1,000 words

So much has been happening lately, lets just go mostly with the pictures, since I'm short on the 1,000+ words to describe it all.

This is a view from inside the new building at MICA (Maryland Institute College of the Arts) on opening night of the MD Film Festival. Dig the onlooking reflected posters.

Why the inside of MICA? Because of these three gentlemen:

Leon Fleisher, Dr. Daniel Drachman and Nathaniel Kahn - all key players in the making of "Two Hands," which was one of the opening night shorts.

This trip back had happy things: the MD Film Fest and visiting family, like my cousin Emerie, who is doing a rousing job staring in the ensemble of Arena Stage's "The Heidi Chronicles."

And my two sweeties together:

It also had sad things, like the memorial for my beloved theater professor Joe Patenaude.

This is the door to Joe's office at Drew University.

This is some of my fellow theatre arts alumni - notice how they taught half of us to keep our eyes closed for the photograph.

My favorite republican, Gov. Tom Kean & I... The first student show he saw as prez was my first play, "Gaijin." We've had a mutual admiration society going on ever since.

It was healing, though, to walk on the campus again and see the beautiful new Arts building - of which I'm totally jealous (we had to rough it in The Commons, a blackbox, and Bowne, a converted gymnasium).

From Drew's college in the forest, to Baltimore's oddities...

Filling up on the East Coast to last me a while on the West.

Bawlmer Boobs

 

It's nice to get a little blurb in the hometown paper:

http://www.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/movies/bal-to.twohands26jan26,0,5445580.story?coll=bal-artslife-movies

I've now worked on 2 films (The Diversion & Two Hands) in my birthplace, Baltimore, MD, and I'd like nothing more than to shoot my latest feature script "To Do:" there. It's Bawlmer to the core, hon. Set in Roland Park (Anne Tyler country), @ Friends School (my alma mater), Johns Hopkins (my father's long-time workplace), Harbor Place (which was inaugurated on my 10th birthday), O'Brycki's (bang-bang crabs of choice), The Lacrosse Hall of Fame (Ravens, who?), the Visionary Arts Museum (overlooking the Inner/Outer Harbor with inspiration from within), and a whole host of Baltimorons (my favorite geographical designation), complete with a custom-created role for Charm City native John Astin.

Odd/ironic that I had to move all the way across the country to try and get this film made. Folks at the OutFest Screenwriters Lab this summer convinced me that L.A. was the place to be to get this project off the ground, so here I am. Now all I need is $1 million to get everything/everyone else in place. The trick? Funding a romantic dramedy staring relative unknowns. Oh, and the lead character's dying of breast cancer. And they're lesbians. Piece of cake, right?

I guess I have Baltimore and breasts on the brain today. First the Sun article, then my very first mammogram. I count it as good preventive medicine and great research for the script. Nothing says commitment to my writing like having my boobs smashed in between 2 panes of glass. Definitely suffering for my art, here...

ouch!

Bagels

I'm a bagel snob (H&H rules!), but so homesick for the Big Apple that I took the plunge and bought some of these "New York Style" supermarket bagels. Boy, am I glad I did! They are respectably tasty. It's the little things that comfort...

I must be having L.A. conversion illness. In the same way that I'm incensed when I see a TV show set in NYC, but filmed generically in Toronto, Vancouver or L.A., then thrilled when I recognize actual NYC locations sprinkled throughout; I am now becoming similarly angered/thrilled when I see Los Angeles-set shows with real L.A. locations.

An Angeleno friend advised me to find things to love here that are uniquely Los Angeles. Thing #1: The Cinerama Dome. There's nothing like a big movie musical projected in the round... Many more things to come, I'm sure. I'm taking suggestions!

Electric Trash

That Earthquake Kit I got off my Amazon wishlist came in very handy the other night, as transformers blew throughout the neighborhood, leaving us in total, soggy darkness. It seems that a small rainstorm can blow the grid, unfortunately. No worries - I just cranked my no-batteries-needed emergency flashlight/radio/phone charger and headed out to check on my neighbors. Most were in their jammies, but some were enjoying the mood set by candlelight and drizzle with alcohol. Although it was distressing that 911 was initially busy, then put me on hold for 10 minutes as the smell of smoke wafted through the courtyard, the offer of candles and vodka from neighbors in the moonlight offset the dread of possible conflagration.

Waking up to the Sun and not an alarm clock was a nice change. My mission: to pick up trash with some enterprising, civic-minded neighbors around the local grade school. I may seem like a cranky New Yorker, but I'm trying to be a generous Angeleno.

Creature Comforts

Creature Comforts. Literal creature comforts. I think if I'd had my pets with me in L.A. for the past 3 weeks, I wouldn't have been so distressed about every little thing that went wrong or was done wrong to me. It's just been a rolling frustration train. The flight back to JFK was 3/4 turbulent. I get back to NYC and try to unwind by seeing a movie w/my sweetie, and instead my mobile phone gets flushed down the toilet @ the theater (yes, I reached in and rescued it, but it's a soggy goner). See? Even in NYC (or on the way to NYC), things go wrong and infuriate. The difference being, I get to come home to my apartment of 12 years, cuddle with my cats and kiss my girlfriend. Instant anti-anxiety pill. Did I mention my meds were stolen by the infamous TSA personel as they handled my bags? So, I'll get another prescription and then a pedicure at my neighborhood nail place where they know my battered feet well... I can let it roll off my back, or feet or cats. You get the point.

The reason for my return East (aside from the need to aleviate extreme withdrawal symptoms)? The screening of "Two Hands," a doc short by Nathaniel Kahn about the remarkable pianist Leon Fleisher. How's this sound for a swanky evening?
1. Private screening of "Two Hands" @ Makor.
2. Triumphant concert by Leon Fleisher @ Avery Fisher Hall.
3. Celebratory dinner with extraordinary people @ Cafe Des Artistes.


Nathaniel Kahn, Leon Fleisher & Katherine Jacobson

I think I can handle whatever L.A. throws at me for the next stretch. I'm Big Apple-fortified for now.

Thanksgiving out West

Sitting here watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV (all 13" of it off of Craig's List) gives me a little reprieve from the West Coast. It brings up giddy memories of watching the inflation of the parade balloons, tethered on the Upper West Side by the AMNH, thousands of kids agog at the nearness of a gigantic Kermit. Me agog, too.

There's Ballet Hispanico - they're on my block on the UWS! There's Sesame Workshop, my former awesome workplace. Big Bird looks a little deflated... My friend Liz Warner used to work the parade every year, putting around in a golf cart up & down the route with dignitaries in tow. Now Liz is here in L.A. as a morning DJ for 103.1 FM, and a friendly presence for me.

I've been in L.A. for 2 weeks, now. I've got an apartment, a car, (most) furniture, food, non-working cable TV and an intermittent internet connection. And a neighbor across the way with a rooster (and attendent chickens) that crows starting around 4am, and then whenever he feels like it after that. My immediate neighbors have all been incredibly nice and helpful and welcoming. I've also got great friends, new and old, who've been looking out for me as I take my first baby steps in the City of Angels.

As I spent the past 3 days in misery and anger on the phone w/Time Warner Cable on my upstairs neighbor's borrowed phone (I've only got my NYC mobile phone, so when I call the L.A. TWC, the message says "It appears that you are calling from a number outside of California, please hang up and try the East Coast number. Click.), on hold for hours, complaining about no-show technichians and their general lack of service, I realize that as flawed as they are on the East Coast, at least they answer the phone in under 30 minutes and show up for appointments. The Angelenos to whom I bemoan this eggregious behavior aren't surprised at all. Every one of them, nonplussed, explains that there really isn't a concept of customer service out here. Oy!

I made the most of my time, while waiting 8am-6pm for technicians everyday, by building furniture, cooking/baking and putting up curtains. Setting up a home here just makes me long for the one that's already set-up back there, and the gorgeous talented redhead who's baking cookies in it. If my internet connection decides to stay mostly "on," I'll video-conference with my sweetie and family, all gathered together in Baltimore. If I can't be with them, at least they can be with each other. I'll be with family friends from synagogue back in Baltimore, who are kindly taking me in. As my new neighbor Guin said "You're a Thanksgiving orphan, huh?"

I know I'll start thinking of this place as home eventually (the comfy new mattress helps), but for now, I'm counting the days - 7 - until I go back to NYC, my adult home. I need my family, my sweetie, my pets, my friends. I need my fill of the East Coast. Withdrawal is a bitch. And I'm thankful for the heartache of it all, and the means to pursue my dreams.

Sing Along

Fred belts it out with a little moral & vocal support from me

My girlfriend kept asking me "What do you want for your birthday?" and I kept replying "A really good party." She was focussing on a physical present, and so was I, but of a different sort. Yesterday, after dozens of friends and family showed up to sing out and chow down at my Karaoke Birthday Bash (thanks to Karaoke Champ and Liz Dahmen), she got it.

I've been waiting for nearly my entire adult life to be healthy enough to grab the microphone and sing out strong, with the cheering from friends and family as the ultimate bonus. I got the hard-sell in LA to move out to the West Coast and capitalize on the momentum of the Lab and my script. Now that I'm finally able, it's time to make the move and work my brain to the max in pursuit of my writing career. It's oddly exhilerating and terrifying to contemplate the move, even if temporary. Didn't I just make fun of LA in The D Word...? Not to mention the logistics of apartments, pets and girlfriend. Oh yeah, and I've got a ton of spec scripts to write before I even get there and attempt to land an agent, get staffed on a show and raise funds for my next film. All minor technicalities...

Mental Space

BEFORE


AFTER

I've been working in a veritable pig sty of an office for the past year, surrouned by the detrius of the past decade's illness and pain. For the last 2 days I surrendered to the steady hands of a professional organizer. She knew when to ride me hard, push the pace and drag me through the boxes piled as high as an elephant's eye, and when to back off and give me a break going through departed loved one's letters. Some things are too hard to slog through on your own. I'm thankful that I knew my limit and called in reinforcements. I'm not done with the sorting and sacking yet, but I've gotten a kick-start on clearing my mental space and motivation to keep it clear, now. I've been putting off so much: "When the office is done..." What happens now that I have no excuses? Nothing taking up my physical space to interfere with my mental space? Time and finally space to write, that's what.