Our Top Story Tonight: Poor Chick Acts Like She's Better Than You

A day in the life of being unemployed but feeling jazzed about life may unfold in the following manner:

1. Bike to that new Starbucks that isn't overcrowded yet and spend your rainy day savings on a latte. It's okay to get a "grande" because it's a skinny latte.
2. Also get cream cheese pumpkin cake. It's okay because you got it with a skinny latte.
3. Pop open that laptop and check your emails, apply to jobs, and let grandma know her letter arrived in the mail.
4. Bike from there to the library. In the process you may speed down an epic tunnel you've only ever driven through. You may age 10 seconds backwards.

and 3 years forward when it's time to bike back home.

5. Jack music from the library, by which I mean believe yourself to be a total genius because you figured out that you can check out CDs there for free.
6. Meet up for lunch with your friend who works in downtown, and take your food to the swanky outdoor rooftop terrace of a building neither of you works in.

7. Head back to the library, pop that laptop back open and make significant editing progress on your okay-it's-shitty-but-getting-slightly-less-shitty draft of your pilot... whoah, when's the last time you ENJOYED writing this?
8. Bike back home and blog.

You may or may not be wearing your pajamas while all of this is happening.

Yep yep yeppity yep yep, it has been an "up" day for sure. In the midst of "interim unemployment," without a structured schedule I tend to bounce pretty frequently between ^up and _down days. I've had a couple downer days since leaving my job, but for every one of those days there is a day like today. "Jessica," you might say, "I believe that's the sign of a personality disorder." Nonsense! You worry too much. Stop distracting me while I'm shaving this stuffed animal.

I have a couple other life updates which may or may not be contributing factors to my peachy mood. One is that I got a small production gig as a 1st AD on a short film next week. MAKIN' DAT ULTRA-LOW BUDGET GREEEEEEEN DAWG.

Second is that on Sunday I had my first experience at The Standard. The Standard is a scene-y lounge/venue in a swanky downtown hotel known as, The Standard. I've never been because I have a pretty serious allergic reaction to West Coast guidos, but it's one of those places that's like,

*nasally voice*
"Ohhhh you wanna go to The Standard? Me and the girls were gonna go party at The Standard. You've never been to The Standard? Ohhhhhh my gaw how can you say you live in LA when you've never been to The Standarrrrrrrd."

So I decided to take my ratty ass up to their roof and check it out for myself.

Who's here to party?

I also dragged my boyfriend along with me, who is even more cynical about such places than I am. That's perfect because cynical people are like a portable live-action Mystery Science Theater 3000.

We did not get off to a great start showing up to the pool party late and standing in the line outside for an hour and a half. But all in all, it worked out because of 3 infallible factors:

1. Alcohol
2. Outdoor water beds
3. Giant pretzels

Absinthe somehow entered the equation, but I didn't ask for that.

Once given roof access we met up with one of my film friends and her posse of small, attractive blonde women and proceeded to drink. The wildlife at The Standard was amusing^ⁿ. There was a fair mix of successful models, desperate models, and Hollywood weirdos dancing around in bathing suits and participating in everyone's favorite mating ritual, "Guess how much I paid for these sunglasses." In that regard there was really never any hope for me; the girl who gave us our wrist bands had already called out my $12.50 bathing suit top from Forever 21. So instead, I just acted like the socially passable version of a 6-year-old on a jungle gym and bounced around on the weird water bed pods they had by the pool.

One section of the roof is a "biergarten" that in my opinion was getting a lot less attention than it deserved. It was a cute patio area surrounded by [fake] greenery and had a ping pong table, a second bar that nobody was really using, and a stand where a dude was straight up making giant pretzels. Boyfran and I split one, by which I mean, I think I ate part of his half. It was truly das Secret Biergarten.

Ultimately, The Standard is pricy and maybe a place to visit every once in a blue moon (as you may have guessed, I seriously need to financially starve myself to even out the past few days' expenses). But it's certainly not my idea of a standard weekend outing.

DO YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE???

On the Subject of Almost Getting a Job

Last we met I had dropped the probably unsurprising news that I was no longer working my EA job. As soon as I was unemployed I did what any sane person would do.

I went to a beauty salon.

AND THEN I kicked it into high gear looking for work. I could only think of my depressing post-grad struggles of applying to a million and one jobs that I was not qualified for, dedicating 10 minutes at a time to filling in a single obnoxious online application for NBC and Disney, blissfully naiive as to how much of my time I was actually wasting. I could probably have campaign funded, shot, and distributed a movie in all those little 10-minute increments combined.

But lo and behold, when I began applying to industry jobs this time around I had a startling realization: I have been alive for a year! And in that year I actually made some strides in developing my career. I got my foot in the door the way most everyone I've talked to does it, and that is: somehow.

This is also how I get into house parties.

Somehow: I got valuable experience on both the production and administrative side of film. I learned that I have a passion for production design and got experience doing that, too (hat tip to male-friend-Casey for giving me the opportunity to make that discovery). I learned what stuff like "call-rolling" and "asking for avails" is. I networked, whatever the hell that means. I learned how to ask for things. I learned how to act like a genuine industry-style liar.

And ALL of these things combined have made me a more appetizing candidate for industry jobs

The job application process has been a funny one. As I mentioned, I have been doing exactly what I did when I first graduated, which is sit glued to a computer to the point of wanting to vomit every time my fingers touch the keys, and just apply to everything I could remotely make a case for.

However, some key differences:

1. A year ago, I applied to anything-anything... swim instructor jobs, tutoring gigs, canvassing, technical writing, egg donations: just a jumbalaya of miscellaneous hats that might fit on my head. This go, I have only been applying to industry jobs, and the occasional writing gig I don't have enough resume experience to get. Which I'm kind of okay with, because blogging about health and fitness sounds so depressingly boring I would probably just eat all the time and get fat.

   

   Worst fitness blog ever.

2.  I am reaching an impasse I never thought I'd reach because I didn't know such an impasse existed: corporate/administrative versus production. These are two very, very different aspects of the film and entertainment world. At some point you sort of have to go with one or the other; they are very different skill sets and your potential employer will wonder where your true allegiance lies (how do I know? It fucking happened to me). I began in production, which is the physical making-of the movie. But with the EA job I dove head-first into the administrative world of what are called "desk jobs" (I know, super random name, right?). I've reached a point of contention because I enjoy production work more, but I enjoy the security of a desk job more. I could honestly swing either way-- like your mom-- if I knew which avenue was a faster track to that numero uno goal of writing for TV. My brain tells me it's the corporate side, but my scrappy vindictive production side is crossing her arms and huffing, "Well you don't KNOW that." 

If there has ever been fodder for a debate about the best point of entry for "breaking in," this is that fodder. I invite one and all to write their opinions and experiences on this in the comments section.

I am your fodder.

I had a surprising number of bites in the first few days I applied to things, booking 3 interviews in the span of a week. The first one was an absolute trip because it was for an EA gig at... bum ba da dum... dum da da dee dum... ya ta ta ta... Paramount Studios.

Needless to say, I rolled up to the lot feelin' like a straight up G.

And, dear friends, for that one brief moment in time, I truly was.

...'Cause I was OFFERED the job!

 Champagne on me, right?

Well...

Not exactly. From the second I began that interview I knew I had stepped into something intense. You know your work environment might not be so great if your interviewer makes a point of telling you at at least six individual moments, "If you are not aware of every single thing that is going on, you will get run over." You could almost see the blood flying from his mouth. So I spent a few days entrenched in the "let me think about it" process that went something like this:

"It's a job at Paramount."

"But that dude seems a little intense. Or like, a lotta intense."

"Yeah, but, it's a job at Paramount."

"And you'll be expected to know how to do copious numbers of things you've never done before and master them within an impossibly small timeframe."

"I'll take that chance, it's a job at Paramount."

"You'll also be basically on-call and live in constant terror of being hit up by your boss at bizarre hours of the night."

"I could maybe do that for a job at Paramount."

"I mean, what do we even know about this guy? His name hardly comes up on Google searches."

"But on my resume I can say I worked at Paramount."

"You'll also be horribly miserable and stressed out and overworked moreso than at your other job."

"It doesn't matter, I'll network with other people while I'm eating lunch. At Paramount."

"Who knows how long you'll even be there? The last dude was fired."

"I don't care, 'cause it's Paramount."

"Jessica, you have presented both sides of this case to multiple people and everyone has told you it's not worth it to work in an environment that antagonistic. Don't do it."

So I told the man I'd think about it some more. This was, however, apparently a tip-off to him that I was not ready to handle the rigor of this job. And you know what, homie was probably right. As fricking cool as it would have been to work on the Paramount lot, I very likely would have, as the oracle foretold, been "run over." Long story short, I didn't end up landing the job and my relief is hardly a secret. In my book of memoirs this chapter will be titled, "The Time I Got (and Lost!) a Job at Paramount."

Now that I've had my little backdoor bragging moment... other pokes in the fires, you ask?

Well, earlier this week I had an interview for a mind-numbing receptionist job at a talent agency, which is actually a thing people do to break into the industry. But I didn't tell enough beige lies so I didn't get that one. Tomorrow I have an interview for a personal assistant gig to a TV director, which would be an absolute dream come true if he didn't live 30 some-odd miles and 60 some-odd minutes from my home. I also spoke to an actress who runs an acting school and is looking for an assistant, so that could potentially be a thing (...deja vu?). At some point I was told about a job as a nanny ("Personal Assistant" the resume will say) for an adolescent actress who travels internationally on a regular basis. That would be fun, since I actually jive with kids pretty well, and I'll deal with Varuka Sault if it means I get an all-expenses-paid trip to the Bahamas. But it ultimately boils down to what's the best career move.

Do I know?
Does anyone know?
No.
So.

I'm still jobless. But having a great time. Everyone should quit their jobs during the summer. The end.

Still Rolling: The Low-Budget Feature that Shouldn't but Did Anyway

Dear Blogger.com,

I completely understand if you want nothing to do with me. After I abandoned you, and left you to host 50 blog posts all by yourself, it's a wonder that you'll even give me the time of day. But I've returned, baby. And I promise never to abandon you again, unless I sign onto another heavy duty film shoot, in which case, I will completely abandon you again and come crawling back when I'm bored or feel obligated to write.

You see, Blogger, May was a trying month for me. It all began two weeks into April, when pre-production became a WHAT THE SHIT IS GOING ON-fest. Suddenly I was ripped from my desk, forced to gather up what office supplies I could carry into a heinously ugly prop purse with cow print, and do the hardest administrative work I've ever done in what I can only describe as a shanty production office. Every day I essentially had to build and deconstruct my office, setting up fold-out tables and chairs and hauling a heavy-ass printer to and from the car each day. I thought I was going to die.

I LUMPING HATE THIS!!!

And then, production happened.

And suddenly all the feelings of why I love film and film production flooded in. I was working in a team setting. I was getting to think of my feet.  I was up and constantly moving. I was finding small opportunities to be creative. I was talking major walkie jargon. I was low-key stuffing my face with craft services. And I was strategizing shit like it was Risk.

Except I didn't lose friends after it was over.

 The word for it is "thriving." For all the waiting and date-pushing and wondering if this project would even get up off the ground, I finally got to be a part of a feature film. And I loved it.

That's not to say I loved every minute of it. Some times were hard. There were days I just wanted to book it at 90 mph out of Simi Valley and go hide under my bed. I had to deal with being antagonized by one or two higher-ups, sitting on the ground tied up in computer cords in the sun and be generally uncomfortable for 3 weeks, being forced to arbitrarily "fire" an unpaid PA who was smart and hardworking, and trying to reconcile doing what needed to be done versus doing what my boss was telling me to do.

There were lots of on-set atrocities and brands of unprofessionalism I have never seen before-- and consider that I am coming from a background of only student and short films. For Chrissake, two consecutive 10-hour turnarounds when we kicked into overtime on both days?! Illegal, unprofessional, and just kinda not cool.

Soooo deets. Deets. Everybody wanna get those deets. It's kind of hard to give that especially when I'm not sure how much information to risk publishing online, but what I can do is isolate some memorable moments.

17 Isolated Memorable Moments

caution: some name-dropping ahead

Because I learn  from my employers

1. Being on set the first day on a remote ranch in Santa Clarita where we had zero cell reception, thus forcing the entire crew to share a single land line on a phone that could not have been made before 2002. Oh, and for about a solid half hour the line was tied up by the ranch owner talking to someone on the other line.
2. Being asked to drive the director's car around the neighborhood just so the air conditioning would be cold enough when she got back in the car.
3. Watching gargantuan Lou Ferrigno hold up a small, fluffy white dog and recite the line, "I've got a surprise for you!"
4. Watching gargantuan Lou Ferrigno hold up Verne Troyer like a baby.
5. The director needing dogs for a scene and literally wandering around the mall parking lot calling out to people with dogs if they would let us borrow them for our movie.
6. Meeting Paul Sorvino and deciding that he and I probably wouldn't be very good friends.
7. Meeting Jim O'Heir and deciding that he and I need to be friends.
8. Hearing the director shout angrily, "That was perfect! We should have shot that! Why didn't we shoot that? Somebody tell me why we didn't shoot that!" when it's her job to call action.
9. Watching the 1st AD try to get the lead dog to bark by getting on all fours and making growling sounds
10. Participating in the ongoing joke of everyone shouting "Still rolling!" because for whatever reason we almost never cut between takes.
11. Having a new sound mixer come fill in on the last day and take room tone... and seeing everyone simultaneously realize that the first guy did not once take room tone throughout the entire shoot.
12. The day we shot the epilogue which calls for several Australian Shepard puppies being put up for adoption, so we put an ad out on Craigslist to borrow puppies. Sure enough, some dude drove a bunch of cute fluffy puppies to set and generated a lot of distractions because everyone wanted to pick them up... our lead actress even adopted one!
13. Buying the entire crew "second meal" by making the world's most epic late-night In n' Out run:



34 BUGERS AND FRIES PLZ

14. Stopping by a Taco Bell drive-thru on this same run to get a vegetarian option, but the line was so long we waited about 10 minutes before realizing we had to get back to set. Unfortunately, by that point about 4-5 other cars had lined up behind us. So the Production Coordinator and I got out and went up to each of their windows and said there was an emergency and we had to get out of the line. We looked official because we were still wearing our walkie head-sets. One guy even asked me, "Are you with the police??" And sure enough the four cars backed out for us. It was a magnificently choreographed feat that almost ended in a fight breaking out between two cars.
15. The point at which we needed one dog to bark to make the lead dog bark, but in order to make that dog bark we needed a third dog to make him bark. So in all we had a chain reaction of three dogs barking at each other.
16. Hearing Judd Nelson say that this film was a sign he should go into retirement. 
17. Unwinding after a long 13-15 hour day of shooting by joining the crew in the bed of the grip truck and drinking beer.

You can sort of paint the picture from there. I'm trying not to be too sprawling with my explanations because I had a feeling that this would be a beefy blog, so I'll try to wrap things up.

So beefy. So bloggy.

What I really want to pen down is my learning experiences from this project. Yes, let's all gather around the campfire and have a come-to-Jesus moment about learning and partaking in "invaluable opportunities." I'm sure we'll all feel better that way.

Shit I Learned from this Project

1. Name dropping is a snowball effect leading to success. You tell a casting agent, "So-and-So is attached to the project," and then they're more inclined to pass it on to their client Such-and-Such. And then you've got both So-and-So and Such-and-Such on the project, so the next agent will be even more likely to recommend it to their client Shake-and-Bake.
2. Always over-budget. Not that I didn't know this before, but I've never seen an aftermath quite so disasterous. It would have been funny if it hadn't involved my paycheck.
3. On set, food is politics. The food you serve your crew is a symbol of how much you appreciate them. Oh, and if you serve them all the same so-so food and then go off and get something better for yourself during lunch break, don't be confused when people think you're a total D-bag.
4. Some actors are total divas when they haven't earned the right to be.
5. Some actors are total divas when they have earned the right to be.
6. Some actors are not at all divas even when they have earned the right to be.
7. Lying is an inevitability in this industry; the true deal-maker is the tact with which you do it
8. Always ask for stuff. Sometimes people give it to you even though you have no reason to ask for it in the first place.
9. In that vein, keep track of how much money people owe you. Most of them are not nice enough to simply give you what you're due.
10. TRULY, the only difference between working on a feature and a short is the length of time you spend doing it. Everything else is pretty much the same.
11. For all the disgusting corruption that exists in making a movie, there are also plenty of people who will have your back and truly think like a team.
12. Being an Associate Producer means absolutely nothing.
13. Always get room tone!

OH AND bonus lesson: don't tell your boss you're planning on quitting unless you're prepared for that to be your last day. I formally quit working for this production company last Tuesday but agreed to stay on until late June. Perfect, just enough time for me to start putting out feelers and resumes, right? Well, it would have been, until I got a call Saturday morning saying that a new girl would be starting immediately and I didn't need to come in Monday.

COOL

SUPER COOL

COOLER THAN  A CUCUMBER

COOLER THAN THIS ICE CUBE

COOLER THAN THE PACIFIC

Yep, so I'm alternating between sending out resumes and twiddling my thumbs these days, and doing my share of pity-pleas for work while I'm basking in #funemployment. But you want to know something awesome? While this job may have taken an extraordinary emotional toll on me, sucked away my energy and social life, paid me atrociously little, and not even left me with a good reference... I worked at a production company for a year!

That's a major foot in the door with lining up another assisting gig! So yay. Yay for life being mysterious and challenging. Still rolling.

Moving a Shootie

Hey, so I realize I haven't existed on Blogger for over a week, and that's because I've been in heavy pre-production-- and as of today, production!

SPEEDY FILM VOCAB SESH
Pre-production: the god-awful nitty gritty scheduling/coordinating/hiring/permit-filing tediousness of preparing to shoot. Pre-production is like the nasty amass of bugs that make up the Oogie Boogie Man's insides.

My bugs! My bugs!

Production: The awesome fantastical act of actually being on set and solving problems using wooden boxes and gaff tape instead of permit applications and wire transfers.

Obviously, you can tell what aspect of film I prefer. Some people are all about pre-pro (the shortened film-savvy way of talking about pre-production), but to that I say no-pro. I absolutely hate pre-production, which is why I will never be a good producer. I'd much rather be the weird production designer who stands in the corner and spends 15 minutes rolling a pair of boots in the mud so they look like they've been in use for years*

*has actually happened, and not just with boots.

Today, and for the next 17 days, I will not be a producer OR production designer. I will be the... wait, what the fuck am I? 

On sets, roles are usually very specific and have specific responsibilities attached to them. Such as:

Director: Instruct the actors, approve all choices made by the cinematographer, gaffer (lighting person), production designer, costumer, etc.
1st AD (Assistant Director): Draw up schedules and call times; keep everything on schedule and timely; know where everyone is on set and where they need to be next
2nd AD: Print sides (the scenes being done that day); alert cast and crew of call times; accommodate talent
Boom Operator: Be really tall

 I, however, am not any of the traditional on-set roles. I'm the director's assistant, which, from my experience today, seems to be a combination of 2nd AD, UPM (Unit Production Manager), PA (Production Assistant), and random liaison between the director and whoever she feels like talking to who's out of ear shot. I was actually pretty cool with this role. I got to walk around with a walkie and headset and engage in the fun and gratuitous jargon of film production. You can tell everyone feels super cool when they cross their arms, lean over to the 2nd AC, and mutter something like, "We gotta dirty up that frame to match eyeline. Anyone got eyes on grip? Someone's gotta fly out that genny in 5 or we'll have to call grace." So obnoxious, right? YEAH EXCEPT IT'S SUPER FUN. Film lingo ain't got shit on those decoder activities on the back of cereal boxes. You can convey a 20-word sentence in like 4 made-up film terms!

I need to hit the sack so I'm going to leave you hanging with that small, completely unbeneficial bit of information, but I'm hoping I'll have another opportunity or two throughout the shoot where I'll be able to give more mini-updates.

Oh yeah, today overall: was good. We went 1 hour over the 12 hour maximum workday, but people were generally okay with it and we were fed a second meal which isn't typical, so it was aight. The talent were super chill guys and it was funny to see how well they worked together. Who was on set today, you ask? I'm not sure if I'm at liberty to say, but one of them is associated with one of the all-time greatest freeze frame moments in movie history-- let's just say he has a look that says: "Don't you forget about me." The other one is as incredible as he is hulky (the original).

It's not name-dropping if I don't drop their names. Good night.

Break Out Your Broke

Things are getting about as nuts as they come in "the production office," which at any given time of the day is also the regular office, the screening room, the dog training facility, and the place where we try to eat lunch. Believe me when I say work has been

NO PICNIC

A neck-less picnic.

At one point there were 10 people in our one room that usually has a maximum of 4, all making phone calls or conversing with each other. Imagine a hen house where the hens have thumbs and know how to print things. It was pure, administrative anarchy. There was just a ceaseless tornado of sounds and voices chaotically backdropping the million and one requests flying at me like bricks simultaneously. When would it end?! Just make it stop!

Eventually a few people cleared out and we were back down to 5. There was a beat of silence. After a moment I said, "...That got pretty cray for a minute there, didn't it?"

Yes, it did. It was 50 shades of cray.

And 64 shades of Crayola.

 But, you know, in the end it was worth it, because I worked a full hour of overtime. Not that I will be paid overtime, but I will be paid for the time that went over. 

Sigh. Showbiz is JUST A BARREL OF MONKEYS AND DONUTS MY FRIENDS. MONKEYS AND FUCKIN' DONUTS.

Well, on to other matters. I had a pretty baller weekend celebrating Coachella the best way possible, by not going to it. Instead, Casey and I hit up Brokechella!

No, not Brokebackchella...

No, not Breakingchella...

No, not Brickchella...

No, not a broken cello...

Brokechella is a wonderful low-pretense-hipster LA alternative to Coachella. For those who are stingy enough not to sell their house for Coachella tickets, there is Brokechella, which is a 1-day event fueled by local bands/comedians/eats/boutiques with one grand overarching theme: broke.

You still have to be slightly above the poverty line to enjoy Brokechella, with $10 pre-sale tickets and $20 at the door, but it's more than worth it. What would otherwise be a sketchy abandoned warehouse in the boonies of the arts district (redundant as the arts district IS nothing but boonies of abandoned warehouses) is converted, on this blessed day, into a free-for-all arts and music scene. Graffiti art covers the walls, junky couches make up the lounge area, and everything is SUPER cheap. Drink-worthy (Lagunitaaaaaaa) beer was four bucks and mixed drinks were five, which is unheard of 'round these parts. Sponsors were giving away all sorts of free goodies: long stem flowers, energy bars, candy, photo ops... I somehow wound up with a cut-out of Ron Burgundy's head and a stress ball from Spearmint Rhino (yay and yikes, respectively). The food trucks were expensive and overpriced, but what else is new. I still ended up gorging myself on bomb diggity Argentinian food truck food. Chimichurri-yaw-chimi-yaw-chimi-churr!

Biggie is not amused by my traditional Argentinian food puns.

There were four stages set up around both inside and outside the warehouses, each catering toward a slightly different audience. I seriously got my dance on by the "Shifty Rhythms" stage where a DJ was blasting crazy club-hop dance music. In the next rooms were hip-hop, acoustic rock, and even stand-up. My talented friend Erik Escobar was one such comic.

But wait, there's more! There were a million and one things at once. Artists set up booths and asked passersby to participate. Several boutiques on wheels sold clothing that was Silverlake chic and Fashion District priced... I even nabbed me a boss pair of of new sunglasses for cheap:

And a fantastic new teal bronzer!

Uhhhhh other cool things: BMX biking arena, multiple free photo booths, video game room, art on all the walls (and in some areas, the floor), a plot of grass designated for the dogs registered for Puppychella whichisarealthing, a small fort with headphones used for conducting some bizarre music experiment, and FREE credit cards on the ground! 

Know what, I'm just gonna post some pictures here. If you like 'em, you can keep 'em, if you don't, you can send 'em right back.

But seriously, don't "keep" them anywhere. Just keep navigating through the internet like a normal person. We don't have to make this weird.

Truly the most brilliant theme for a low-budget affair.

In front of the music experiment tent. I'm actually not wearing pants.

Art you can walk on and pick up and pretend to be Super Mario with.

Image reproduced without Casey or Ron Burgundy's permission.

We spent virtually the whole day there, drinking, dancing, exploring, et cetera. The turn out was large but not stuffy and crowded, so it was perfect. Simply fabulous. I hope I can go again next year. I won't be able to if I'm actually broke, but right now I'm low key broke as-in-severely-underpaid, which is good enough for the time being.

YEAH

MONEY

UH

GIT IT

Serious Dental Problems

Good thing: My landlady took me on the morning walk/jog of my LIFE yesterday.

Bad thing: And now my legs are sore.

Good thing: But at least I didn't feel as bad stuffing my face at Passover dinner last night.

Bad thing: I stuffed my face at Passover dinner last night.

Good thing: I stuffed my face full of matzoh balls and charoset at Passover dinner last night.

Charoset, I said.

Monday was a great evening filled with ooey-Jewy fun. At least, as fun as family dinners can get-- and in particular ones that involve everyone reading a book before dinner. Fortunately I come from a long line of people who mask their boredom and hunger-impatience with really painful jokes.

Part the Red Sea? More like clear the room.

Since you're probably not Jewish I won't bore you with the details of Passover, but I would like to take this opportunity to announce that I am now allowed to sit at the adults table, where I drink irresponsible amounts of my uncle's vintage wine when he isn't looking. To make an extremely inside Jew-joke: I am The Wicked Child.

Moving on to less Semitic topics, I'd like to give the latest weekend update. On Sunday I attended the LA Times Festival of Books which is held annually on the USC campus.

It offers no surprises. The end.

One cool thing is that the wonderful people from my old work had a booth set up there and I got to swing by to say hello-- I even got a free copy of my former boss's book! At a glance it seems to involve samurais and/or ninjas. I'm sure it's at least partly autobiographical.

So on the hour-long drive home this evening, a song came on that I very fondly associate with this past summer. Thinking about the summer made me think about now, and thinking about now made  me freak out a little bit since I just realized it's been nearly 11 months since I graduated college. Please excuse me while I wander into one of my mini existential  ponderings and reflect on the fact that I've been an adult for almost a year. Specifically, this kind of adult:

But with more teeth, hair, and baby fat.

We associate certain feelings and dispositions with certain periods of our life, and hearing this one song made me feel like May-August 2013. In trying to pin down exactly what that feeling was, it was like consensual free-falling. I felt so lost and detached from the heaviness of being one-who-makes-a-living, and it felt truly stupendous. I had finally slayed senior year, and although I knew something even more challenging and horrific was coming up in the future, I had so little grasp of what that might be that I just couldn't bring myself to fret over it. Or, I did every now and then, but usually only when I spoke to relatives on the phone or paid more than $7 for a meal. Generally speaking, I was blissful. Incredibly blissful. I didn't know you could experience that kind of peace and happiness beyond the age of eight (1999 was a great year to be me).

So where are we now?

Not San Diego.

This will be difficult to explain, and even more difficult to explain when we reach the official "Where The Ever-Living Fuck Was Jessica One Year Ago?" post (coming soon to a free blog hosting site near YOU!). But if I could be brief (too late), I've reached a sort of stability for the time being. One thing I'll say for stability is that it's pretty damn boring. Not to suggest I feel like I'm in a rut-- far from it. But the little Change-and-Wonderment sprites haven't been sprinkling their little glitter buckets over things as often. Work, for instance, has long since been a new and interesting thing. It went from being exciting (I'm working in the industry! I'm paying for designer coffee! I've developed a phone voice!), to excruciating (I'm doing everything wrong! I'm tired! I have money but no time to buy groceries!), to somewhere in between (I'm working in the industry!). Right now it sort of feels like I've been going to the dentist everyday for the past four months. It still hurts when they poke my gums with those little metal hooks but at this point I'm used to it, and I've developed a legitimate taste for fluoride tooth cleaner. You know the kind.

What I'm more or less trying to say with my very innocuous metaphor is that whole notion of "settling" into a way of life has, unsurprisingly, settled upon me unconsciously. I sense a definite routine, and yet I still feel like I'm stumbling from one day to the next. It's not good or bad, though I do a pretty great job of wording it in the most negative way possible. I just wonder at what age you stop feeling like a life-n00b.

Anyway, I think to wrap things up, routine is a never-ending dentist appointment, or something like that.

Take it away, Steve!

Wheely Fun Weekend

I'm putting it on the record that I initially began this blog with, "Wazzap party people!" stared at it for a few moments, and then erased it. My punishment is public cyber-self-shaming, but the reward for not actually posting is a slightly more interesting opener.

Speaking of slightly more interesting, it was very much a "Look At Me I Live In LA" weekend for me and I know you're just dying to read about it.

Statement meant to be read ominously in the month of October.

I embarked on the bi-annual bi-cycling event CicLAvia, where the City of Los Angeles shuts down a few major streets to cars and grants sole access to bicyclists, walkers, and any aberrations of the two. It's a county-wide marathon that lasts for one day, because if it went on any longer car commuters would probably go insane and drive into the ocean. On most days, I would be one of these drivers (also, the babysitter said that's how you become a mermaid). However, with my new Channubicycle, I was able to fully embrace the event and bike down Wilshire like it was nobody's business. It felt like this:

"You biked a marathon?" You may be thinking. "Either you're lying or I have to reassess how attractive I remember you being."

Well, don't look me up on OKCupid just yet-- I only look for dates on Craigslist. Besides, I'm far from what you'd call "a biker," as in one who rides bikes for the enjoyment of physical activity. I only ride my bike short distances, and if it's not to get to the grocery store faster then it's only because I enjoy the idea of enjoying physical activity. Trust me, I tried track, gymnastics, surfing, swimming, and for one very depressing JV tryout, tennis. Did not work. I would be very happy for me if I had a single strand of DNA encoded for athletics, but it would seem I'm doomed to be a lethargic artist. That's okay, at least I'm really good at organizing things in my pantry.

The point being, Ciclavia was a fluke in all-that-is-Jessica... and as it turns out, a pretty fun one! I biked 7-something miles each way down Wilshire with Casey and my roommate, who is the embodiment of "a biker." If they ever pass legislature making it legal to marry bicycles, my roommate will be first in line at the courthouse.

Yes, that was just another way of saying, "If you love your bike so much why don't you marry it?"

Along with Casey, roomie, and myself were hundreds if not thousands of other Angelenos peddling 
and promenading from 1 Wilshire to Miracle Mile and back. Behold:

Are you beholding?

My roommate is actually in this picture; if you spot him you get a taffy.

As it turns out, the actual act of biking down the middle of one of the busiest main streets in Los Angeles was half the fun. All along the way people were playing music, hosting special events in their restaurants, setting up food and drink carts along the sidelines, and even conducting Chocopie eating contests, which we witnessed in Koreatown. Also, we got these sick fannypacks:

Coincidentally, "sick fannypack" is also the name I give when ordering at Starbucks.

The route was far from rigorous, mostly flat with a few minor inclines and declines and exlines and outlines. It was, however, about 3 hours of biking. Of course, I'm not factoring in the point at which the three of us stopped at a cafe and had lunch before getting back on our bikes to finish the loop. Yup, I'm a pretty hardcore marathoner.

ABRUPT END OF BLOG BECAUSE I DECIDED I'M DONE TYPING