The Other Twelve Hours

It's hard these days to think of things that don't involve work about which to blog. How's this:

The weather is delightful. My favorite kind: sun, clear so that colors jump, a wind to keep things fresh, and a nip in the air that makes you prefer standing in the sunshine.

I sat at a traffic light in my car beside a homeless man on the sidewalk having an involved conversation with the air the other day. He was saying something to his air companion about the sidewalk, the people walking by. It was convincing, his conversation. It really looked like someone ought to be standing there having it with him. He looked content and relaxed. I guess it's not stressful to talk to imaginary people because you always know what they are going to say.

I hit my head on the underside of a marble table today and it didn't even hurt. I started thinking about all the blows to the head I've received as a film student: there were a lot. Black eye at BJ's birthday in first year from clunking heads with Brooke. A barn door falling off a light onto my head on Preston DeFrancis' thesis film. I even hit my on the head of the tripod during Mr. Sadman pickups last week. I think my head is getting harder: each hit hurts less.

I AD'd a day of pickups for Mr. Sadman last week. Mr. Sadman is a feature about a Saddam double who comes to LA circa 1990. The actor looks quite a bit like the man himself. Dress him up in the outfit with the beret and aviators and all and the effect is pretty great. He's from Iraq (he met Saddam before he left for America) and currently teaches American military personnel Arabic and Iraqi culture. Being on set for one day is great because it reminds you how weird and fun being on set can be without the exhaustion to make you crabby. When we were set up on the sidewalk with our tiny crew and our Saddam lookalike, some middle-aged ladies walked past to get to their Prius. They asked us what we were shooting and Cindy told them and they said, "an Independent?" and Cindy said yes and they said, "Alright!" and the one held a fist up in the air. Whenever people come up to you while you're shooting and ask you what are you making, you should tell them, "A mayonnaise commercial". I heard this from an AC and have used it a couple times. It has the same effect as the teachers turning on the overhead fluorescent lights to clear out the gym at the end of a high school dance. That is, it brings quiet to the space quickly and with maximum efficiency.