the table from that statement. Which made me think... is that really all women want from a man? Is that all I want?
One night, a few years ago, I was out at a club with a guy I was dating and a few friends. The guy I was dating was very nice, but he was an MOT (that's Member of the Tribe, aka Jewish), really short and kind of wimpy. My friend was kind of dating a guy there who we will now refer to as Jon the Jewish Cop. (Well, I always referred to him as that because the idea was SO astounding to me! A Jewish guy who is a cop. What the F? I love it! I never actually knew his last name, really.) So we were all dancing and there was a guy behind me who was kind of weaving around. He was pretty drunk, and he kept crashing into me like he was trying to dance with me. I was completely creeped out and was kind of hoping the guy I was with would help me out. Instead it was Jon the Jewish Cop who stepped in. He came over and stood behind me, facing the drunk guy with his arms crossed... just staring him down. The guy took the hint after a few minutes and walked away. J the JC stood there a few minutes longer, staring him down as he walked away, making sure he was gone before moving. Believe me readers when I tell you, if Jon had then asked me to rob a bank, run over small puppies in the getaway car and drive right off a cliff with him, I would have answered "yes" in the breathiest voice I have. It was hot! And suddenly, I was just DONE with my date.
It's not that I consider myself a poor, defenseless woman who can't defend herself! I know how to break an attackers nose and kick him in the groin! (We all saw that episode of 90210 where Donna and Brenda and her Mom take the self-defense class and keep screaming "NO" while they attack their instructor, right?) It's just the idea that a man would put himself in harm's way for me... wow. I can't explain it. I'm sure the idea doesn't have universal appeal. Every woman is different, of course. That's why there are so many different flavors of ice cream. But I bet there a lot of women out there who know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.
So when Edward (who is emotionally available enough to say things like "I'm tired of trying to stay away from you" before there has even been a first date) drops into a defensive crouch, shielding his woman with his body and growling deep in his throat (even if it did sound like a burp in the movie... you were totally right about that Al!) it is supremely appealing. And don't even get me started on the damaged thing. I have always loved the tortured boys. It's a sickness from which I hope to never be cured.
The funny thing is, as the series goes on, more and more men are dropping into defensive crouches in front of Bella and growling deep in their throats. Poor Bella has to choose between all these protective, emotionally available, yet tortured, men! It's like Felicity all over again. Plus, at least in my head, all the men are really tall!!!
Now, some girls will protest. They will say they were drawn to the story, to the emotionally rich characters, to the suspense. They will be lying. And that's not to say there isn't a great story in there and the characters are nothing if not well drawn and emotionally rich. Stefenie Meyer is a great writer and her grown-up novel "The Host" is fantastic as well. But it's Edward that has the girls swooning at the movies. One of my girlfriends just got a life-sized cutout of Mr. Edward Cullen for her office as a gift. Is that because he is suspenseful and emotionally rich? Or cause he real hot? Personally, I don't find the actor who plays him all that attractive. But I still sighed through the movie.
I believe this makes me seem not at all deep. And I think I'm ok with that. After all, I have dated plenty of guys who were none of the above. And I even liked them a lot. But one of my favorite dating memories is of the Green Beret I went out with for a while. We went to the movies one time and he was playing a video game with a prop gun and after watching him shoot the gun and then break his wrist after each shot, reaim and fire again, I said to him, "I'm not sure if I am totally grossed out or COMPLETELY turned on." He responded with quite the lacivious wink as if to say, "I know which one you are..."
And he wasn't wrong.
Last night, I went to the movie with the girls in my book club and we went out for dessert afterward to discuss the movie and book at length (aka my chance to pick the movie apart and alienate several members of my book club with my movie snob ways...) We have already decided that the second book in the series will be next month's book and some members of the BC have already finished it. One girl has finished all four in the series. So it was difficult to have the discussion without giving things away.
Let me take this opportunity to fill you in on my history with book clubs. The first one was in LA. All my girlfriends in the script world and one errant Line Producer drew straws to determine the picking order of each book. The first book was "Emma" by Jane Austin. Ouch. Very few people got through the whole thing. And based on the nature of our work lives at the time, we never really were able to get around to actually getting together to talk about it. Which was sad. The next book was by the author of Owen Meany and that further alienated any of the remaining members who were interested in reading. And we once again had an aborted attempt at meeting and discussing. Basically, by the third book, "Deliverance" (which my friend Leslie picked but was bitterly disappointed by because the "squeal like a pig" line was not in the book) it had become less of a book club and more of a suggested reading list for Sheri. We disbanded after the third book, I think.
Shortly after my arrival in Charlotte, I started one here with a few girls. The first book was a great easy read. I think it was called Ella Minnow Pea. And it was about a town where you were not allowed to use certain letters. So the actual text omitted letters from the book as the characters were no longer allowed to use them. Fun! Sometimes had to read aloud to understand, but fun none the less. We actually met, discussed the book for a few minutes before turning to celebrity gossip and picked another one. I think we continued in that vein for a few months, although once again, I became the only, or one of the only, people to read the book. Frustrating!
So one morning this summer, I was standing in line at Best Buy to buy a Wii and the girl in front of me said she might like to have a PR party with her book club. I jumped all over it and invited myself to join them. I finally met the Novelistas a few months ago and what a difference! They all actually read the book! And come to the meeting prepared! And have discussion questions ready! And don't deviate into celebrity gossip until all book business has been finished! I love it!
So, in true Novelista fashion, one of the girls had prepared a list of questions to aid in our discussion of the phenomenon that is Twilight. And one of the questions she asked was, "Why do you think this book appeals so much to women?" To me, the answer was immediate. "Because Edward is a man who says exactly how he feels and doesn't mess around with stupid 'how-many-days-til-you-call-your-babies' stuff. Plus, he is totally damaged AND really protective and will not hesitate to put his body between his woman and danger. Which is HOT!" I received resounding approval from everyone at the table from that statement. Which made me think... is that really all women want from a man? Is that all I want?
One night, a few years ago, I was out at a club with a guy I was dating and a few friends. The guy I was dating was very nice, but he was an MOT (that's Member of the Tribe, aka Jewish), really short and kind of wimpy. My friend was kind of dating a guy there who we will now refer to as Jon the Jewish Cop. (Well, I always referred to him as that because the idea was SO astounding to me! A Jewish guy who is a cop. What the F? I love it! I never actually knew his last name, really.) So we were all dancing and there was a guy behind me who was kind of weaving around. He was pretty drunk, and he kept crashing into me like he was trying to dance with me. I was completely creeped out and was kind of hoping the guy I was with would help me out. Instead it was Jon the Jewish Cop who stepped in. He came over and stood behind me, facing the drunk guy with his arms crossed... just staring him down. The guy took the hint after a few minutes and walked away. J the JC stood there a few minutes longer, staring him down as he walked away, making sure he was gone before moving. Believe me readers when I tell you, if Jon had then asked me to rob a bank, run over small puppies in the getaway car and drive right off a cliff with him, I would have answered "yes" in the breathiest voice I have. It was hot! And suddenly, I was just DONE with my date.
It's not that I consider myself a poor, defenseless woman who can't defend herself! I know how to break an attackers nose and kick him in the groin! (We all saw that episode of 90210 where Donna and Brenda and her Mom take the self-defense class and keep screaming "NO" while they attack their instructor, right?) It's just the idea that a man would put himself in harm's way for me... wow. I can't explain it. I'm sure the idea doesn't have universal appeal. Every woman is different, of course. That's why there are so many different flavors of ice cream. But I bet there a lot of women out there who know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.
So when Edward (who is emotionally available enough to say things like "I'm tired of trying to stay away from you" before there has even been a first date) drops into a defensive crouch, shielding his woman with his body and growling deep in his throat (even if it did sound like a burp in the movie... you were totally right about that Al!) it is supremely appealing. And don't even get me started on the damaged thing. I have always loved the tortured boys. It's a sickness from which I hope to never be cured.
The funny thing is, as the series goes on, more and more men are dropping into defensive crouches in front of Bella and growling deep in their throats. Poor Bella has to choose between all these protective, emotionally available, yet tortured, men! It's like Felicity all over again. Plus, at least in my head, all the men are really tall!!!
Now, some girls will protest. They will say they were drawn to the story, to the emotionally rich characters, to the suspense. They will be lying. And that's not to say there isn't a great story in there and the characters are nothing if not well drawn and emotionally rich. Stefenie Meyer is a great writer and her grown-up novel "The Host" is fantastic as well. But it's Edward that has the girls swooning at the movies. One of my girlfriends just got a life-sized cutout of Mr. Edward Cullen for her office as a gift. Is that because he is suspenseful and emotionally rich? Or cause he real hot? Personally, I don't find the actor who plays him all that attractive. But I still sighed through the movie.
I believe this makes me seem not at all deep. And I think I'm ok with that. After all, I have dated plenty of guys who were none of the above. And I even liked them a lot. But one of my favorite dating memories is of the Green Beret I went out with for a while. We went to the movies one time and he was playing a video game with a prop gun and after watching him shoot the gun and then break his wrist after each shot, reaim and fire again, I said to him, "I'm not sure if I am totally grossed out or COMPLETELY turned on." He responded with quite the lacivious wink as if to say, "I know which one you are..."
And he wasn't wrong.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Someone Please... Save Me From Myself
So... over the years, I have had many people whom I have imagined are trying to "do me in." You can call me paranoid. I prefer to think of it as confidence challenged. Whatever your definition, there have been plenty of times in my life where I have regarded people and thought to myself "You are trying to make me unhappy. Deliberately trying to make my life miserable for sport."
Now, let's be fair about this, cause many of those people whom I was sure were attempting to ruin me were "talent" on a show. My fellow scripties will probably recognize this emotion. Where some stupid talent comes in at rehearsal (or even worse... minutes before they step out on stage for the show) and changes all their copy. I was always sure it was just to torture me! Just to show that they were a big important celebrity (yes, Kevin Spacey, I'm talking to you!!!) and that I am a little peon with a pencil and a 3-ring binder who is there strictly to do their bidding. Sometimes it wasn't talent at all, but crew. Stage managers... producers... teleprompter... all out to get me and rob me of my chance for sleep. So these paranoid moments might be just a wee bit self-centered and probably can be discounted. In my own defense, I was probably really tired at the time.
But I do believe that at one time or another, there have been a few people out there who were torturing me just because they could. And hey... that's fine. I mean, it only works if I let it, right?
Here's the problem tho. Lately, I have begun to wonder if perhaps the person who is most determined to bring about my personal ruin is none other than... well, me.
There have been people whom I have gotten to know at one point or another in my life who seemed to have such a busy head that I was sad for them. Sad that their head must be such a crowded place... so full of business and stress that there must seem like no escape. I wondered how these people could function without exploding.
But what I have realized recently is that the above description can oftentimes describe my own head. Good Lord but I can torture myself. Like a pro. Like I'm being paid! (Would that I could...) There are so many different thoughts racing around in there, I don't know what to do with them half of the time. I think that's why I am so obsessed with music and reading. And TV. Cause that's when the thoughts go away. The voices shut up.
Ok, yeah, I said voices. There was a time in my life, before I became a 12-steper, where there was a constant battle in my head between Voice A and Voice B. A & B were constantly at odds with one another. One trying to be the disciplinarian and the other trying to be the child. I remember that being the miracle of my first day in an OA meeting. All of a sudden, after 29 years of fighting with myself in my head, it was like someone hit the mute button. I don't think I even realized how loud it was in there until it stopped. I remember wanting to cry from relief. I could actually just sit still and listen to myself breathe, something I would never have been able to do before.
A & B beat a hasty retreat as I became immersed in the 12 steps and found my way to recovery. The great news is that they haven't really ever come back. At least, not for long. I will always be grateful to Bill W. for that.
The voices I hear now are different. They are quieter, a bit mellower and usually kinder. And they do serve their purpose. But they also doubt. They imagine... and not in a great way. They hear drama where there is none and whisper doubts when I am desperately trying to find some confidence. And they don't stop talking unless there is a distraction (hence the constant background noise in my life.)
Is it a Gemini thing? I usually make a joke out of that one... someone asks me who I went to the movies with the other day and I say, "Oh, just me and my other personalities." I'm not a big believer in Astrology, but it does seem to fit me pretty well. There is certainly a touch of crazy about me. I mean, for the love of God, I sell sex toys for a living!!! I am definitely living off the beaten path. And I do like that about myself. I have never wanted to live an uninteresting, untested life.
But the question is, how do I get away from my own mind? How do I take a vacation from self-doubt and the certainty that the things I want the most are always going to be just beyond my reach? I'm open to suggestions from the peanut gallery. If you have an idea, send it on baby!
I do consider myself a happy person and my life to be pretty damn fulfilling. There is nothing that I want so desperately that if I don't get it my life will feel like a waste. And I'm grateful for that. Cause there are plenty of folk out there who will always yearn for something and never be satisfied without it. I have balance. Nine times out of ten, I'm content. I have very few regrets. But every once in a while, some little voice in my head will gleefully suggest, "Hey, let's get out those journals from high school and read about how miserable we were then." And another sinister little voice says, "Hey, what a great idea!" I did that the other morning and I spent the next two hours trying to pull my head out of a fog, trying to remind myself that I am, in fact, 35 and not 16 and that other stuff is far, far in the past. Long, long ago. And many moons behind me.
The point is, what do you do when you can't escape the friend who is a bad influence and constantly talks you into doing stupid things. Nothing so bad that your life will be inextricably altered, but bad enough that it stings. How do you stop this friend from pushing you to make the same stupid mistakes over and over? After all, as Bill W. taught us, the very definition of insanity is repeating the same action while expecting a different result. Can a person escape their own mind?
Once again, I have no answer to this tirade. That's often the case when I try to get serious here. And I'm not even 100% sure I should publish this. It's more personal than I like to get in a public forum. It could be I wrote this just to get it out of my head. Make some room in there for something else. Or maybe I am just looking for confirmation... looking for someone else to tell me that they have the same problem. Maybe my head wouldn't feel so crowded if I knew that other people felt cramped in their own mind as well. Whatever the reasoning, my head is awful full at the moment. Full of worry over things I can't control, things I can't do anything about.
So if someone could help me find the mute button, I would be so grateful.
Now, let's be fair about this, cause many of those people whom I was sure were attempting to ruin me were "talent" on a show. My fellow scripties will probably recognize this emotion. Where some stupid talent comes in at rehearsal (or even worse... minutes before they step out on stage for the show) and changes all their copy. I was always sure it was just to torture me! Just to show that they were a big important celebrity (yes, Kevin Spacey, I'm talking to you!!!) and that I am a little peon with a pencil and a 3-ring binder who is there strictly to do their bidding. Sometimes it wasn't talent at all, but crew. Stage managers... producers... teleprompter... all out to get me and rob me of my chance for sleep. So these paranoid moments might be just a wee bit self-centered and probably can be discounted. In my own defense, I was probably really tired at the time.
But I do believe that at one time or another, there have been a few people out there who were torturing me just because they could. And hey... that's fine. I mean, it only works if I let it, right?
Here's the problem tho. Lately, I have begun to wonder if perhaps the person who is most determined to bring about my personal ruin is none other than... well, me.
There have been people whom I have gotten to know at one point or another in my life who seemed to have such a busy head that I was sad for them. Sad that their head must be such a crowded place... so full of business and stress that there must seem like no escape. I wondered how these people could function without exploding.
But what I have realized recently is that the above description can oftentimes describe my own head. Good Lord but I can torture myself. Like a pro. Like I'm being paid! (Would that I could...) There are so many different thoughts racing around in there, I don't know what to do with them half of the time. I think that's why I am so obsessed with music and reading. And TV. Cause that's when the thoughts go away. The voices shut up.
Ok, yeah, I said voices. There was a time in my life, before I became a 12-steper, where there was a constant battle in my head between Voice A and Voice B. A & B were constantly at odds with one another. One trying to be the disciplinarian and the other trying to be the child. I remember that being the miracle of my first day in an OA meeting. All of a sudden, after 29 years of fighting with myself in my head, it was like someone hit the mute button. I don't think I even realized how loud it was in there until it stopped. I remember wanting to cry from relief. I could actually just sit still and listen to myself breathe, something I would never have been able to do before.
A & B beat a hasty retreat as I became immersed in the 12 steps and found my way to recovery. The great news is that they haven't really ever come back. At least, not for long. I will always be grateful to Bill W. for that.
The voices I hear now are different. They are quieter, a bit mellower and usually kinder. And they do serve their purpose. But they also doubt. They imagine... and not in a great way. They hear drama where there is none and whisper doubts when I am desperately trying to find some confidence. And they don't stop talking unless there is a distraction (hence the constant background noise in my life.)
Is it a Gemini thing? I usually make a joke out of that one... someone asks me who I went to the movies with the other day and I say, "Oh, just me and my other personalities." I'm not a big believer in Astrology, but it does seem to fit me pretty well. There is certainly a touch of crazy about me. I mean, for the love of God, I sell sex toys for a living!!! I am definitely living off the beaten path. And I do like that about myself. I have never wanted to live an uninteresting, untested life.
But the question is, how do I get away from my own mind? How do I take a vacation from self-doubt and the certainty that the things I want the most are always going to be just beyond my reach? I'm open to suggestions from the peanut gallery. If you have an idea, send it on baby!
I do consider myself a happy person and my life to be pretty damn fulfilling. There is nothing that I want so desperately that if I don't get it my life will feel like a waste. And I'm grateful for that. Cause there are plenty of folk out there who will always yearn for something and never be satisfied without it. I have balance. Nine times out of ten, I'm content. I have very few regrets. But every once in a while, some little voice in my head will gleefully suggest, "Hey, let's get out those journals from high school and read about how miserable we were then." And another sinister little voice says, "Hey, what a great idea!" I did that the other morning and I spent the next two hours trying to pull my head out of a fog, trying to remind myself that I am, in fact, 35 and not 16 and that other stuff is far, far in the past. Long, long ago. And many moons behind me.
The point is, what do you do when you can't escape the friend who is a bad influence and constantly talks you into doing stupid things. Nothing so bad that your life will be inextricably altered, but bad enough that it stings. How do you stop this friend from pushing you to make the same stupid mistakes over and over? After all, as Bill W. taught us, the very definition of insanity is repeating the same action while expecting a different result. Can a person escape their own mind?
Once again, I have no answer to this tirade. That's often the case when I try to get serious here. And I'm not even 100% sure I should publish this. It's more personal than I like to get in a public forum. It could be I wrote this just to get it out of my head. Make some room in there for something else. Or maybe I am just looking for confirmation... looking for someone else to tell me that they have the same problem. Maybe my head wouldn't feel so crowded if I knew that other people felt cramped in their own mind as well. Whatever the reasoning, my head is awful full at the moment. Full of worry over things I can't control, things I can't do anything about.
So if someone could help me find the mute button, I would be so grateful.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
It's So Hard to Get Good Service These Days! Or not...
This one's for Debbie...
So... the biggest change in my life when I moved from LA to Charlotte was not what you'd imagine. It wasn't the cultural change. It wasn't the traffic differences. (And for the record, I sometimes think Charlotte's traffic is worse than LA's cause there are only a few routes available to get in and out of uptown and when you get stuck in a traffic jam, you can't just hop over two blocks and go around it or go over the canyon instead of taking the freeway.. but that's neither here nor there.) It wasn't even getting used to the churches on every corner. No, the biggest change I experienced was the startling lack of available (read: not within a food court or the refrigerated section of the grocery store) sushi.
Okay, well, probably not all that startling. Clearly the Asian population of Charlotte is smaller than in LA (yes, yes, I'll say it for you. DUH!) and that would decrease the demand. And that whole lack-of-oceanic-access thing has an effect as well. So I wasn't surprised, per se. Just bummed. Really bummed. I would drift off to sleep at night dreaming of deliciously cool albacore sashimi in a chilled ponzu sauce at Sushi Sase Bune and would wake up to a reality of Harris Teeter "cucumber rolls."
Now, I'm definitely not being fair to the culinary folk in Charlotte. I don't want to give my LA friends the impression that it's 'all Applebees, all the time' in Charlotte. Johnson and Wales Culinary Academy has a branch here in Charlotte and as a result, we have some fantastic restaurants and some of the best food I've ever eaten. It's just the sushi where we really fall short. And, of course, sushi is the one that I crave... Sigh.
I've been through a few sushi restaurants here and was fiercly loyal to each one during its tenure in my life. Sushi 101 had the enjoyable distinction of being a mile from my house. I liked that! And although I thought their sushi was good, it never felt fresh to me. So it became my place holder sushi place. Maybe not Mr. Right, but Mr. Good Enough for Right Now, as they say.
There's another place that is very popular with the 20-something nookie hunting crowd called Rusan's but I was never a big fan of that place. Aside from the mind-numbing techno music they played at a stupid volume, they had very few rolls to choose from that had not been fried in some fashion. Call me obsessive, but the whole reason I spend the money on the sushi is cause I get to pretend it's healthy. Add the flash fry and I don't get to pretend anymore. Fortunately for me, Rusan's got a VERY scary score from the health department a few years ago and I haven't had to fight with dining companions to avoid going there in quite some time.
Then, one day, it seemed my prayers had been answered. Ginbu 401 rolled into town. Fresh fish prepared just the way I like. Barely a fried roll in sight! Heaven! I ate there so much that they eventually named a roll after me. Seriously! It's called the Sheri Roll (creative, yeah?) and it had all my favorite fishies in it!!! But one day, they mysteriously cut their portions in half while keeping their prices the same. I admit, I'm being dramatic, but I felt a bit betrayed. And so... bye bye Ginbu.
Now, there is a new place in town and it's not so far away from my house. The fish is fresh and the servings are appropriate. I'm trying to be more fiscally responsible (note the "trying" portion of that sentence) so I haven't gone as much as I would like. Which may be why I can't even remember the name. But probably, the main reason I don't remember the name is because, to me, it will always be known as "the water glass place." And why is that? Ask Debbie.
No seriously, you don't have to ask Debbie. Most of you don't know Debbie. (And those of you who do know her don't have her number.)
The reason why is because they have really good customer service at this restaurant. In Debbie's mind, a bit TOO good.
Debbie is my favorite sushi eating partner. She and I only manage to get together about once a month when we are lucky, but it's always for a meal and more often than not, we wind up eating sushi. However, we are currently at a bit of an impasse because Deb still likes Sushi 101 the best and I don't like it there anymore at all. She doesn't like to go to the "water glass place." She always gives in to me and goes there, but leaves unhappy everytime. Which makes me vow to myself, every time, that I will go to her favorite next time. And, of course, I don't. Cause I suck. Also, I digress.
Whenever we eat at TWGP (not going to keep typing "water glass place" cause that's way more work than I'm interested in doing) it isn't really all that crowded. However, they always seem to have an abundence of staff... and they seem to want to make sure we are enjoying ourselves as much as possible. So they come by... they come by a lot. Debbie takes a sip of her water and they hustle over to fill it back up. (Hence TWGP) The menus arrive, waiters appear to take our order immediately. If we ask for time, they hover nearby, checking back every few minutes or so. After we order, the owner, the host and the waiter each check on us frequently, asking if we are okay, do we need anything etc. The food comes and as you can probably imagine, there is a lot of checking to make sure everything is to our liking. And water glass filling. And how are you ladies doing? And can we get you anything? And can I take that plate for you? And on and on and on.
Now, again aiming toward fairness, I have eaten there at lunch by myself sometimes with a book. (shocking!) On those occasions, they mostly leave me alone. Although, it is entirely possible that they try to speak to me and I am just too engrossed in my reading to notice. I do always have water in my glass, I know that.
It's not that helpful service is not appreciated. There have been times at other restaurants where I seriously considered getting up and going into the kitchen myself to fill my water glass. (Goodness me, what a tortured life I lead.) So I like that this place is on top of customer care.
It's just that constant interruption makes Debbie want to yank her hair out by the root. Possibly because conversation with me is just THAT fascinating that she doesn't want it interrupted, but more likely because it's just frustrating to be trying to catch up with a friend and being interrupted every few sentences to assure people that we are fine and don't need anything more. I think the water glass thing wouldn't bother her so much if the servers didn't take that opportunity every time to ask how we are doing. If they just came and filled and left, we probably wouldn't notice. But every time, they interrupt to ask how we are. And every time, I watch Debbie's expression get darker and darker. I sometimes think she's one interruption away from stabbing the water glass lady in the eye with a chop stick.
One of the first lessons I learned in in the edit bay or the production truck was that as a Script Supervisor, I should be seen and not heard... I should not speak unless spoken to... It was a lesson I learned the hard way (aka being fired for asking questions and being "too comfortable") and probably wouldn't have happened on a different kind of show where the producer wasn't such a tight ass. Nonetheless, I learned the lesson well. To this day, it's pretty close to impossible to get me to talk in a setting that even remotely resembles a tense edit bay or production truck. Even when it's appropriate for me to speak, I can rarely summon much more than a whisper and have to be told frequently to speak up! (Which is hard for many to imagine, I'm sure, but I got spanked PRETTY HARD when I learned that lesson.)
I'm not saying that serving staff should be seen and not heard. Far from it. I love a good waiter who laughs and jokes with me and offers his opinion. But what I, and I think I can speak for Debbie on this one, would prefer is a waiter who can read the table and be able to ascertain that there is a conversation going on and then make the decision on whether an interruption is prudent.
Having said that, however, TWGP is still the best sushi restaurant in Charlotte, in my opinion, and as such, they will undoubtedly continue to separate me from my hard-earned cash.
And of course, they will continue to fill my water glass at every conceivable opportunity! Which is really fine. Cause let's face it.
Soy sauce makes me thirsty.
So... the biggest change in my life when I moved from LA to Charlotte was not what you'd imagine. It wasn't the cultural change. It wasn't the traffic differences. (And for the record, I sometimes think Charlotte's traffic is worse than LA's cause there are only a few routes available to get in and out of uptown and when you get stuck in a traffic jam, you can't just hop over two blocks and go around it or go over the canyon instead of taking the freeway.. but that's neither here nor there.) It wasn't even getting used to the churches on every corner. No, the biggest change I experienced was the startling lack of available (read: not within a food court or the refrigerated section of the grocery store) sushi.
Okay, well, probably not all that startling. Clearly the Asian population of Charlotte is smaller than in LA (yes, yes, I'll say it for you. DUH!) and that would decrease the demand. And that whole lack-of-oceanic-access thing has an effect as well. So I wasn't surprised, per se. Just bummed. Really bummed. I would drift off to sleep at night dreaming of deliciously cool albacore sashimi in a chilled ponzu sauce at Sushi Sase Bune and would wake up to a reality of Harris Teeter "cucumber rolls."
Now, I'm definitely not being fair to the culinary folk in Charlotte. I don't want to give my LA friends the impression that it's 'all Applebees, all the time' in Charlotte. Johnson and Wales Culinary Academy has a branch here in Charlotte and as a result, we have some fantastic restaurants and some of the best food I've ever eaten. It's just the sushi where we really fall short. And, of course, sushi is the one that I crave... Sigh.
I've been through a few sushi restaurants here and was fiercly loyal to each one during its tenure in my life. Sushi 101 had the enjoyable distinction of being a mile from my house. I liked that! And although I thought their sushi was good, it never felt fresh to me. So it became my place holder sushi place. Maybe not Mr. Right, but Mr. Good Enough for Right Now, as they say.
There's another place that is very popular with the 20-something nookie hunting crowd called Rusan's but I was never a big fan of that place. Aside from the mind-numbing techno music they played at a stupid volume, they had very few rolls to choose from that had not been fried in some fashion. Call me obsessive, but the whole reason I spend the money on the sushi is cause I get to pretend it's healthy. Add the flash fry and I don't get to pretend anymore. Fortunately for me, Rusan's got a VERY scary score from the health department a few years ago and I haven't had to fight with dining companions to avoid going there in quite some time.
Then, one day, it seemed my prayers had been answered. Ginbu 401 rolled into town. Fresh fish prepared just the way I like. Barely a fried roll in sight! Heaven! I ate there so much that they eventually named a roll after me. Seriously! It's called the Sheri Roll (creative, yeah?) and it had all my favorite fishies in it!!! But one day, they mysteriously cut their portions in half while keeping their prices the same. I admit, I'm being dramatic, but I felt a bit betrayed. And so... bye bye Ginbu.
Now, there is a new place in town and it's not so far away from my house. The fish is fresh and the servings are appropriate. I'm trying to be more fiscally responsible (note the "trying" portion of that sentence) so I haven't gone as much as I would like. Which may be why I can't even remember the name. But probably, the main reason I don't remember the name is because, to me, it will always be known as "the water glass place." And why is that? Ask Debbie.
No seriously, you don't have to ask Debbie. Most of you don't know Debbie. (And those of you who do know her don't have her number.)
The reason why is because they have really good customer service at this restaurant. In Debbie's mind, a bit TOO good.
Debbie is my favorite sushi eating partner. She and I only manage to get together about once a month when we are lucky, but it's always for a meal and more often than not, we wind up eating sushi. However, we are currently at a bit of an impasse because Deb still likes Sushi 101 the best and I don't like it there anymore at all. She doesn't like to go to the "water glass place." She always gives in to me and goes there, but leaves unhappy everytime. Which makes me vow to myself, every time, that I will go to her favorite next time. And, of course, I don't. Cause I suck. Also, I digress.
Whenever we eat at TWGP (not going to keep typing "water glass place" cause that's way more work than I'm interested in doing) it isn't really all that crowded. However, they always seem to have an abundence of staff... and they seem to want to make sure we are enjoying ourselves as much as possible. So they come by... they come by a lot. Debbie takes a sip of her water and they hustle over to fill it back up. (Hence TWGP) The menus arrive, waiters appear to take our order immediately. If we ask for time, they hover nearby, checking back every few minutes or so. After we order, the owner, the host and the waiter each check on us frequently, asking if we are okay, do we need anything etc. The food comes and as you can probably imagine, there is a lot of checking to make sure everything is to our liking. And water glass filling. And how are you ladies doing? And can we get you anything? And can I take that plate for you? And on and on and on.
Now, again aiming toward fairness, I have eaten there at lunch by myself sometimes with a book. (shocking!) On those occasions, they mostly leave me alone. Although, it is entirely possible that they try to speak to me and I am just too engrossed in my reading to notice. I do always have water in my glass, I know that.
It's not that helpful service is not appreciated. There have been times at other restaurants where I seriously considered getting up and going into the kitchen myself to fill my water glass. (Goodness me, what a tortured life I lead.) So I like that this place is on top of customer care.
It's just that constant interruption makes Debbie want to yank her hair out by the root. Possibly because conversation with me is just THAT fascinating that she doesn't want it interrupted, but more likely because it's just frustrating to be trying to catch up with a friend and being interrupted every few sentences to assure people that we are fine and don't need anything more. I think the water glass thing wouldn't bother her so much if the servers didn't take that opportunity every time to ask how we are doing. If they just came and filled and left, we probably wouldn't notice. But every time, they interrupt to ask how we are. And every time, I watch Debbie's expression get darker and darker. I sometimes think she's one interruption away from stabbing the water glass lady in the eye with a chop stick.
One of the first lessons I learned in in the edit bay or the production truck was that as a Script Supervisor, I should be seen and not heard... I should not speak unless spoken to... It was a lesson I learned the hard way (aka being fired for asking questions and being "too comfortable") and probably wouldn't have happened on a different kind of show where the producer wasn't such a tight ass. Nonetheless, I learned the lesson well. To this day, it's pretty close to impossible to get me to talk in a setting that even remotely resembles a tense edit bay or production truck. Even when it's appropriate for me to speak, I can rarely summon much more than a whisper and have to be told frequently to speak up! (Which is hard for many to imagine, I'm sure, but I got spanked PRETTY HARD when I learned that lesson.)
I'm not saying that serving staff should be seen and not heard. Far from it. I love a good waiter who laughs and jokes with me and offers his opinion. But what I, and I think I can speak for Debbie on this one, would prefer is a waiter who can read the table and be able to ascertain that there is a conversation going on and then make the decision on whether an interruption is prudent.
Having said that, however, TWGP is still the best sushi restaurant in Charlotte, in my opinion, and as such, they will undoubtedly continue to separate me from my hard-earned cash.
And of course, they will continue to fill my water glass at every conceivable opportunity! Which is really fine. Cause let's face it.
Soy sauce makes me thirsty.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Guess what I get high on?
So... I am slacking. I'm not updating this blog as often as I (and some other vocal people) would like. And honestly, I want to update it more often, I do. It's not even that I'm too busy, it's just that I'm uninspired.
I occasionally have ideas float through my head and I like to give them a day or so to percolate to see if there is any substance to them. The other day, I thought about writing something about why I'm so addicted to primetime teen soap operas. But honestly, is there anything to say about that? Cause I'm a freak. End of blog.
Then I thought about writing of my love for all things Aaron Sorkin. Again, who cares? I have nothing interesting to say about it. Just that I love the West Wing and I was one of the few people who loved Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. He has a gift with dialogue and banter. And done.
Then yesterday, I was playing Guitar Hero and considered writing about how each song I hear has a memory attached to it that is so tangible that it often feels like a time machine. There are some songs on there that are SOOOOOO morning show on KROQ that I could almost see the Beverly Center passing me on my right as I drove down Beverly Blvd. to get to CBS for work in my Nissan Exterra. But again, with that thought, I am done.
And so it falls to you, gentle reader (as Stephen King would say.) I require inspiration. When I first got to Charlotte, I was taking this drop-in writing class. The teacher would read aloud from a poem or a song or something or even would just say a word and we would have to write whatever came into our minds for five minutes. I remember one time the assignment was to write something that started with the words "I thought I wanted." And from there I wrote a whole piece about leaving Los Angeles and television and my love/hate relationship with the whole scene and it's one of the things I am most proud of having written.
So a little help from my friends (yes, that's what I get high on) please! Send me an email with anything in it and I will do my best to come up with something to write about. A song lyric is good, a sentence fragment, something you saw in the newspaper or on line, whatever.
In all honesty, I want to write more. It feels good. I so rarely get to feel the satisfaction that comes with creation and I crave it. If only I could create an idea about something to write about.
I would imagine that you will see some blog on my love of the twilight series at some point, but other than that, I'm blank. Help!
I occasionally have ideas float through my head and I like to give them a day or so to percolate to see if there is any substance to them. The other day, I thought about writing something about why I'm so addicted to primetime teen soap operas. But honestly, is there anything to say about that? Cause I'm a freak. End of blog.
Then I thought about writing of my love for all things Aaron Sorkin. Again, who cares? I have nothing interesting to say about it. Just that I love the West Wing and I was one of the few people who loved Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. He has a gift with dialogue and banter. And done.
Then yesterday, I was playing Guitar Hero and considered writing about how each song I hear has a memory attached to it that is so tangible that it often feels like a time machine. There are some songs on there that are SOOOOOO morning show on KROQ that I could almost see the Beverly Center passing me on my right as I drove down Beverly Blvd. to get to CBS for work in my Nissan Exterra. But again, with that thought, I am done.
And so it falls to you, gentle reader (as Stephen King would say.) I require inspiration. When I first got to Charlotte, I was taking this drop-in writing class. The teacher would read aloud from a poem or a song or something or even would just say a word and we would have to write whatever came into our minds for five minutes. I remember one time the assignment was to write something that started with the words "I thought I wanted." And from there I wrote a whole piece about leaving Los Angeles and television and my love/hate relationship with the whole scene and it's one of the things I am most proud of having written.
So a little help from my friends (yes, that's what I get high on) please! Send me an email with anything in it and I will do my best to come up with something to write about. A song lyric is good, a sentence fragment, something you saw in the newspaper or on line, whatever.
In all honesty, I want to write more. It feels good. I so rarely get to feel the satisfaction that comes with creation and I crave it. If only I could create an idea about something to write about.
I would imagine that you will see some blog on my love of the twilight series at some point, but other than that, I'm blank. Help!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Speechless? Well, that's a first!
So... I can't talk today. Literally. Got a cold on Friday, became a fever on Saturday night (right as I was describing to a room full of women where their G-Spot is, so that was fun!), a cough on Sunday, raspy voice on Monday (which made Monday night's party sound very sexy!) and this morning... totally MUTE. Can't make a sound much above a whisper. Well, actually, let me amend that... I can sort of make a noise above a whisper, but since it sounds like a cat screaming while simultaneously playing an out-of-tune viola and scratching its nails down a chalkboard, I choose not to go there unless absolutely necessary.
I have had a few clients call today and didn't want to just not answer the phone, so they got to hear my strange voice and became very confused and hung up quickly. I had to find someone else to do tonight's party, so Molly came over and made phone calls on my behalf to the hostess and other consultants until we got the party covered. It was fun for me... like having an assistant. She would repeat whatever question the person on the phone had just asked and I would whisper my response, which she would then relay back into the phone. I felt like an aging, eccentric diva on an old episode of Moonlighting.
Anyhow, so through all this silence today, I've noticed a strange thing. I'm a bit more lonely at home alone today than I normally am. Feel a little more isolated than usual. People are always asking me how I can stand to work at home, don't I get distracted (yes), watch too much TV (yes) and get lonely without someone else to talk to (not usually...) Don't get me wrong, I enjoy company when I can and there is always the odd day where I miss being in an office and sharing my day with other people. When I got home from Telethon this year, I had an exceptionally hard time reverting back to work-at-home mode and was sad for a few days remembering what it was like to be in an office full of people. (Fortunately, I also had the memory of working until 3AM to make me feel better when I got too sad.)
But normally, I'm pretty happy with my work-at-home situation. I like being around Richie, can't beat the commute, love that I can choose just not to shower, or wear the same outfit two days in a row (yes, only if it's clean... GEEZ MOM!) if I am not seeing the same people I saw the day before. And I very rarely get lonely and miss interaction. So why is it that my status as a temporary mute today should affect that? This is what I have fixated on today while simultaneously fixating on giving up the money I planned to make at the party tonight (grrrrrrr). And here is what I have decided.
It's cause I talk all the time. This won't come as a shock to anyone who knows me, and probably anyone who doesn't but reads this blog anyway. I talk. All day. I always did in an office with other people... off hand comments, long conversations, phone calls, you name it. But I was almost always talking. And it appears, although there is no longer anyone here to talk to, I have continued to talk my way through the day. I'd like to give myself the credit of believing that these conversations are probably all mental and not out loud, but today I have the proof that I say quite a few thoughts out loud when I'm alone.
See cause every word is an effort today. But if I don't talk for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes and focus on something else and then a random thought floats into my brain and my brain says "hey, that was smart... tell everyone else in the room that smart thought you just had" and I open my mouth to speak forgetting I have no voice... well... let's just say it's easier to notice the random mumblings when they sound like pigs being drowned and strangled at the same time. I guess, when my voice is normal, those random out loud mutterings just slip under the radar. If a comment is spoken in an empty room and there is no one there to comment does it make a sound? Now I know how the tree in the forest feels.
The feeling of weirdness got even stronger in the car. I felt so isolated in this very curious way. But I realized quickly that the explanation for that was easy. No voice=no yelling at talk radio. No voice=no singing along with my iPod very loudly (although... probably wouldn't have sounded much worse than when my vocal chords are working properly). Most importantly, no voice=no communication, friendly or otherwise, with other drivers. No nasty, snide comments on other people's driving. Had to make them all in my head. Which was an effort. An effort which led my mind to another question, which you might have already led yourself too.
If I'm talking this much in the car all the time, why have I not been pulled over for DWC (driving while crazy)? Certainly, if I drove by me while I was yelling at the POTUS 08 channel on XM, I would accelerate immediately to pass me by for fear I would be pulling a gun out of the glove compartment. (Remember that movie LA Story where Steve Martin was driving down the highway shooting his gun while talking to Marilu Henner about whether he had left his pants at her house? I love that movie. "Open season on the LA Freeway!")
Seriously, tho, what do other people think of me while they drive by? Do they notice? Do they think I have a bluetooth in and they just can't see it (in which case, if they are like me, they are probably judging me on that basis.) Or is what I do so completely normal that other people don't notice? I know that Molly likes to give shoutouts to other drivers to warn them of impending danger... "Don't you back into me, Mr. Mercedes." "That's an entrance, not an exit lady!" (I call her the traffic avenger. She gets really mad when she drives sometimes. Makes me giggle.)
And finally, this is the other thought that came to me today. You know how, when you lose one sense, it makes the others stronger? Well, if I lost the power of speech today, shouldn't I become instantly better at listening and remembering conversation? You would think, right? But I went to the doctor and he gave me some spray stuff for my throat and I swear he told me how many times I need to spray it each hour but I can't remember. I mean, I think he said three, but I'm not sure... I'd call him and ask, but well, you know.
I'm sure there are some of you out there who are gleefully pondering a world of Sheri-Without-Speech. Probably would be a very different dynamic for everyone! In fact, the nurse at the doctor's office (who I happen to know because she used to sell Pure Romance... holy coincidence Batman) said to me "This is making you crazy isn't it?" To which I rasped "I'm going out of my mind." And she laughed, "Yeah, I knew you'd have a problem. You're a talker like me." Thank God she added the "like me" part or I might have taken offense.
But all you giddy folk thinking about me not being able to quip at the drop of a hat are forgetting the one casualty of this situation. Poor Richie! He probably thinks something is horribly wrong! It's so quiet in his house. His Mom isn't singing to him or barking at him to get out from underfoot in the kitchen, or even ordering him to sit at food time (thank GOD for hand signals.) His whole world has been turned upside down with the silence that surrounds him. Poor buddy. Even though is laying there on his back, looking like he has narry a care in the world, I know somewhere inside he is wondering why his Mom isn't talking to him today. Gee, I hope he doesn't think it was something he did!
Don't worry, little punkin. It won't be long before my voice has been restored to its former glory. (And it better be before Thursday, because I am NOT giving up my party again!) And when it comes back, I will celebrate with an out-of-key song or two, followed by some loud vocal exercises a la high school drama class (the tip of the teeth, the tongue and the lips) and ending with a disertation on why Dexter is currently the greatest show on television complete with a season three episode by episode breakdown of its virtues.
So there's that for us ALL to look forward to. Anyone wanna come over?
I have had a few clients call today and didn't want to just not answer the phone, so they got to hear my strange voice and became very confused and hung up quickly. I had to find someone else to do tonight's party, so Molly came over and made phone calls on my behalf to the hostess and other consultants until we got the party covered. It was fun for me... like having an assistant. She would repeat whatever question the person on the phone had just asked and I would whisper my response, which she would then relay back into the phone. I felt like an aging, eccentric diva on an old episode of Moonlighting.
Anyhow, so through all this silence today, I've noticed a strange thing. I'm a bit more lonely at home alone today than I normally am. Feel a little more isolated than usual. People are always asking me how I can stand to work at home, don't I get distracted (yes), watch too much TV (yes) and get lonely without someone else to talk to (not usually...) Don't get me wrong, I enjoy company when I can and there is always the odd day where I miss being in an office and sharing my day with other people. When I got home from Telethon this year, I had an exceptionally hard time reverting back to work-at-home mode and was sad for a few days remembering what it was like to be in an office full of people. (Fortunately, I also had the memory of working until 3AM to make me feel better when I got too sad.)
But normally, I'm pretty happy with my work-at-home situation. I like being around Richie, can't beat the commute, love that I can choose just not to shower, or wear the same outfit two days in a row (yes, only if it's clean... GEEZ MOM!) if I am not seeing the same people I saw the day before. And I very rarely get lonely and miss interaction. So why is it that my status as a temporary mute today should affect that? This is what I have fixated on today while simultaneously fixating on giving up the money I planned to make at the party tonight (grrrrrrr). And here is what I have decided.
It's cause I talk all the time. This won't come as a shock to anyone who knows me, and probably anyone who doesn't but reads this blog anyway. I talk. All day. I always did in an office with other people... off hand comments, long conversations, phone calls, you name it. But I was almost always talking. And it appears, although there is no longer anyone here to talk to, I have continued to talk my way through the day. I'd like to give myself the credit of believing that these conversations are probably all mental and not out loud, but today I have the proof that I say quite a few thoughts out loud when I'm alone.
See cause every word is an effort today. But if I don't talk for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes and focus on something else and then a random thought floats into my brain and my brain says "hey, that was smart... tell everyone else in the room that smart thought you just had" and I open my mouth to speak forgetting I have no voice... well... let's just say it's easier to notice the random mumblings when they sound like pigs being drowned and strangled at the same time. I guess, when my voice is normal, those random out loud mutterings just slip under the radar. If a comment is spoken in an empty room and there is no one there to comment does it make a sound? Now I know how the tree in the forest feels.
The feeling of weirdness got even stronger in the car. I felt so isolated in this very curious way. But I realized quickly that the explanation for that was easy. No voice=no yelling at talk radio. No voice=no singing along with my iPod very loudly (although... probably wouldn't have sounded much worse than when my vocal chords are working properly). Most importantly, no voice=no communication, friendly or otherwise, with other drivers. No nasty, snide comments on other people's driving. Had to make them all in my head. Which was an effort. An effort which led my mind to another question, which you might have already led yourself too.
If I'm talking this much in the car all the time, why have I not been pulled over for DWC (driving while crazy)? Certainly, if I drove by me while I was yelling at the POTUS 08 channel on XM, I would accelerate immediately to pass me by for fear I would be pulling a gun out of the glove compartment. (Remember that movie LA Story where Steve Martin was driving down the highway shooting his gun while talking to Marilu Henner about whether he had left his pants at her house? I love that movie. "Open season on the LA Freeway!")
Seriously, tho, what do other people think of me while they drive by? Do they notice? Do they think I have a bluetooth in and they just can't see it (in which case, if they are like me, they are probably judging me on that basis.) Or is what I do so completely normal that other people don't notice? I know that Molly likes to give shoutouts to other drivers to warn them of impending danger... "Don't you back into me, Mr. Mercedes." "That's an entrance, not an exit lady!" (I call her the traffic avenger. She gets really mad when she drives sometimes. Makes me giggle.)
And finally, this is the other thought that came to me today. You know how, when you lose one sense, it makes the others stronger? Well, if I lost the power of speech today, shouldn't I become instantly better at listening and remembering conversation? You would think, right? But I went to the doctor and he gave me some spray stuff for my throat and I swear he told me how many times I need to spray it each hour but I can't remember. I mean, I think he said three, but I'm not sure... I'd call him and ask, but well, you know.
I'm sure there are some of you out there who are gleefully pondering a world of Sheri-Without-Speech. Probably would be a very different dynamic for everyone! In fact, the nurse at the doctor's office (who I happen to know because she used to sell Pure Romance... holy coincidence Batman) said to me "This is making you crazy isn't it?" To which I rasped "I'm going out of my mind." And she laughed, "Yeah, I knew you'd have a problem. You're a talker like me." Thank God she added the "like me" part or I might have taken offense.
But all you giddy folk thinking about me not being able to quip at the drop of a hat are forgetting the one casualty of this situation. Poor Richie! He probably thinks something is horribly wrong! It's so quiet in his house. His Mom isn't singing to him or barking at him to get out from underfoot in the kitchen, or even ordering him to sit at food time (thank GOD for hand signals.) His whole world has been turned upside down with the silence that surrounds him. Poor buddy. Even though is laying there on his back, looking like he has narry a care in the world, I know somewhere inside he is wondering why his Mom isn't talking to him today. Gee, I hope he doesn't think it was something he did!
Don't worry, little punkin. It won't be long before my voice has been restored to its former glory. (And it better be before Thursday, because I am NOT giving up my party again!) And when it comes back, I will celebrate with an out-of-key song or two, followed by some loud vocal exercises a la high school drama class (the tip of the teeth, the tongue and the lips) and ending with a disertation on why Dexter is currently the greatest show on television complete with a season three episode by episode breakdown of its virtues.
So there's that for us ALL to look forward to. Anyone wanna come over?
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