I got fed

Today I went to Homeless Lunch at church, I haven't been since March maybe, it's been a while, and it had been on my mind lately. But there had been work and my internship and appointments and just life. I'd been dropping off supplies but I knew it wasn't enough. So today I left the work behind and headed on over. And I'm so glad I did.

It was hectic today -- there were about 10 extra volunteers, youth group kids and their 2 leaders in town on a mission trip, and lots of regular volunteers. There was a line part way down the block of people waiting for lunches, and all the usual business involved in getting ready to serve 100+ people. And I had reservations, I thought I might just sneak out because there was help but for some reason I stayed. I quickly found out why.

First off I talked to Michael, one of our regular guests. He told me he was glad to see me, that I'd been away a while. As he tried on shoes and pulled the laces out (he has a thing about laces) he asked if I went to church there. I told him I did, and so did most of the other volunteers. He told me about going to church in Pasadena once, and never going back, because people looked at him weird because he had a backpack. I told him no one would even notice here, we'd love to have him come to worship. We talked for a few more minutes and he said maybe and left. I called out that he could sit by me if he came on Sunday. Yep, God had a plan.

For the rest of the two hours I got constant "welcome backs", "hi sweeties", "good to see you Sarahs", etc. I got hugs and handshakes and lots and lots of thank yous. I got a hug from the youth group leader who I met an hour before. I got called gorgeous and intelligent and told I have a beautiful smile (yes, external validation can do a lot for the soul, I won't lie). Simply put, I got fed.

And as I watched the youth group kids helping out I realized what a mission trip always taught me, always reminded me: that whenever I go to serve, I am served. Whenever I go to feed others, I am fed. Whenever I love, I am loved.

Today was a good day. God is good. All the time.

Look before you pee

I read an interview with Kevin Smith this week, he's one of my all-time favorite filmmakers, and he said he keeps directing movies just for the stories to tell at his Q&As. I nodded to myself and thought, I completely understand.

That's the reason I stay in this house. Just for the stories.

Today was a day of errands and laundry and normal stuff. A step away from the sightseeing and business we've been up to lately. My mom and I made a picnic dinner that we all enjoyed, along with some key lime wine smoothies that were fabulous!, and then we settled in for a long night with our favorite superhero, Jack Bauer. We started the most recent season's DVDs on Saturday and we're down to the last disc. The Knapp family loves 24!

Things were going well, and after one episode Angela took a bathroom break. And then there were screams. Screams that wouldn't quit.

I was sure it was a spider. A big spider. I killed a medium-size one last night and we've been on alert. But no, I asked, loudly, and she just kept screaming. Finally she got out that it was a mouse. In the toilet.

Yep. A live mouse. In the toilet bowl. Swimming, trying to get out. And he wasn't tiny. (Why are all mice "he" in my mind?) And he was probably upset since he'd just been peed on. (I used my mouse voice when I regaled this thought to Angela, telling her he was probably like, "what the heck, where's this toxic rain coming from?!?!?")

I shut the lid and immediately called the landlord. Angela kept screaming. The landlord said to call the plumbers and just tell them there was a problem with our toilet but that would sound stupid I thought, especially once they got here and saw the mouse. But I called, and told them the truth, and they said to flush, and stay on the line in case it overflowed and they'd need to come over.

So I flushed. Once. Twice. Three times.

And the mouse was gone.

But not the hysterics.

So we've been flushing the toilet all night. Angela's attempted to pee without sitting and contemplated the bathtub. Tomorrow I'll call the exterminator. Our landlord and the plumber assure us a mouse couldn't swim in through the toilet pipes but I have strong doubts that he waltzed into the toilet bowl on his own. But who knows. Maybe he has some help from those friends of his, the rats, who allegedly marched through the front door a few months ago.

Because of him

My dad taught me what empathy was at a very early age. No, he didn't pull out the dictionary and explain the word to me, he taught me through example. He taught me by crying when I cried or laughing when I laughed or being happy when I was happy. He taught me by being himself.

My dad is the guy who flew out to Arizona and slept on the floor of my apartment to help me move to Los Angeles. My dad is the guy who cried at every awards ceremony I was ever honored at. My dad is the guy who drove hours in the rain to surprise me at my final college golf match. My dad is the guy who stood in the clothing store for hours on end, holding purses, looking for other sizes, commenting on outfits because he lives with three girls. My dad is, simply put, awesome.

I've been trying to write this blog for twenty-four hours and I keep starting and restarting and having a hard time getting what I want to convey through. I've been thinking about all the things I've done with my dad over the past thirty one years. All the golf games, all the board games, all the nights of homework (endless nights especially in eleventh grade, during AP U.S. History), all the hard times, all the good times, all the normal time.

When I think about my dad I think about him making tuna and noodles for dinner or scrambled eggs for breakfast. I think about him chaperoning all the field trips in elementary school, I think about him burying my fish in the backyard, my rabbit in the field, and holding my hand as we said goodbye to Brownie. I think about him playing basketball with me in the driveway and croquet in the front yard, I think about him putting up the Christmas tree and building the props for Trim-A-Tree every year.

I think about him picking Angela and Ben and Liz and I up from school every day and laughing as we played The Fat Boys' Wipe Out over and over in his Ford Tempo. I think about him calling me from work and talking for hours. I think about him driving me to and from college every weekend. I think about him and his big hugs. I think about him scrapbooking and writing for the church newsletter. I think about him making me laugh over and over again. I think about him being a part of my life, a part of everything, a part of me.

He taught me how to be funny. He taught me to golf. He taught me to use tools and change the oil in my car. He taught me to drive. He taught me to talk to people. He taught me to be nice. He taught me when to bite my tongue. He taught me to forgive. He taught me to forget. He taught me to love.

I love that I got to spend today with my dad. That I got to sit next to him in church and at lunch and that I get to hang out watching the U.S. Open with him. I love that he gets me, that he reads my novel and my screenplays and that he has never once, not ever, stopped encouraging me from doing anything and everything. Every single day he is behind me 200%. Every single minute. He is the glue that holds our family together. Just ask any of us. Without him, none of us would be the same. Or laugh quite so much.

Dad -- today and always, I love you and I love because of you.

My own brand of magic

On Tuesday night I graduated from UCLA's professional screenwriting program. I have a nifty certificate to add to the other nifty certificates already in frames and leaning up against the wall (thanks mom and dad for bringing these westward, they'll be hung soon!). But more than that I have a much stronger belief in myself. I have a year of professional training behind me. I have a year of study (I watched 67 movies). I have a year of listening. I have a year of reading (I read 59 scripts). I have a year of work. I have a year of writing.

On the very first night I sat in the lecture hall at UCLA I listened to several of the same men who spoke at graduation. One of them instructed us to let ourselves be a part of our own adventures and to have a plan but be open to where it would take us, to let ourselves be surprised. And surprised I am. A year ago I never dreamed I'd have two screenplays written by now. I never thought I'd write an R-rated comedy in the Apatow vein that people would laugh out loud during. I never thought I'd write a dramedy about a woman who falls in love with an undertaker after she opens a funeral home in her house. These things just never crossed my mind. But how often does that happen to us? How often do we let it happen to us?

I have naysayers in my life. People who think I should pack it in and move back to Michigan (and they are probably not reading this blog so don't worry -- it's none of you). I have people in my life who've told me how hard this career path will be. That it's like trying to get into the NBA. I have people who tell me it's a horrible time to be a writer, no one's making movies right now, blah blah blah. Here's where I say stop (sometimes verbally, sometimes in my mind, I am a polite girl after all). Stop. Don't tell me I can't. Don't tell me I won't. Tell me to try. Tell me to do it. Tell me to not only go to the NBA tryouts but to show them my stuff and wow the socks right off them. Tell me that I can do this. I will do this. Because there's no Plan B. This is it. This is my life. I believe in myself. And I chose to share my life with those who believe in me too. I'm lucky that that circle is so, so big.

At the beginning of this program Hal Ackerman told us we should have one goal: Become a better writer. I have met that goal. I have succeeded. And I'm moving on to the next one, to become an even better writer than I was last week. And there's only one way I can do that, to continue doing exactly what I'm doing. Writing. Living. Being here. Being me. My question to the naysayers (real and imagined, yes, there are a few of them taking up residence in my brain) is why would you not? Why would you not want to experience something you've always wondered about? Always dreamed about? Or never dreamed about? This weekend I touched a sting ray and it was so cool. I never dreamed I'd touched a sting ray (in fact, before this weekend I was pretty scared of them) but it was awesome. I felt like a little kid. And I think that's what life is all about. Doing those things that are interesting, different, cool, exciting, normal, whatever. It's about doing. It's not about talking or simply existing. It's about going out there and jumping in. Feet first, head first, elbow first. However it happens, it's about the happening.

At the graduation ceremony Hal read this poem by John Updike which I loved:

Perfection Wasted

And another regrettable thing about death

is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,

which took a whole life to develop and market -

the quips, the witticisms, the slant

adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest

the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched

in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,

their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,

their response and your performance twinned.

The jokes over the phone. The memories packed

in the rapid-access file. The whole act.

Who will do it again? That's it; no one;

imitators and descendants aren't the same.

This poem blew me away. And I instantly thought, how true. We each have our own brand of magic. And this, screenwriting, is a part of mine. It's not all of me, not even most of me, but it's certainly a piece of me.

So I will continue to write. I will rewrite. I will join my classmates in forming a writer's group so we can keep encouraging one another and helping one another. That's one of the coolest things about UCLA's program -- how they encourage you to work together. Writing is such a solitary experience that I find I need, I crave, that interpersonal interaction, especially when it comes to talking about my writing. And it's something other writer's get. Not everyone does, and I understand that. I probably don't get your job or passion the same way that you do.

So I graduated. Once again. And finally, after seven years of school, I feel adequately prepared to enter a profession. I feel ready to do this, because, in fact, I already am. I'm writing. Every day. It's my own brand of magic. And I intend to sprinkle it all over the world.

Top 10 Reasons Why Disney is the Happiest Place on Earth

10. For the entire duration of your stay at Disneyland (or Disneyworld) you get to think only about Disney. Just what's next. What ice cream treat to buy. What ride has the shortest Fast Pass line. What route around the park will get you to the parade the quickest (or away from the parade as in our case). You enter a sort of Disney-survival mode wherein you only think about what's happening at that very moment. E-mails and life issues and everything else falls by the wayside.

9. The Tiki Room reminds you what life was like before computers and the craziness of modern technology. As I sat back and sang along with the birds, I thought for a bit about how glad I was to see all the kids there enjoying this. Experiencing it. Not on a screen or in their living room but outside in the real (Disneyfied of course) world, wearing sunscreen and fanny packs and eating apple slices out of Ziplocs and reading maps!

8. The customer service. We ate in sit-down restaurants for each meal (trying to get heatlhier fare) and we had excellent service. Also, people at the gates were wonderful and on all the rides. Really, Disney knows how to treat its' guests right. And I love that we're called guests!

7. The rides are interesting and a little exciting without being terrifying. There are twists and turns and your blood pressure goes up a little but nothing extreme (never was a huge fan of Cedar Point, I know, being from Michigan and all that's heresy...). Indiana Jones was fun, and so was Star Wars even though I've never seen the film. And it's all about the experience at Disney. You don't have to know about the movie, they tell you. In fact, I really enjoyed just walking through the Castle, reading about Princess Aurora (Sleeping Beauty) on the storybook pages. There wasn't a ride, just stairs but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

6. I think the photography system at Disney is genius. We've done it each time we've been to the parks but they've modernized it now with a website and keycard. How many vacations do you go on where your whole family isn't in the picture because someone has to be taking it??? Not true at Disney. In just one day we got 15 pics of the 4 of us. We ended up choosing only 1 to purchase but we have the option to order more or none at all, and we can even email them to friends and family for free. Free souvenirs (albeit virtual)?!?!? Cool.

5. Waiting time. I didn't even mind the longish lines when we happened upon them. I left my cell phone at home and just watched people, talked to my family, and observed. To simply be in the moment, that made me happy.

4. Mickey mouse-shaped ice cream dipped in Dove chocolate.

3. Giant boquets of colorful balloons and cotton candy sprinkled down Main Street.

2. Napping in the air conditioned darkened theater in the afternoon during the Muppets 3-D movie. I enjoyed the movie and I've seen it before and I liked shutting my eyes for 5 minutes.

1. How can you not smile when you see a little kid run up to a princess or Mr. Incredible and do a high-five or give them a tiny hug? I mean really. That's worth the price of admission right there.

The need to blog...

I have this nagging need to blog but I don't know exactly what to write about. I finished classes at UCLA last week and turned in my screenplay. And came home and instantly thought of a much better climax/ending for the thing. Figures. But I have a conference with my professor about it tomorrow so I'll talk it over with him and then move onto the next draft. The life of the writer...

My parents got into town on Thursday and it's been a whirlwind of sightseeing, looking at pictures of their trip (they drove from Michigan through Yellowstone, stopped at Mount Rushmore, Salt Lake City, and Las Vegas), and just living life as a family unit again.

Other than that, I'd like to report that my neck is better. I went to the chiropractor three times last week and finally felt some relief, no more jaw pain thank the Lord. And after much loving and caring pestering from my friend Pauley, I am going to see an acupuncturist for the first time tomorrow! I'll report back on that. I'm not scared really, more curious and hopeful that it'll be a positive experience.

Work is going much better this semester, I'm in a groove and keeping on top of grading and my students seem good. I'm still looking for other employment but who in Hollywood and the country isn't, right? And I'm supposed to start a new screenplay today. Hmmm....maybe today will be one of those "invisible labor" days Victor Hugo referred to.

Oh, I also finished my internship with Gold Circle Films on Thursday! It was a great experience, I worked for some great people, and it was an awesome last day. I wrote coverage on one script and since the new interns were starting that day as I was finishing, our boss decided to screen one of the company's upcoming releases for us -- "The Fourth Kind". I'd read the script when I first started working there, it's about alien abductions, and thought it was interesting. But the movie was great. I'm not kidding, and I don't like alien movies. But it was intense, suspenseful, and really well done. And I thought it was very cool that I got to see it before it opened! (They're releasing it sometime this fall most likely.)