jumping for joy

Dear Journal,
It's been ages since my words touched your sweet ivory pages.

Yesterday "21 internet bloggers" (as opposed to, you know, "life bloggers") were on set. I am writing in this blog thing, but I hope I am never referred to as an, "internet blogger." That would really bum me out.

One of the PA's on this shoot I've become friends with (on set) sent me his script he's trying to shoot in June. First off, this kid has never made a film ("but I've worked on so many, I have a lot of experience"), and second, it's a feature. Yesterday I forced myself to read up to page 23 in this 121 page screenplay. I have never had a harder time reading anything, ever. He's a nice kid, and seems smart, but it's really apparent from his writing that he has no idea what emotions are, or how people respond to tragedy. From what I can tell so far, the whole thing is based around a kid whose parents died I guess, and he goes to his uncle's warehouse to ask him for a job and instead his uncle sends him all the way to New York City ("cut between montage of big buildings, flashing lights, fire escapes, and protaganist's fascinated face" -- seriously, this is in the script, and it doesn't even make since because the kid is supposedly from Chicago, which isn't a rural area by any means) to check on his daughter who recently had her new roommate (she found him on craigslist!) kill himself in his room within days after moving in. Needless to say, she was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with a "stress disorder" and now takes three different kinds of pills. The kicker, is that the girl's father (the protagonist's uncle who apparently took care of him when he was younger-- which you finally learn on page 23, along with some other necessary character description, like the protagonists age) "used to drink quite a bit" and I guess took it out on our poor hero. This description makes no sense, but that's basically how the script is, too. So whatever. Imagine that, with a lot of camera/editing direction and unnecessary capitalization written in, too ("SLOW ZOOM on CHARLIE's FACE" "SMASH CUT to eggs in a SKILLET").

***

This past Sunday I found a great convertible loveseat on the street outside of our place. This was an especially awesome occurrence since literally earlier in the night I had been talking about how I had really wanted to go out and get a small sofa for my room this week, but then I got called to work on set and had to rule that out. In reality though, even if I hadn't been working, I've been feeling like I shouldn't be spending money on things like that, so I had been going back and forth on the whole thing.

Anyway, walking a friend to the train I spotted a nice brown microsuede couch (revealed to be a sofabed when we tried to turn it sideways and a bed popped out). It was set out with the trash, but with some finesse, two matching throw pillows thoughtfully placed on either side of the seat cushion. We sat on it and watched traffic pass by, smelled it to make sure it wasn't covered in urine or something, and set to take it into my room. Which we did thanks to my downstairs neighbor who helped me get it up the stairs.

After walking my friend back to the train, I went upstairs, stood in my kitchen, and couldn't stop smiling. Then I literally started jumping up and down (quietly so neither of my roommates would walk in and see how crazy I was being) because I was so happy. I don't think I've ever really jumped out of happiness before, or been as happy over a piece of furniture.

Tuesday night I went over the couch with a steamer, and now it's a lovely part of my room (which I desperately need to clean and arrange in some sort of manner that makes since).

I think one of the fish I've grown quite attached to is sick and will be dying soon. That's always kind of a bummer, but one you also tend to forget almost immediately upon turning your head away from the tank. Not like when I was a kid and I stayed home from school one day because I was such a wreck over my fish dying. Still, it's a bummer. Also, I think he's blind.