Lights, Camera, Wallace Family

Yesterday I finally got my chance to get out of the editing room. After telling a senior producer Tuesday, at lunch, how much I deserve to be producing instead of clipping footage, I got what was coming to me...a location shoot. Later that day, right before I headed out for the evening, a hand reaches over my shoulder from behind me and places a sheet of paper on my desk. Startled, I spun around in my chair to see who it was. A skinny, tan, freckled face man stood there smiling at me. "Oh, hey Harry. You scared the mess out me. What's up?" Harry was the senior producer I talked to earlier that day. With his famous friendly smile he nudged my shoulder with a fist and said, "Every executive producer here has been talking about you. Don't disappoint me kid." He walked out the door and I was left in my dark editing room confused. I look down at the sheet of paper and in bold, capital letters, at the top read "CALL LOG." Now for those of you who don't know, a call log is a sheet of paper that tells directions, times, people, locations, equipment, ect. for a shoot. I scan down the page and at the very bottom was some chicken scratch that read "Be in the camera department at 8 am." What?! Was I really going to be a PA on a shoot after not even 2 weeks on the job? I stuff the call log in my blue, official, NASCAR Images back pack and skip out the door. I was so excited I forgot to grab my leftovers from lunch.

The next day I show up wired on coffee and extremely excited. Saul, a producer who I knew from my internship, gives me a friendly greeting filled with explicatives, in classic Saul manner. "You're PAing today! Holy S#*@. That's &*$% awesome!" I smile as he messes up my hair and hands me a Diet Coke (my usual). After meeting the 8 people going on the shoot, all guys who were dying to talk about sports and women (lovely), I hop in the van for what I knew was going to be a crazy day. After a 30 minute ride we arrive at a 10,000 square foot house. We load out and there before us was Mike Wallace, brother of Kenny and Rusty Wallace. The Wallace family is similar to the Earnhardt or Petty family; they are legends in the sport of stock car racing.

Mike walks us through his house to help us find a good location to do the interview with him and his daughter. Then the senior producer on the shoot looks over at me and says, "It's your call Liner. Tell them where to set up." Surprised, I walk out the door and tell the lighting crew to move into the living room (which was the size of half a tennis court, about. I look over at the 8 guys I rode with and gave my first order as a Production Assistant, "Go move all the furniture out of the room, except for the couch and coffee table...please." After two hours of set up and me sitting on the couch as a stand in for camera and lighting checks, I move to the corner by the dolly and chill. Before I knew it the interview with Mike and his daughter (who is also a racer) was over. We spend 45 minutes breaking down, shake hands with the racing legend one more time then head out for lunch, which was charged to the company credit card.

Work life started out a little rocky for me. The first day I quit, found another job and was rehired. But now I'm happy that I stayed. For the first time I realized that there are a lot of people in the company who believe in me and are willing to go to any extent to help me out and give me the chance to prove how good I am at my job. It's been a crazy week, but a good one.

Kenny (left), Rusty (center), Mike Wallace

Booked up Life

I haven't posted anything in a week due to the fact that life has gotten out of control. Between work at the studio and work at home and traveling, I've barely had time to process. So as I wait for our editing system to reboot here at work, I thought I'd send this little ditty out to let everyone know I'm still alive.

I'll be back with some better stuff. Promise

Self Amusement

This past Saturday, my family and I took a trip to Asheville, NC to clean out my grandparents’ house. This quaint little 1,000 square foot house served has a home to my grandparents and their 3 sons for over 50 years. Needless to say that, although small, this house was pack full of things collected over the years. The upstairs was filled with family heirloom furniture and china. The basement was just full of all kinds of weird things from waders to film to WW2 Uniforms. We spend 4 straight hours filling up the truck with "junk" and making piles for donations and making another pile for keep sakes. I felt I had the best job of all. Because my family considers me the artsy one, I was assigned pictures, film, and letters. Now, this was amazing. I found post cards from the war, old/original Western Union love letters sent from my grandfather to my grandmother, pictures, photography magazines from the 40's, and most interesting, war journals and random items taken from Japanese soldiers killed by my grandfather in the front lines.

My grandfather never talked about the war. My grandmother didn't even know much. You always hear crazy stories, but this past weekend I realized that my grandfather was one of the few front line machine gunmen to walk away from war uninjured and alive. Chills went down my spine as my fingers rubbed over bullet shells, journals, buttons, and chow cards. These things had been through something that I knew I would never see or understand. It inspired me in a strange way. In a few hours I learned the deepest secrets about my Papaw that were hidden from me for 22 years. He became human. He became a hero. The same 22-year-old hands that held a machine gun in battle where the same hands that combed through my hair when I went to bed as a little girl. Our grandparents have a history and a life that is full of adventures and stories that captivate me, which gets me to think that I myself am going to be a grandparent one day. I am going to be the one with secret adventures and exciting tales that will be discovered in a box in my basement, after I’m gone.

Speaking of boxes, my sister-in-law found a box full of eyeglasses. We couldn't just toss them in the trash pile without having some fun. So my mom, sister-in-law, and I grab the 3 "best" pair and snap a quick photo after we were done carrying out mock conversations in squeaky, nerd tone voices. Enjoy my family’s dorkiness!

Occupied

As many of you know form reading the Shea of the Dead blog, (un)Heralded Films has offically started its first project. This short film is entitled Occupied. We believe that (un)Heralded is going to make a huge impact on us as young filmmakers, and the film industry in Charlotte, NC. Check out our new blog and keep up with what's going on!

Ocean's Thirteen

Danny Ocean and his gang team up on more time for a third heist. When casino owner Willy Bank double-crosses one of the original eleven, Reuben Tishkoff (Elliot Gould), they decide to pull another fast one, but not for their own personal gain. This time it's for revenge.
I was hesitant in coming into this movie because I've been slightly disappointed by the past 3rd sequels I've seen this year. Fortunately this one was the better of the list. There was a good continuity and flow between Ocean's Twelve and Thirteen. As for the story, I was impressed. We were given what we expected to see, but also fed some new material that kept the story different from the past two. The plot moved quick, which is typical for Ocean's, and you needed to pay attention or you'd miss why one sub-plot was happening.
There were no big character changes to throw you off and all previous characters made an appearance. Each character had their own style that carried well leaving no one the chance to snatch the spotlight, which is a good thing in my book.
Overall the film was enjoyable. The story was entertaining and the actors put out a good performance. The only thing I was disappointed with was the directing. I felt it was a little drier than the previous. Considering the story and the setting, I think that Soderburgh could have taken a few more visual chances to make it pop. But don't get me wrong; it's still a great film that mostly everyone will enjoy. It will keep you laughing and entertained.

KAA U KNOW!

I worked at a summer camp several years in Branson, Missouri. The camp is part of Kanakuk Kamps, but is non-profit and for urban youth. Kids Across America was an amazing experience for me and was where I turned into the person I am today. This is my second summer not working at KAA and every year I get a little depressed around this time. This year, a very good friend of mine is working her first summer at kamp (we spell everything with a "K"). I haven't seen her in almost 6 years, yet we talk on the phone almost every day. She is more or less a sister to me. I hadn't talked to her in about 2 weeks, and today I get a call from her while she was on her 2-4 (day off). As I listened to all the familiar stories and emotions that I went through as well, it made me want to buy a plan ticket and fly out to Branson. For those of you who have never worked at a summer camp or even worked with urban youth, it is one of the most stressful, exhausting, yet most satisfying thing you will ever do in your life. Many summers of my life were spent here at kamp or in the Bronx, Philly, St. Louis, Brooklyn or Washington DC loving on kids who never see love. Today, talking with Becca on the phone, I realized once more how much I miss that part of my life that's now been taken over with more adult responsibilities. I sat on the phone for over an hour (which is huge because I'm not the best phone conversationalist) reliving memories and doing all the kamp cheers/raps with Becca for the first time in 2 years. Its saddens me that I will never go back to my second home in Missouri, or never live out a whole summer in soccer shorts, cut off t-shirts, terrible tan lines, and ridiculous costumes. Every 4th of July will be haunted by the memory of 500 kampers living it up at a concert by Lecrae, insane games and sugar rushes.

But no matter how much I miss kamp and miss those people who became a second family to me, I can't help but be happy that I'm not there. This past summer I was able to meet amazing people and make connections with a company that would offer me a job I couldn't refuse. This summer, if I were at kamp, I wouldn't be living out a dream. I'm beginning an exciting new career and figuring how to live out my dream with some of the most wonderful people I've ever met...I guess what I'm rambling about is that there are seasons in life that make you who you are. I graduated from college thinking that I will never experience something as great as kamp ever again; nothing will ever make as big an impact on my life. I couldn't have been more wrong. Life changing experiences aren't always mind blowing and exhausting. If it wasn't for the small hand full of people I've met the past few months and the passion that these people have shown me, I'm convinced that I wouldn't be as happy and satisfied with where my life is going as I am at this moment. Kamp changed my life, no doubt, and I miss it. But life right now is more exciting and holds more mystery than ever. The Lord has placed the most interesting and intriguing people in my life; these people are shaping and refining the person kamp made me, which is a pretty amazing feeling. Life seems to have it's dull moments, but if you are willing to take the time to step back and acknowledge some things we all take for granted, you will realize that life is never dull and will never stop shaping us into the people we are meant to be.

Clumsy Endeavors

I spent 12 years cheerleading and tumbling and dancing; I'm able to climb rocks, kayak the sea, wakeboard, and even complete a ropes course 40 feet up in the trees...blindfolded. But when it comes to the simpler things in life, I am a complete mess. For example, I've managed to lose a shoe while wearing it, I trip over pretty much anything if there is nothing there, I spill or knock over things (displays in stores are my usual), and I've caught multiple things on fire. We might as well add the fact that I've developed multiple allergies the past 3 years to the strangest things on earth. But despite all these, walking is usually the biggest issue for me. I walk into things, which include, but are not limited to: parked cars, trees, doors (glass and solid), walls, open doors, people, furniture, etc. Oh, and I walk off, or fall as some people might say, stairs, porches, stools, docks, boats and sidewalks. I really have no idea how this happens, I'm actually very aware of my surroundings. I can remember everything in a room within the first few seconds of being in it. Unfortunately my coordination does not allow me to avoid these things when walking through the room. Some days are worst than others. In college I would routinely tip over in my desk or get my backpack stuck on something. This weekend has been one of those weekends that leaves my family wondering how I'm still alive with all my limbs.

In two days I have cut my angle by falling in the shower, rolled my arm up in the car window (have a bruise), shot a pint of ice-cream across the kitchen in attempts to scoop out my share (big mess and stained clothes), hit my mom in the face/eye with a lemon slice at lunch, trip 3 times in a row while walking down the street, break a coffee mug (to embarrassed to share that story), walk into my bedroom door which resulted in a swollen and slightly bloody finger, and get my hand stuck in a display at the store. Now before you judge, let me reemphasize that this is not the usual. Normally all these things will happen over the course of 7 days instead of 2.

No one else in my family is like this. All my life I've been "The clumsy one." I even have my own First Aid box at my parents house, and when I say box I don't mean the cute white ones you get from the store, this thing is bigger and filled full of the essentials to survive anything that might happen. The sad thing is that my family has grown accustom to my misfortune. Every time I fall, knock something over, or anything that I listed above, without looking up from what they are doing simply ask (while trying not to laugh) "You Ok?" Sometimes my dad will ask if I need Advil, ice or band-aids. But why did I choose to tell you this about myself? Simply to let you know that despite my inability to move without hurting myself, I can still laugh about it. I've moved past getting embarrassed when I eat pavement in public or destroy the bathrobe display in Macy's. It's who I am, I can't change it or I would have already, and without it I probably would take myself too serious. So with that, here is my profound advice to the blogworld...Don't take yourself so serious.

This is me at 3. Note the bandages and bruises on my legs. The story behind this is that I later dropped the steak in my hand when I fell off the counter. True story...

Gas Pains

My mom is always sending me little e-mails to keep me entertained. She sent one this morning with cartoons addressing the high gas prices. Just thought I'd share some of them with my fellow bloggers.

Colorado Corks

Every Easter, back in the day, my family would head of to the Rocky Mountains for some serious skiing and snowboarding. One year, after a long day on the slopes, and suffering from mild bruises from the double black diamond my brother and I wisely decided to attempt, we to head out into the small town of Steamboat to search for an ice cream shop (a weakness we as siblings share). We turn the corner and find ourselves in front of a pub that has moose and bear heads mounted on the walls, along with a life size wooden statue of a grizzly outside. Interested, we walk in. The thought of ice cream completely slips our minds as we see a mound of goodness pass before us in the form of nachos. We pull out all our spare change, count it up and decided to cancel the ice cream date and go straight for the 7,000 calorie snack. After ordering, the waitress invites us to play some pool or darts as we waited for our food. My brother nods in agreement then punches me in the arm to signal that it was time for me to get my butt schooled in darts. I take one more swig of my water and slowly walk behind my brother, already feeling the defeat. In usual Krystal manner, something in the distance distracts me. Without warning the big brother where I was going, I slip off to the back corner of the pub and stare up at the most interesting and useful thing I had ever seen. It was a HUGE tack board made of wine corks. I mean, this thing was at least 7x7 ft. An older man, obviously a local by his dirty jeans and worn cowboy hat, thumps me on the arm and says, "Pretty neat ain't it?" Mouth half open and eyes wide, I nod. "They save up those corks from the bar and add on to it every year. There's another over on the other wall," then points his weathered finger over to an even larger cork board that almost covers the wall. By this point my brother runs over, half worried and half mad he didn't get to dominate me in darts, and fusses at me for having the attention span of a gnat. It didn't take long before the giant wall of wine corks caught his eye as well. As we both stood there with our mouths open in amazement, our waitress signals us to follow her back to our table to chow down on our food. We sit down, say the quickest blessing ever said and begin to stuff our faces. I stop in mid-chew and say, "I'm going to start saving wine corks."

From that moment on, I've stood by my word. I've been collecting wine corks from family events, parties, restaurants, etc for about 10 years now. I have no idea how many I have. So Yesterday I decided to pull down my collection and begin to lay them out in a pattern. I have enough corks right now to make a 4x4 ft. something (oh, and 3 champagne corks that I have no clue what to do with). So here is my question. What should I do with the corks? I was thinking about making side tables or a coffee table. Any other suggestions? Oh, and just because I've decided to turn my collection into something does not mean I will stop. Heck, now I will have more room to save more corks!