Mom, Mail Me Some Sweaters

I got a pamphlet from my bank, a SoCal bank, that suggests I should "think bigger this holiday season and upgrade the heating system to protect against bitter California winters."

Yes, I know. I laughed a lot at that too. However, it actually has been a bit chilly here these days, or maybe I'm just exhausted and being tired all the time has brought on the shivers.

On Friday I stayed up all night with my trusty crew filming things: railroad tracks, power stations, electrical poles against the light-polluted sky. Then we drove out to the hills of Malibu to film the sunrise. We had breakfast in the Valley at the most awesome diner ever. All the waitresses looked like they'd been beat around the head with whiskey bottles all night and then put some eyeliner on and came in to work. I had pancakes that arrived with, I swear to god, at least 3/4 of a cup of margarine skating around on top of them.

My next film is a bit of a crazy experiment for me, compared to the first two. I've been more than a little disorganised throughout the planning and exucution of it. This is intentional because I want the film to spring up from what I managed to gather, rather than having a very clear cut gathering plan. I don't really sew with patterns anymore, or cook with recipes often, so why not shoot without a clear script? I will never end up shooting exactly what I envision, so I'm trying to detach myself from trying to capture something intentional and specific and instead be delighted at what turns up.

Continuing the exhaustion thread, I got four hours of sleep during the day on Saturday and then forced Jordan to give me a ride to Sarah's pumpkin carving night of festivity. Much fun was had and I think some incriminating photos were taken. You'd have to check with Sarah, though. Good times, better company. TJ and I carved a brilliant Gollum pumpkin. Brilliant.

Then, last night, because the film I'm making is set at a train station in the middle of the night, I went to a train station in the middle of the night. Clay, production manager extrodinaire, got us in with his trademark earnest sweet-talkin' and I got a bunch of shots of, uh, ties and rails and benches. (And I had yet another moment of panic that this haphazard way of filming is doomed for failure) Plus, I really thought were going to get arrested and sent to Guantanomo Bay. The place was deserted and Clay was rocking some incredible Buddy Holly glasses, that with his beard and handlebar moustache, make him less than inconspicuous. But we managed to get out unscathed.

And now I think I'm going to bed. Cause the heat just switched on. Brilliant. Night.