I've got 3 days & 3 nights left before I leave to Santa Monica for the American Film Market. Again.
I was reading through some of my older posts, and have discovered that I'm a broken record / whiny Bitch these last three years, and that I'm back to whining about this. Again. I Can't say as I'm entirely pleased about my capacity for sniveling either. However, besides the fact that I'm going down to probably kill myself by working non-stop for the next 12 days (not unlike my recent trip to France which entailed my killing myself for 7 days straight, plus 2.5 days of travel time, plus the jet-lag, plus being back in the office Monday morning), And certainly not including my trip to France in May where I worked non-stop for 12 days, plus the travel time, and being back in the office Monday morning). I don't think I need to get into Berlin either. Basically since my little medical procedure in March, I've been kicking it old school, and have nothing but a cheese sandwich to show for it. I'm wondering if I've had a glimpse of my own mortality, and if I'm wasting it away selling movies.
Hopefully this will be my last AFM though. At least in my present capacity. Things are afoot. It could be a great adventure, but I need some chutzpah - of which I'm sorely lacking. I used to love, love, LOVE traveling for business! It was great, grand and always an adventure. In one of my earlier capacities, I had to do Western Canada each month, which was Vancouver - Winnipeg - Calgary - Saskatoon - Edmonton - Vancouver - with stops in Kamloops & Regina every other month. The gig just after that was a national level where it was Vancouver - Halifax - Montreal - Toronto - Winnipeg- Calgary - Edmonton - Vancouver, so I racked up a fair amount of frequent flier miles and loved every minute of it. I had it planned out perfectly too; I could leave Sunday morning, fly to Halifax to arrive late Sunday night, meeting Monday AM, then do Quebec on Tuesday, Toronto on Wednesday then arrive Winnipeg first thing in the Thursday morning, then fly to Edmonton in the aternoon for a late afternoon meeting, then depart for Calgary first thing Friday morning, do my meetings and be back home in Vancouver by 4:00 PM Friday afternoon. I'd grab a taxi home dump off my stuff, and meet my friends for end of the week beers by 6:00 down at Cardero's or Stamps Landing, or some patio beside the Pacific Ocean. They would honk & flap about their week, and I'd just chuckle that I've just flown 6000 miles in like, 5 days. Fun Fact: I bet you didn't know that while in Halifax NS, you are closer to London, England, than you are to Vancouver!
But now? When I have to fly 2.5 hours south to LA? I'm plotzing & kvetching about it. Sure, Flying to Europe has its issues (I can't imagine anyone would enjoy sitting on a plane for the better part of 16 hours while waiting to get back home), but I am also looking at myself and wondering "Dude - what happened to you?" I think I'm just dreading the job and the pressure that comes with it. Well also, we have like 110 meetings booked, all in 30 minute slots, so I'm going to have to be giving the same spiel 110 times, plus shaking hands with strangers, strangers who have colds and cough into their hands, strangers who pick their nose then extend their hands in greeting... that sort of thing. (Note to self - bring handi-wipes & anti-bacterial hand lotion).
I have a full last day of work at the office tomorrow, and a million things need to get done. There is laundry to do, plants to apologize to, Uncle Stan to really apologize to (I haven't seen him since before France, and he is getting cranky), and a myriad of stuff which has to happen before I get on the plane Monday morning.
I found this video and stuck this up here a year or so ago, but again tonight - found it appropriate. Monday is going to be my 4th time in LA in the past 6 months, and as much as I hate LA, I really like Santa Monica (for a maximum 12 days at least).
Mr. Sundial is already pointing towards the end of October already! Time? She is a thief who slinks through the night.
A quick recap: In the last 35 days I've been to: Vancouver Island, Toronto, Los Angeles, France, and in about 11 days I'm going back to Los Angeles for another long 12 day trip during first 2 weeks of November. My job is a cruel mistress, but one in which I'm preparing to draw up the divorce papers. If all goes to plan, I will be my own man come early in the new year - and it can't come fast enough either. As previously mentioned the job and I have been sleeping in seperate bedrooms for a while now, and it's time to draw a line down the middle, fire up the chainsaw, and have at it.
Since returning to Vancouver from France (meaning it was Cannes to Nice Airport, then Nice - Munich - Frankfurt - Vancouver all in about 16 or so hours) and after some rather severe jet lag (courtesy of my ever-infalligable internal body clock) its been a bit of a thing getting used to being back on the West Coast time. France was a total kerfuffle jet-lag speaking. Brief recap: My flight to France left Vancouver at 4:00 PM last Thursday, arriving Nice 2:30 PM Friday local time. I didn't sleep on the plane at all - and by the time I got my luggage and made it the hour north to my flat in Cannes, it was close to 5:00 PM. "No problem" I lied to myself, "I'll just have some dinner, stay awake until 10:00 PM, sleep all night and wake up smelling like roses tomorrow morning". Right? Wrong. I passed out at 8:00 PM, and was up, TOTALLY awake at 2:00 AM, and couldn't get back to sleep. This pattern repeated itself alarmingly, without fail every evening when it was time for bed. It worked like this: I'd stay up until midnight France time, be a little tired and hit the sack. However, although it was midnight local time, my body was telling me that it was only 3:00 PM that AFTERNOON in Vancouver... so no sleep was had. Wash. Rinse. Wipe sweaty hands on pants. Repeat as necessary. This foolishness lasted the entire time I was there. Suffice it to say, that after 6 or 7 days of this? It got real old, real quick. The funny thing was that after I returned back home, I've been waking up at EXACTLY 3:00 AM EVERY morning. Why? That's a darned good question. The only possible answer I could submit is that 3:00 AM Vancouver time is 12:00 Noon in Cannes. It makes no sense really, but at least I wasn't in Thiruvananthapuram. Because that could only suck even more.
On that note, I'm leaving again next week to Los Angeles for the American Film Market (The AFM also means "Another Fucking Market"), and am there for 12 days. At least I'm in the same time zone and only a 2.5 hour flight from home. I DO though, have enough time to dry clean my suits, water my plants, sleep in my own bed for the next 7 days, all while noticing another year slip through my fingers. I'm pretty tired, and am really looking forward to some rest or a change. Either would be welcomed at this point.
To avoid ending this thing on a total downer though - I was out for with some friends for some tasty beverages the other night, and a few months ago my friend Colleen paid hundreds of dollars for this designer miniature chihuahua. Behold this $800 Rat-Dog named "Peewee" in all of its Satanic Glory. (Accessorizing dog-handbag was only a few hundred dollars extra - and yes - she bought one as well, 'natch).
While skittering away the hours until I depart France, I had some time off this afternoon, and was noodling around the internets (my TV doesn't work in my rented flat), and came across THIS.
It is the blog of "Mr. B" a music teacher in Public School 22 somewhere in New York City, and he teaches his awesome, AWESOME elementary age school choir to sing stuff by (and with - as it turns out) Crowded House, Tori Amos, Coldplay etc. I can't find much about how they do it, or the history of, except on the blog site it says that "This website is PC22's efforts to promote the benefits of keeping the arts and integral part of the school curriculum".Well done Sir! Well done indeed.
Somehow, he and his choir played the Fabulous Fillmore Theatre in New York, and along with their interpretation of a couple of Crowded House songs, actually had Crowded House join them to play "Throw your arms around me" on stage. Seriously, turn up your speakers because this is quite magnificent.
Lastly, whether you are a Coldplay fan or not - watch this awesome rendition of "Viva La Vida", especially the unbelievable a Capella version at the end. If this doesn't make you smile, then you are either a heartless bastard who likes throwing bags of live puppies into the river, or Dick Cheney.
My Mom was a full time 3rd grade teacher, and an alternate music teacher at her elementary school. She had tenure though, so she could have worked at any school she wanted, but by choice, she worked at Dalton Elementary, in a bad part of town, teaching kids who were living in broken homes, poverty, alcohol abuse, and neglect. Sometimes she would come home after work, sit on the couch and just cry for a few minutes - then she'd come over and give me a hug. I never really understood this until I got much older. If she was around today, I think she would have really enjoyed watching this.
In a book that I've been reading while overseas, there is a line from one of the protagonists who says "Joy is in the ears that hear".
I'm here for MIPCOM (which is one of the biggest TV sales markets in the industry), and as per usual travel, jet-lag, and other egregious responsibilities are adding to my already formidable superhero-esque stress levels. I left the West Coast Thursday afternoon, to arrive in Nice Friday afternoon local time, by the time I got my luggage and made it the hour or so north to Cannes, (and after not sleeping on the flight), decided to gut it out and just stay up until normal bed time, eat something, then hit the sack, and therefore be coming up golden and smelling like posies Saturday AM. (As previously evidenced, I'm probably the worlds worst jet lagger).
Well, like most things I plan? Not so much. I went to the little corner store around the corner from my flat, bought a bottle of really, REALLY good local cheap red french wine (2 Euros!), I stopped at this place that serves simply amazing shwarma's just around the corner that Me and Melanie discovered while here last May, and had dinner, a drink and that would get me to bedtime, right? Wrong. I wound up falling asleep at 7:30 PM, woke up at 11:00 PM, slept again from 1:00 AM - 3:00AM, and now (I fear) I'm up for the duration.
It's just now coming up on 5:00 AM, and for once, the city is quiet. No traffic, no loud Frenchmen talking at full volumes from the busy narrow sidewalks, there's no noise at all. The fact that there is no traffic is astounding - I don't believe in all the years I've been coming to Cannes where I haven't heard the droning of the street sweepers at all hours of the night, or the blitzkrieg-like roar of the many garbage trucks making their early morning rounds, or the non-stop buses or trains that have to uphold their high French standards of never being on time. It will happen soon enough though, but for right now, It's just me, the clicking of my keyboard, and the hum of the neighbor's air conditioner through my open windows from across the alley.
*UPDATE*
Ok. That didn't last very long. It is now 5:40 AM, the sky is just starting to lighten to the east, and I just heard my garbage truck. It looks like the French Riviera is about to get up and start their day. I guess I should too.
A couple of days ago I was in LA to take a couple of meetings with some media companies that *might* be interested in taking that fucking collossal albatross piece of shit movie off our hands. (Stupid fucking movie).
The official line is this: I woke up early, got to YVR, and caught the morning flight to LAX and landed in the early afternoon, got my rental car, did my meetings and flew back home that same day.
The actual facts are that I think I'm losing my mind, and here's why:
Last week I was booking these important meetings for Friday (this was like, last Wednesday) and I apparently told my travel agent to book the ticket for Thursday. (I'm such a fucking knob sometimes). So Friday AM, I get to YVR, and check in only to find that the check in kiosk can't locate me, so could I please talk to a staff member at check in. I waited in line, then talked to staff member at said check-in. The conversation went like this:
Me:Hi There. The machine can't find my reservation. Her:Hmmm you're not on the flight manifest Me:That's weird because I've booked the ticket through my travel agent who never makes mistakes. Her:Ah. Here you are. Your flight was yesterday. Not today. Me:What? Her: Yep. Me:You're kidding. Her:No Sir. I'm not. Me:That can't be right. (I then pulled out my paper copy of the flight reservation and handed it to her). Her:Sir - this reservation was for yesterday's flight, not today's. The dates are even highlighted on it. Me:That's impossible - there must be uh, some, uh... (looking at the highlighted dates on the paper clearly showing Thursday, NOT Friday)... um... Her: Giving me the patented customer-service-lazer-beam-of-death stare. Me:Uh, I'm calling my travel agent. Just give me a second.
I called Dave, my travel agent at 8:20 AM on his cell phone. (I think I woke him up as well - I don't think he was very pleased either).
Me:Dave, it's me. I'm at the airport. My flight was for yesterday, not today! Dave my travel Agent:Yes - That is correct Sir. Why are you at the airport then? Me:WTF? I'm at the fucking airport for my flight! It was for Friday morning, NOT Thursday morning! Dave:Well don't get mad at me! I didn't know you meant to fly on Friday, if I had known, I could have changed your ticket. Me:...I'm having a brain hemorrhage. I'll have to call you back when I stop bleeding from my ears.
This whole thing was my fault. I'm such a fucking idiot. King of the idiots. Sometimes I think they should name an adjective after me like Woody Harrelson's Roy Munson in Kingpin. As it was, I wound up paying an exorbitant amount of money in the form of a change fee, talked my way onto the plane and off I went.
I landed at LAX at 1:30 - my first meeting was at 2:30, and it was in Santa Monica which isn't that far from the airport, so no problem I tell myself - I've got time. I get to the car rental place, and just when I am disembarking from the shuttle bus, a chill colder and stabbier than any 2 foot long icicle suddenly stabs through what can only be construed as what remains of my manhood - the car reservation was for the day before as well! Sure enough, I get inside and they are sold out. No cars. Nothing. Nada Senor. No Habla. I get back on the phone with Dave, and no soap. I'm in LA and due to a particularly large brain fart - I'm stuck just outside of the LAX, an the first of a couple of important meetings happening in about 45 minutes from now, and no fucking rental car to get there.
Dave however, (and after only I'm assuming having a massive coronary), somehow finds and reserves a car at the same place. he calls me with the confirmation number, and I give it to the gentleman at Thrifty. No reservation, no reservation, no reservation... I call Dave back, Dave confirms it to me again. The rental car guy tells me that new reservations can take up to 30 minutes to ping their way through Thrifty's reservation network. But miracle of miracles - about 15 mins later, the new reservation popped up, and I was gone like a shot. I was only about 5 minutes late for my first appointment after all that, and the rest of the day went as well as it could seeing as how I fought Friday afternoon rush hour traffic from LAX to Santa Monica, to Brentwood, to Westwood, to Venice, then back to LAX.
Uponreturning to the airport, I discovered that my flight was full, so I decided to pay $50 to upgrade to business class at the last minute so I wouldn't be touching thighs with a total stranger for the next 3 hours. (This was wise, else the airplane homicide rate might have risen dramatically that evening).
There was a rather attractive (female, to boot) flight attendant taking care of us, (especially to the brain dead passenger in seat 1F from LAX to YVR), and while I was walking around and stretching, we got to talking to kill some time. After a little while, I returned to my seat, and she came over & delivered to me an unasked for cocktail - and also dropped a note in my lap saying it was nice talking to me, and such.
After the day I'd had, I just had to chuckle. We never got in touch, - she didn't even enclose her phone number - but she sure made me smile all the same. So thank YOU Miss Hot-30-something-flight attendant - you totally made up for what was a colossally volcanic day. As it was, I landed in grey, overcast Vancouver, found my car, and drove out into the rain for the drive back home.
The nice thing about being in an airplane is that once you break through all the clouds - the sun is usually shining somewhere.
