A life changing event

I, like many women I know, spend a lot of money on magazines. I read Oprah, I read Self, I read Weight Watchers. And those are just the "self-help" ones! But it's finally paid off. After years of clipping recipes to put in a binder and rarely look at again, tearing out pages of exercises I'll probably do once and forget about, I found a piece of advice that has changed my life! And I want to share it with all of you...

Last week I was reading in Self about time-savers. I came across one that said to floss while you shower. I thought about this. Really? Could that work? It seems a little weird, right? Flossing your teeth in the shower. Hmmm.....

So I tried it out.

And guess what? I LOVE IT. IT'S CHANGED MY LIFE!!!

I now keep the floss in the shower, right next to the razor. It's a plastic box so it's fine. And as I stand there in the morning (or at night or whenever) letting the hot water envelope me, I floss. Yep. It's that simple. No muss, no fuss.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with flossing. I know it's something everyone needs to do on a daily basis. I know that. My mom taught me that. My dentist tells me that. I read about it. It's common sense. I know it. But do I do it? Not always. Come on, admit it, you don't either!

It's not that I don't want to, I really do. There was a year there in college when my New Years' resolution was to floss daily. And guess what? I did. Every single day for a year. And then I gave up. I'm the type of person where if I miss one day of something I can very easily quit. But not now.

Now I have an excuse to stand under the hot water that I so love for a few extra minutes. I have reason for being in there. And my teeth are healthier! Is this not the greatest thing in the world? Seriously. I am not joking. I love flossing my teeth in the shower. So much so that the other day, when I was having a good hair day and decided to forgo showering (oh come on! You do this sometimes too! I know it!) I thought to myself but now I'll miss flossing. Yep, true story. And guess what, I don't think I flossed that day. I don't understand either.

So my daily upkeep has been changed, for the better, finally, by reading one of those many magazines I subscribe to or buy at the checkout counter. And I imagine it only cost in the realm of $3597.85. Well worth it I know!

Makin' it

Monday night I went to a screening at UCLA of a movie called Anvil! The Story of Anvil. If you haven't seen it and it comes to a theater near you, cough up the money and go. Trust me, you will not be disappointed.

Anvil is a metal band from the 80s, like Whitesnake or Bon Jovi or Metallica. And they're still around. They've been together for thirty-some years and although they haven't had their big break yet, they aren't giving up.

I went into the screening as a skeptic. I hadn't heard about the movie until the week before when I found out I was required to go for class and then subsequently read about it in Newsweek and Entertainment Weekly. It's a documentary and I'm in film school, learning how to write screenplays, works of fiction. What was the point I thought?

I quickly found out the point. For one thing I learned how a movie that appears to be about a metal band can actually be about best friends. And for me, as a screenwriter, I think that's a really important lessons. A movie can never just be about a band. It has to be about people, about relationships, about something more. And Anvil was.

I also got a good reminder about perseverance. These two guys, the lead singer/guitar player and drummer, made a pact at age 14 to play music together forever. And they've never given up even though they're now in their 50s. They have families and crappy jobs but they're still going on tours, cutting records, trying to sell their sound to labels. They still believe in the dream. And to me, that was pretty inspiring.

This week I sent in an application to the Sundance Screenwriters Lab that takes place every January. In the packet I had to include a letter about myself, my project and why I should take part in their lab. I started off by explaining that I've been writing screenplays for about 10 years now. I wrote the line and then stopped and had to do the math. Has it really been 10 years? Yep. I started writing my first screenplay back on my first laptop computer sitting at the table in the living room of Brewer House on Olivet College's campus. 10 years ago. Mind you, back then I didn't have a clue about structure or formatting or anything. But I was writing a movie. And when I think about that, I think about Anvil and how they're still going some 30 years later. I guess I should keep at it.

A few weeks ago I started cold calling production companies to see if they'd read my logline. Several people said they would but I haven't had any replies yet. I know it's my first try. I know most people, hardly anyone, sells their first script. Or their second, or their third. So I'll keep trying. But that movie made me think. It made me realize that sometimes, it's just about keeping up. It's about pushing on and making sure you're doing it for the right reasons. The guys of Anvil are so passionate about their music that they got me rooting for them, a girl who has no interest in metal. I think that's pretty cool.

So this week I'm going to write on. I'm going to keep practicing because I know I want to be in the NBA (according to one of the guest lecturers I've heard this year professional screenwriting is like the NBA). And I know I can do it. And I know that it may take a while longer. What's a few more years? Anvil's still trying and who am I to let a couple of 50 year olds with long hair and bald spots outdo me?

Wednesday Fun

In order of how the actual events happened:

1) I got to read a script that was awesome at work. Really, one of the most fun, interesting, fresh scripts I've read in a while (and I read A LOT). And I'm excited because I got a casting scoop for it. And no, I can't tell you. I don't want to get fired from my internship! (So if you are one of the girls who got a scoop, zip the lips!)

2) I have gotten my car moving/lunch eating down to a science - and didn't have to have peanut butter today. Ang lent me her lunch bag and ice pack so I got to have turkey and grapes! Yay for non-starch foods!

3) As I was sitting on the couch this afternoon I looked over toward the front door and was surprised to see a lizard. In my living room. And he wasn't coming in the door. He was in the middle of the room getting ready to leave. He was about six inches long and looked like that lizard from the Geico commercials, the brown one not the green one. He was good-sized. I tried to take his picture but he was quick when he ran out the door. Presumably the door he came in. Yes, our screen door sucks - it has about a six inch gap between the concrete and the door. And it's been in the 90s this week so we've had the screen open. Who knows how long he's been residing with us. I just kept telling Ang at least it wasn't a rat. And I created a new lizard face (if you've seen my rat face you know what I'm talking about).

4) I got to hang out tonight with Ang and we laughed all night! I laughed while she danced in the kitchen, I laughed while she tried to help me do a headstand-yoga-thingy, I laughed when I knocked over her fan while we were doing our arm exercises with weights. I think I probably burned more calories laughing than working out but that's okay. Mental exercise is important too.

So yeah, overall, a good Wednesday! And it's not over yet. I'm going to watch a little TV, eat some popcorn, and turn in with another script from work. Can't wait to see what tomorrow holds!

She is gone

A few weeks ago I got a letter from an Olivet College student who's the editor of the The Garfield Lake Review, OC's literary magazine. I was being invited to a reception for the latest edition because they'd decided to include alumni pieces in the magazine and a short story I'd written in 1999 was one of the first chosen. I was pretty excited because a) I am proud of the story they'd chose, one that ran in the edition I was part of putting out, and b) for a writer being published is being published!

I emailed the student back and told her I couldn't make the reception but would love a copy of the magazine and today it arrived in the mail. As I read back over my story, one I wrote over ten years ago, I thought about how I'd fix it up, tweak it here and there, now that I have a little more experience under my belt. But then I thought no. I really wouldn't change a thing. I was and am proud of the story. I liked writing it (I remember where I was when I wrote it out longhand in my notebook - sitting in the Sports Information Office upstairs in MacKay Gym. I was a student worker for the SIO and obviously worked very hard.) and I remember the first time I read it in a workshop. I was taking a creative writing class at Lansing Community College (OC didn't have creative writing classes at that time) and when I shared the story one woman wiped away tears asking me if it was a true story. That might have been my first real taste of the writing bug. To know that I could affect someone so strongly with my words, it was a pretty heady feeling.

So I thought I'd share the story with you here. It's entitled She is gone which I think is a pretty apt title for the story and for me today. The girl who wrote that story is gone but the writer who crafted the story is still going strong...

She is Gone

I can still vividly remember that night. We were all so young, foolish really, though we would never admit it. We took things for granted, our parents, our education, our friends, even ourselves. I remember it was a cold night, the furnace wasn’t working again but it didn’t matter – just another reason to congregate in someone’s room and complain.

It was late, we all should have been asleep but we weren’t. We were in Laura’s room, curled up with our blankets, wishing for something to do. Someone suggested cards but we did that every night. Someone else said maybe a drive – a warm car, music. Good idea, someone agreed. We all scurried to find coats and shoes. We left the building within minutes, it was beginning to snow again, and piled into someone’s car. At that moment no one could tell the six of us anything – we were young and free.

Snow covered the streets but Frank was a good driver, no one could argue with that. I think it was Laura who started the conversation. She asked what we were all doing the next weekend. Work, parties, not much, were the replies. Kim was talking about her boyfriend back home and Al started in on his least favorite teacher and a paper he had to do.

The car began to fog up and Frank swore under his breath. I looked out the window just in time to see the mailbox we sideswiped. But I didn’t see the tree in front of us.

No one did. None of the others ever would.

When I woke up I was twisted around. My back was against the driver’s seat, my head resting against the cold window, something warm running down my cheek. I remember blinking; everything was fuzzy and silent. I turned my head and felt a dull pain in my neck. My hand immediately went to the seat next to me where Kim had been. It was empty now. Moving slowly and forgetting the pain I realized I needed to do something. I could see Frank’s head on the steering wheel in front of me. Jack – I couldn’t see Jack at all. Maybe he was already out of the car, maybe going for help I prayed. Kim was on the front seat. Her hair was dark now instead of its usual blond. I tried to open my door but couldn’t. I closed my eyes and rested for a minute, at least I think it was just for a minute.

I heard a siren from off in the distance and I remember using everything I had to push open my door. Snow was still falling and I shivered uncontrollably.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I saw Jack. He was laying four, maybe five feet from the car, his head thrown back, his legs twisted. The snow around him was completely red; he had on only one shoe and his leather jacket was shredded in spots.
It was if I was frozen. Part of me wanted to scream and throw up, part of me wanted to run to him and hold him. But I couldn’t. A police car pulled up shortly and I remember one of the officers putting a blanket around my shoulders and helping me to the police car. But I never took my eyes off Jack.

Early the next morning I awoke in a hospital. The side of my face was covered in thick white gauze and my arm was in a sling. Nothing too serious, the nurse said, you’ll be pretty sore for awhile but nothing serious. I asked about my friends. The doctor will be in soon, she said.

You’re doing fine, he said. I nodded. The rest? I asked. Their injuries are much more serious he told me. Frank and Kim are still in surgery and Laura is recovering from surgery. Al is also in a room, but we expect them all to be fine.

You didn’t tell me about Jack, I whispered.

We couldn’t help him, the doctor said, his injuries were too severe. He died a few hours ago.

My body went numb. The pain in my neck and head and arm went away, I couldn’t feel anything. He died. He died. What did that mean? I couldn’t comprehend it. Just last week he had been teasing me about my math grade, last night we had had dinner together. And now he was dead? I couldn’t imagine my life without him. There simply were no words or emotions to express what I was feeling. Jack – the one person in the world who truly loved me. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Gone.

My life was never the same after that. I wish I had told him how I really felt. I wish I had chosen to sit with him in the front seat that night. I wish he were still here because without him I am not the person that he loved. She is gone and I never let him know how much he meant to her.

Tales from the trench

Another day at the internship today. It's going well, I am really liking it. I like going to the big shiny building and reading scripts and putting my two-cents into the well that is Hollywood. One thing I don't like? The parking situation. But alas, isn't that what internships are all about? Doing the grunt work for free, on a computer you bring from home, and moving your car every two hours and fifty-nine minutes to avoid the seven dollar fee that will follow if you're one minute late? Yes, that's what they're all about. That and hopefully getting a toe in the door.

Today's parking situation was especially fun. I felt a little like Jack Bauer this afternoon, there was a clock ticking down the minutes left on my free parking ticket. I had to get my ticket in the machine at the Century City Mall by 3:08pm or pay seven bucks. Seven bucks for fifteen minutes. Yeah, I didn't want to be thirty minutes late. I'm interning remember? Working for zero dollars a day.

So there I was, waiting for my boss to get off the phone so I could talk to him about my first coverage, watching the clock in the corner of the computer tick away. I knew I was pushing it but I hated to just leave. So I waited. Because I'm that girl. I'm polite. I was raised to not say a word even if my mouth is full of shit. Sometimes I open it, sometimes I don't. I know when to talk. Today was not a day or a place to talk. I'm the new girl.

So I waited. And waited. And then my boss asked if I had five minutes to talk about my first assignment. "Of course," I replied and we talked. He acknowledged he knew I had to leave and I did telling him I'd finish my work by morning and email him and then be in early. And away I went. To the elevators which are always speedy. There's a bank of six of them. But today, they were slow. I watched the clock on my phone trying to decide if nine minutes was enough time to get down six flights of stairs, turn in my badge, hustle out of the giant building, cross the street (there are five lanes of traffic and I have to cross twice to get to the mall), and get to the parking garage two blocks down. I felt it was, if I ran.

Can I just say thank you Leslie Sansone? Her walking tapes prepared me for this very day. I speed walked like there was no tomorrow praying the whole time, "Please God, don't let me be late. Let me make it." I think God hears all our prayers and knows when we need a little win. I needed this win. And I walked. And walked. And I might have broken into a jog there up the ramp to the mall where I didn't think anyone could see me. All I can say is I was glad I hadn't worn heels today though I was wishing for tennis shoes over my steel-toed Doc Martens.

I made it to the escalator at the mall (yes, I feel like going to work is a lot like playing the game Mouse Trap) and there was a guy in front of me. Of course. And he had a parking ticket to put in the machine. Of course. And at the second machine was a guy talking to the speaker, arguing that he didn't have money and why don't the stores validate for longer than three hours. I didn't even know you could talk to a live person inside that machine.

So I stood really close to the guy putting in his ticket and the minute his hand was out of the way, mine was there. He didn't really say anything but I got the feeling he knew I was in a hurry. I put in my ticket and waited. And waited. And when it spit out I saw that I'd gotten my win. Three hours free parking and I'd clocked in at 12:08 and clocked out at 3:08! Amazing. A minute more and I would've been out seven bucks! Woo hoo! One small win for me!

Did I mention this wasn't the first time I'd done the parking garage dance today? Yeah, you only get three hours free so I had already moved my car at noon. Fun times. But that's what it's all about right? Gotta have these fun stories to tell once you hit it big...

Venice Beach

Saturday Angela and I decided to do something fun. Her spring break was almost over and we'd mostly seen doctors' offices and Souplantation. So we decided to take a little road trip. First stop, CVS for Cokes, circus peanuts, and mixed nuts - essential road trip snacks! Second stop, gas up the car. Then we drove the 13 miles to Venice, CA. And yes, we finished all our snacks before we got there.

We chose Venice from our tour guide, Angela was intrigued by the canals which are fashioned after the canals in Venice, Italy. So away we went. We found parking in the city lot, literally feet from the Pacific Ocean (and only $7!), and went exploring. We walked along the beach for a while, through the sand, enjoying the sun and smiling at the bikers and roller bladers. (And loving the little girl who was sobbing over the fact that she no longer wanted to ride her bike.) We stopped to admire the art at Graffiti Park, this spot right on the beach where spray painters are encouraged to (legally) share their talents (permit required). Then we walked through some of the booths and tables. People selling Mexican pottery, dried sage, glitter bras with snake charms in the middle, naked skeleton paintings, anything and everything you could ever want from a beachside stand!

We saw Rastafarian children, Venice Beach's Official Wino begging for enough for another drink, lots of well-behaved dogs, a man in a teeny-tiny American flag Speedo, a man painted completely gold standing completely still with his gold painted stuffed dog, a guy getting a tattoo next to his eye, and Venice Beach's Official Pothead (yes, he had a pot on his head). Wow.

Then we wound our way through the city to the canals, which surprisingly, were pretty cool. The water doesn't look like anything I'd want to swim in but the greenery surrounding them was gorgeous. And it was so peaceful walking through the neighborhoods, surrounded by butterflies, flowers, and quiet. A stark contrast from the Beach, just a block west.

We walked through the Beach a little more, stopped to gawk at Muscle Beach where weightlifters really do workout right in the middle of everything, for everyone to see, and then decided that we'd head out. It was an experience, a crazy, people-filled, loud, colorful, experience!

Easter eggs and empty tombs

Thursday, as I sat in the darkened sanctuary of my church, waiting to share my reading in the service, I looked out at the people sprinkled in the pews. There weren't many of them. A family here, a couple there, some lone worshippers joined with others. And I thought to myself, where is everyone?

Our church had a Maundy Thursday service every year back home. It was always the same, and for a while, when we had Reverend Damon leading us, we had a last supper beforehand, what I now know to be a Seder-type meal. And there was never any question as to whether we'd attend, we always did. If there was a church service, we were there.

Maundy Thursday services were never my favorite. They were sad, dark, and most of all quiet. We had to be quiet throughout, and then leave in silence. I remember a few hushed words and whispers as people would get their coats and move to their cars but there was none of the usual friendliness in the halls I was used to. It bothered me, a lot. Now I know, that was the point. There was no joy in that service, only remembrance and reflection, for we all knew what was going to happen the next day. We all knew the story.

Then on Friday, Good Friday, there was always a community service at a church uptown, right across from the courthouse where my mom worked. The service was always an hour and a half long, divided into three half hour sections so that people who needed to leave to get back to work could come and go. And most of the time there was standing room only. Occasionally my mom would have the day off and we'd go early, securing seats up front in the sanctuary that became familiar to me. It was the place we always went on Good Friday. Always. But there were years we'd have to sneak in the back, and stand or maybe sit in a folding chair, and listen to the various ministers and community members. My dad would drive in from where he worked and sit with us, wearing his uniform, and I remember how important it was that we were all there, together. Even when I went off to college, there was never a question, I made it back for these Holy week services. They were important.

I don't remember much about the services themselves, they were usually very similar, the Bible passages don't change after all, but I do remember the music. Every year we'd sing "Were You There" on Friday: "Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" But never the last verse.

Some Easter Sundays we'd have a sunrise service, when there was actually no sun out. We'd get up in the dark, my dad would unwind my hair from the pink foam curlers (mom wound, dad unwound) that I slept in all night (well, sleep not so much, in those things), we'd put on our new dresses, our sandals it wasn't quite warm enough for, our hats, and we'd go. There were some years when we had to be a part of the service, or the pancake breakfast at church. There were days we'd be at church for literally six or more hours before we'd get to Easter lunch at Grandma's house. And we never had our egg hunt before church. That was reserved for after, or maybe between services if we'd have enough time to come home before the 10am service. But we always have it. My parents filled plastic eggs with candy and maybe pennies and sprinkled them around the living room. Easiest egg hunt ever. Especially when you're in high school! Easter was never just quietly enjoyed from the pew in our family, it was the busiest church day of the year. And I am so grateful for that.

It's not that we didn't do the secular Easter stuff as well. We did it, big time. We dyed dozens of eggs, usually with my cousin Doris, who'd come from Canada for the holiday. Those are some of my favorite memories, those times of dying the eggs. We'd decorate the entire house with rabbits and chicks and candy and cards. The Easter bunny filled three baskets every year: my parents' big straw basket and Angela's and my small rectangle baskets that my mom had made out of plastic canvas and yarn. Mine is green and has my name on the side. We'd have a big family dinner and eat ham and cheesy potatoes. My Grandma MacDonald would make a lamb cake, complete with coconut on top of the frosting. Easter was a big deal.

And I'm glad for that. So glad. To have both sides of it. Just as with Christmas. I know what Holy Week means. I know the significance of the last supper and the Bible passages and that Good Friday is more than just a day many people get off of work. I know that Easter's not about Peeps and hiding eggs even though that's fun. I know that it's all about that last verse we never sang on Good Friday: "Were you there when God raised him from the tomb? Were you there when God raised him from the tomb? Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?"

I'm so thankful to my parents and my family for giving me both sides of the holiday. For sending Easter cards and showering us with jelly beans. And yet, more importantly, for sitting me in the pew every Thursday night during Holy Week and reminding me of the gravity of the week's events. The importance of the silence, the song, and most of all, the empty tomb.

A week

This has been a week. I feel like I've been running, not just with my legs but with my brain. Do you ever feel like there's just not enough time in the day? What about not enough time in the month? That's how I feel sometimes. Defeated before I even begin. But then I'll pull on my boots and dig into it anyway. Why? What else am I gonna do?

First off, let me tell you that this week's episode of NCIS was the one Angela and I were on set for. And it was so cool to watch the scene play out on TV that we saw be rehearsed, blocked, rehearsed some more, and then filmed. VERY COOL. It was the scene in their bullpen when Tony and Ziva bring Abby back from the hospital and she realizes what she's been doing. It was a great scene. Remember the hug Gibbs tries to give Abby? There was major discussion about that hug. Seriously. And then where to have everyone stand. There was discussion about that. And they had to make sure Abby's chess board didn't clink against her handbag and make noise. And her cape. Didn't she have a cool cape on?

So yeah, that was fun! And then Ang was on spring break so we did a lot of that stuff that isn't fun but needs to be done. Visits to the doctor, the eye doctor, the pharmacy, errands, etc. The good news is my eyes are still healthy and my prescription hasn't changed. Oh and we got Costco memberships. Bring on the giant boxes of things we are sure we need but have no where to store! Bring on twelve boxes of Kleenex. Bring on sample Monday!

And we finally made it to Souplantation, twice, this week. Haven't been? Oh my gosh, run now. For eight bucks and some change you get an awesome all-you-can-eat meal. And I know, all-you-can-eat isn't normally a good thing. But here, go for it. The salad bar is amazing! And everything just tastes better when someone else cuts it up and prepares it. Like the celery. Never so crisp in my life! And raisins. I'm in a raisin faze that Angela is not impressed with. And they have homemade breads and muffins and soups. And for dessert? Fat-free frozen yogurt! Heaven!

Let's see, what else? Oh, I finished my job at UoP. Grades turned in this morning. Yay for that! And I got a full outline done for my new screenplay which I am uber-excited about. I mean, beyond excited. This one is going to be fun!!!

Pomelos and stripper poles

Friday I got to visit my second film set, though this time it was a location shoot instead of a studio set. And can I just tell you, I am amazed at what people will do for enough money. To let people, complete strangers to be honest, into your house, and not just in but take over your house, that's something. I couldn't imagine. Because I was one of those complete strangers.

The set we were on was a house. Strike that. It was a mansion. No, more like a museum. In a gated community with a guard, in a little house, who asks you what you're up to when you walk in. No joke. It's a community I walk by literally every day but I never gave much thought. Until I walked in Friday afternoon. The house that was being used for the shoot was a screenwriter's house, which I thought was pretty cool even though I'm not a big fan. Just not my type of movies, and I was a little young when some came out. But I have one in my stack to watch and I will watch it, I'm very curious now. He must be good. He lives in a museum.

But the house, first off, it was gorgeous. It was full of different types of rooms and that spaciousness that only comes from being old. I love old houses. I grew up in one and live in one now. There's something about doors that stick and closets that don't quite close tight. And this house was no exception. I loved the leather wall paper, the beveled glass in the windows, the old fashioned refrigerators, the studies, the books, the closet full of closets, the guest house that was bigger than my two-bedroom. It was amazing. And completely overrun by a film crew.

There was cardboard on walls, furniture stacked on top of furniture, lights in every window, banks of video screens, cameras, tons of people and tents and just, wow. To see what goes into a location shoot that lasted two days that will only be seen in a few scenes of an hour-long television drama. Amazing. (And oh yeah, on the third floor, there was a stripper pole. No joke.)

And there I was, just hanging out in the middle of it all, eating grapes, laughing about pomelos the size of kickballs (and yes, I ate some and no, it wasn't bad) that fell off the neighbors tree, and loving the heck out of my life at that moment. I met some really cool people, including Jaime Murry, who was the psycho girlfriend (her words mind you) on Dexter last season. Oh, and I shared an orange with Mark Harmon. Seriously. Words cannot express my smile. Still. Today. Three days later.

All Bright and Shiny!

When I first visited Los Angeles last summer I remember driving down this street called "Avenue of the Stars". It's on the westside and it's got lots of shiny high rises, fancy gyms, malls, etc. In fact, the night Angela got her job we celebrated with dinner at the Century City Mall right there on Avenue of the Stars. Right across from this huge, gleaming building with a valet area in front that rivals those in Vegas. (If you've spent any time in Vegas, you understand that valet areas are huge there. Huge.) A building with three letters hanging on the side. CAA.

I know a lot of people have no idea what those letters mean. But I do. I remember seeing that building and thinking wow. Thinking I'm going to be there someday. They're going to represent me. See CAA is the biggest talent agency in the world. They help get movies made.

Now it hasn't happened - yet. But on Wednesday, as I headed to my internship I realized that the company I'm working for is in that exact same building. Yes, the CAA building. And I got to walk right in. (Well, I had to stop at security first, then get an elevator pass, then get by the receptionist, but anyway, I walked in regardless.)

Needless to say I was fairly excited. I took this as a good sign. First I have a business teacher who is a literary rep with CAA. Not just an executive or an assistant but an agent. Then I get to work in the same building. Say what you will about signs. I believe this is a good one.

So the internship. Yes. Way too cool. I'm working with a creative executive who's super nice, Kevin, and he spent a while Wednesday telling me about the company, showing me around, introducing me to some people, etc. Then he gave me four scripts to read that have already been made into movies or are in the process, so I could get a feeling for the kind of movies Gold Circle makes. And honestly, even though two of them were supernatural thrillers, I loved them all. Maybe it was that I was sitting in a production company reading them. Maybe it was that I was surrounded by boxes of invoices and movie paraphernalia. Maybe it was hearing assistants on the phone scheduling lunches with very cool biz people (one of whom I've met!!!). But they were all good scripts.

I read The Haunting in Connecticut first, which opened this past weekend and is the number two movie in the country. And because I am now a part of "the team" (Kevin's words), I felt incredible pressure to go see it. So I did. I bribed Angela with Pinkberry and convinced her to go with me. To a horror movie. And let me tell you, she was a trooper. (I think it definitely helped that I knew the ending and told her everything that was going to happen, I know that helped me. Would not have wanted to go in "blind". And if you've seen the movie, you'll understand my new fear of losing my eyelids.) And the movie? Scary, in that suspenseful, there are dead bodies coming alive sorta way that was really intriguing. Seriously, worth it if you're into that kind of thing!

Then I read an alien script - The 4th Kind - which was not necessarily my cup of tea but interesting all the same, and different from a lot of scripts I've read which was very cool. I also read a new Katherine Heigl vehicle which was fun, and exactly my kind of movie, and something called The Widows' Adventures, which can I just say, I loved. So good, and great parts for some older (hence the widows) actresses which I say doesn't happen enough. This last script also made me a little teary-eyed, which I thought was fantastic. Picture it, me in a cubicle, surrounded by boxes of invoices for all the recent films, reading and trying not to cry. Hoping the guys who keep popping over to find records, don't see my tears. Too funny!

So that was my first week. Next time I'll get to start reading new scripts that have just been submitted for consideration and start writing coverage. I cannot wait!!!