Another Mountain Adventure

We hit the dusty trail and took ourselves back up to Asheville. We had such fun up there last year with Ellie and Caroline, we thought we'd recreate it. We also elected to bring a pup with us. I made sure to book a pet-friendly Air Bn'b and then Brett and I took to deliberations. We sure weren't going to bring both girls. Who knows what dark and windy mountain trail we'd have to take to get them to the pet hospital emergency room. No, we'd bring only one. But which? We offered pros and cons for each dog. 

Pippa: Pros- would enjoy it more, Cons- unreliable when unsupervised
Grace: Pros- would appreciate being selected, Cons- disinterest in most activities 

In the end we brought Grace. "She's got less time to enjoy life," Brett said. Grace bristled at this comment. "I'm only two years older," I heard her sneer... in my mind. Pippa does well spending the weekend at Buddy's place and since Grace hates most living beings, we decided not to leave her attitude in the hands of any untrained pet-sitters. 

I'll tell you that she did enjoy moments of our adventure. She was burdened by the drive up, perturbed to have arrived in the dark, and already prepped for disappointment when she woke up the next day only to watch us sit around and drink coffee. But eventually we all left to climb some mountains and Grace's big bushy tail, triumphantly raised, forged the dirt path a few yards ahead of us. She got to do a lot of hiking without a leash and she reveled in the freedom. Ellie and Caroline frequently checked in with us about Grace. "Is she ok?" they'd ask as she laid curled in the far corner of the living room. 

"Oh yes, this is normal," we'd reply. Grace still huffed and sighed and never made any other noises. 

"Do you thinks she's happy to be here," Caroline asked. 

"That's more of an existential question for Grace," we said, "and we don't know."

We did all the things people do when they go to the mountains. We hiked, drank warm beverages, and watched scary movies at night. We ate scavenger-style breakfasts and then gorged on hearty, delicious suppers. 

We spent time enjoying the sunshine and the loose dogs that you find at breweries (Grace stayed home for that bit) and found ourselves wondering how breweries became an acceptable "family activity." There were children everywhere. Little ones! Which A) is not what one thinks of when visiting a beer based building where people go for alcoholic consumption purposes, and B) How do drunk parents manage their childrearing? What about all the crass, staggering patrons that your wee little munchkin will be interacting with? Because the parents let them run loose you know, poking at people's thighs and handing them rocks. I felt bad about the children and then realized that I don't have to worry about how those little tikes turn out ... which is something I can't help but worry about, so mostly I sat at the brewery and felt sad. Then Ellie and Caroline beat us at corn-hole which I really took personally. 

One morning we stumbled upon a dahlia farm so Brett pulled over just to let me frolic. They also sold pumpkins and jams and apple cider donuts. Brett bought lots of things from the farm, and it took everything he had not to eat all six donuts right there in the car. They were "donuts of perfect consistency."

We laughed and ate and napped and explored. By the end I had convinced everyone that we wanted to move there to open a farm animal sanctuary. Caroline would keep her job because she's the breadwinner and can work from anywhere. Ellie's job also transfers nicely and leaves her with lots of free time to hike trails and beat people in assorted sports and games. So Brett could be the grounds keeper (I volunteered him for this) and I'd just cuddle the sweet critters, bake cakes, and make sure the bills were paid on time.

Strangely, everyone agreed with the decisions I made for them, so I don't know what we're waiting for.

A Brief Edisto Visit

Back in September, Big Mama rented a little beach on Edisto for a week. It's a special place for her, you know. She was all whipped up and excited about her beach vacation but as real life so often does you, most of us couldn't join her. She went down there and sat by herself anyway. (That's not true really. She had a sitcom cast of characters come in and out throughout the week.) I went for one day before I had to get back to wedding business but Ellen and Livy came through and we all had a beach day as a family. 

Chris and Nancy enjoy the beach. Don't they look like they're having fun?

In home news, Brett has had to go back to the office Monday through Wednesdays. The office has asked folks to work a majority of the week from the office, and lots of people just aren't doing it. Brett doesn't complain about much so I don't know how he really feels about it, but neither of us can imagine ignoring our bosses and staying home. It's made for interesting, dramatic times over at the engineering firm. 

As months of experimenting have passed, we've gotten Pips down to a low dose of medication that holds her platelets at a healthy level while still allowing her to enjoy her natural high. Though she can be a little standoffish at times, she's mostly back to blasting through her day and crapping out by bedtime. Here she is dozing off during the party. 

I've been hustling through the wedding season and can see the light at the end. After this month, I've just got three left for the year and it's perfect timing. I've got so many other things to do - I just don't have time for my job. More on that later. 

Here's Grace; just waiting for sweet release.

Makeup

Next year I get to be a bridesmaid and I'm very excited about it. I've been a bridesmaid only twice, and both of those times I was also the only bridesmaid. It's a notion I'm honored by, but it is certainly a different experience to sit quietly with the bride while we wait for the show to begin, as opposed to whooping it up with snack trays and a Shania Twain playlist. At least, that's what I assume goes on with a real bridal party. I've been imagining what the wedding morning will be like. Though I hope I'm not forced to wear coordinating pajamas until we all get dressed, I'm excited to have my hair fixed by a real professional. I'm nervous about the makeup part.

I have complicated feelings about makeup. Oh I wanted to wear it so badly when I was little. I'd watch Big Mama brush out her eyelashes as she sat in a little upholstered chair at her vanity. She looked so glamorous and feminine, like old Hollywood. What a dainty fun thing us girls get to do. I wasn't allowed to wear makeup until I was thirteen and even then it was just mascara and what was essentially flesh-colored lipstick I used to hide my pimples. In reality, I think it only highlighted the pimples, splotching the skin around it with peachy peaks and valleys. It was hard to find concealer in my skin tone. I had to use a color for skin with no ethnicity to it. The only olive tones they had were taupe-ish and those made my pimples look like bruises. So I chose a color I would describe as "German Sunburn" - Covergirl's attempt at a white person with an end-of-summer tan. It was too light. It acted as a spotlight for my blemishes - a fingertip sized circle of white smudged around my imperfections. Sometimes I'd blend German Sunburn with a color that was too brown, to create a blob of paste close to my skin tone. That would work until the seasons changed and my skin would take a drastic turn from light to dark to light again. It was exhausting.

 
In college, I nixed it altogether and simply cut bangs to hide my topographical forehead. I made the best of it at the time, but now that some time has passed, the bangs did me just a few favors as did my finger-painted pimples. Now that the world has become more racially sensitive, they do make concealers and foundations for people who are neither British nor Somalian. In addition to that, I don't spend near as much time in the sun, so my skin is lighter now and can be hidden or highlighted with products named, "soft honey" or "golden natural," but I'm also officially opposed to it all. 

Tough times...but Jared helped.

While I watched Hollywood Mom dusting on a layer of fine, shimmery powders, the sunlight glinting off a glass bottle of perfume, I'd also get real impatient. It sure took a long time for her to get her face on right. Dad joked about the different phases of her makeup routine. "She's on the Bondo layer now," he'd say as waited to leave for church. I began to resent the amount of time make-up took from the day. Poor Mom wouldn't even take a walk around the neighborhood without at least the first few layers on. I began to worry that I'd become a slave to the makeup chair, and it's because the stuff works. It sure does make your skin look smooth and your eyes look bright. I think my mama is beautiful, and with a dash of mascara she really sparkles. Dad disagrees about the whole thing. His thoughts on makeup are as follows: "If you're pretty, you don't need it. If you're ugly, it doesn't help." We all scoff at this and tell him he doesn't understand the true power of makeup - which he doesn't. 

So as a teen, I decided to draw the line at concealer and mascara, maybe eyeliner for special occasions. I decided I didn't want to get used to my face in its best state - that state being smoothed and accentuated and pretty - because then I'd never be able to go anywhere without putting my face on first. Mom balks at her own beautiful face without makeup, and I don't want to live that way. 

When I was sixteen or seventeen I started working for local event planner/ interior designer/ butler. His name was Stephen and I really liked him for being able to see through my timid demeanor and acknowledge my "good taste and creativity." Adults don't get excited about teenagers unless they play sports. Stephen made me feel hopeful about being artsy. I was his bashful assistant at assorted events and efforts around town. I made flower arrangements, set tables, helped paint rooms and determine throw pillows to match, and I often hand washed fine china.
Stephen's sister worked at Sax Fifth Avenue and when the store would bring in a new line of Bobbi Brown makeup products, Stephen would be called in to plan the "launch party." During these parties, I was the food and beverage service. I walked the store with trays of hors d'oeuvres and cocktails that I had prepared in one of the dressing rooms. Stephen was busy with other aspects of the party so I sliced bread, piped mousse, and garnished with sprouts, etc and when my tray was full, I'd step out of the dressing room and work my way through the crowd. One year the store wouldn't let us use the dressing rooms so I did all of this in a utility closet about the size of a refrigerator. It was a secret panel in the wall that you pushed and it would turn sideways and roll back two feet. It was very James Bond-y but I felt silly emerging from the wall with a tray of cosmos. It always startled the people standing nearby and then they'd want to see where I had come from, and it was dark and sad in there.

But the bad part of the make-up launch parties is that I'd have to wear the new line of products. They made me do it. Stephen's sister would plop me down at the Sax makeup counter and some strange woman would paint my face with layers of creams and powders, and worst of all, lipsticks in unflattering shades. Lipstick on an oily and unsure teenager is a sad mockery of a woman's potential. The makeup artist would spin the mirror around with a smug air, as if to say, "Look how I fixed you. You're welcome," and I would stare at my bumpy, bloated face with humiliation. A Springtime color palette does nothing for on olive complexion. Why would anyone pair a bilious green eyeshadow with a hot pink lip?

I was so embarrassed by the mask I was wearing that I did the worst thing a person could do at another person's product launch party. I would apologize to the partygoers for my face of makeup. It wasn't as though I walked through the crowd muttering a consistent diatribe against Bobbi Brown, but when people would strike up a conversation with me, I would volunteer "by the way," that I was forced to wear the makeup and that I didn't like the way it looked. I hadn't yet learned that no one at a makeup launch party was paying attention to the waitress, nor had I worked out that saying things like this made people feel that they had to disagree and give you compliments. To do this, they would then have to study my face for the first time, and look for redeeming qualities. That's when they would really see my face. The lumps, bumps, the cakey layers of desperate coverage. I eventually stopped doing this, but my morale stayed ever so low. As a final blow, I was allergic to something in the primer foundation. You know when you get chilly and your arms fill with goosebumps? That texture would rise up out of my entire face the next day and stay for three days after the launch parties... every time.

As an adult that doesn't use most the of the "fixes" available to me, I am curious what I'd look like decked out in the current makeup trend - this Kardashian-inspired exotic eye and dewey, contorted cheekbones. That's what teen Lu would have wanted as she sat in the vanity chair surrounded by luxurious powders; something to accentuate her ethnic color scheme that no makeup brand could fathom. I'd also love to see 1920's Lu with angled eyebrows and rosy cheeks or the electric colors of the 80's painted on in wispy patterns. I haven't worn blush or lipstick since my last day working in the Sax closet, except one time recently... just to make you folks laugh. 

Three Years

I don't kill bugs. Not on purpose anyway. In addition to understanding the role they play in our ecosystem, they only get about three weeks. Who am I to shorten that pocket-sized lifespan? I think about all the bug mamas waiting for their critter babies to come home, but they never will. They've been smashed. Flattened. Crushed beneath the feet of the white man. 
So I catch them and I take them outside, and then shimmy, flick, or fling them back into the open arms of Mother Nature. In the case of roaches, I run from those at olympic speeds and then call for reinforcements. 

Since being married, the reinforcement is Brett. Before him it was Dad. In the college years, it was whatever male human lived in the apartments next to mine. Roaches are the one bug I can't bring myself to handle. 
Like so many before Brett, buzzing insects are but an inconvenience to overcome with little effort. An easy victory. He can crush a minuscule exoskeleton without considering which experiences the bug hasn't gotten to yet. He is what you would call, a normal person. Overtime, Brett has wordlessly taken on the role of Head Critter Catcher, and he studies the bugs in their glass enclosures before he sets them back outside again. 

Our home is a no kill shelter for bugs, some of which we just leave where we find them because they're just doing their best being bugs. Spiders in high corners, tiny moths hugging the ceilings, those guys can stay if they stick to the perimeters. We even have a lizard that lives behind our oven. We tried to catch her once but she was too quick, so we just let her stay back there. She keeps the bug count down and in turn, we fire up the oven each night so she can bask in the warmth of it all. She really likes being warm. Claudette (the lizard) has outsmarted the others of her kind and developed this symbiotic relationship. She's a trailblazer. She's welcome anytime. 

Occasionally, Brett's sense of competition will overtake his compassion and he will shoot flies out of the air with rubber bands. He has an alarmingly high accuracy rate with the rubber bands. I'm forced to choose between pride and sadness as a blue ring of rubber, stamped "produce of Ecuador," somersaults through the living room, intersects with an unassuming creature of tiny proportions, and hitch kicks the poor thing in a direction no one could anticipate. The little inward curled legs as it lays on the floor... the guilt may or may not occur to Brett. 

What I'm getting at here are wasps. A huge family of them set up multiple camps on our front porch. As a big fan of the world's pollinators, I hate to see the number dwindle. As a concerned resident, they can't be loitering on the front porch, smoking cigarettes and making guests feel uneasy. We discovered the giant wasp nest while sitting on the swing enjoying the evening air. There is was, all brown and porous. Threatening us with it's contents. I did not make a case for the wasps and left Brett to decide what to do with them. (He is boss of Exterior Maintenance.) 
While Papa Union and brother Jeff offered wasp sprays and chemicals, Brett took on a new tactic. An "Enraged Mother Nature/ Global Warming" approach. He has spent the last month creating wind and rain on our front porch. He first knocked the nests down and then ran like hell. Each day since, as the wasps try to rebuild, he sprays them with the hose and then turns on a commercial grade workshop fan that blows the porch plants sideways. 

"Whacha doing out there?" I ask him when he tells me not to go out the front for a while.
"I think if I create bad living conditions, they'll decide it's not the best place for a nest."

I want to remind you that he is a normal person - spent the first twenty seven years of his life handling nuisances the way humans have throughout history. He's out there encouraging a bunch wasps to move somewhere else because he loves me. 

Today makes three years married and I'm so proud of that big guy. Can't believe he talks to me.

Tough Times

I will accompany today's rant with photos from recent dock time outings. We've been having fairytale weather, all breezy and cool, so Brett and I have been soaking up the last dock days of summers. 

Ahem, Y'all. 

It's been a tough year for the wedding crowd. There is a surplus of couples and a shortage of materials. "No problem," I say, all chipper and optimistic, "This is my one job. I will get it done." And I have been, somewhat miraculously. The thing is, all these Covid brides have their satin panties in a bunch because they had to wait an extra year to get married. They've become whiny and entitled and I promise I'm not the only one saying this. I'm in a giant forum with heaps of Charleston's wedding vendors and the stories coming out of that chat lately...

I went to a florist friend's shop to borrow some vases and it looked like a bomb had gone off in there. She had four covid reschedules for the same weekend and one of the brides found a bone to pick and was refusing to pay. "I'm already over this season," she told me. It was only week two.

My planner friends are encountering Zillas of unprecedented proportions. "Entitled" is the word we all keep coming back to. "Oh you waited an extra year to celebrate yourself? You poor thing." At the moment I'm in a duel with one of my October brides who had a meltdown when I suggested that anemone flowers may be out of season. "They probably will be available, "I told her, "but just be prepared that we may not have many to tuck into your bouquet." She and her mom riled each other up on either end of the phone call and then told me not to order anything because they couldn't imagine getting married without anemones present. "We planned the whole wedding around having anemones!" (What about that guy you love? The marriage bit?)

I assure you they had not planned the wedding around anemones. I have the signed proposal to prove it. Anyways, they won't talk to me now. The planner has to be their messenger and they told her I was rude and uninterested and that I hate them. They tried to book another florist (I was delighted) but no one was available, so then they changed their tune. "We didn't mean to upset Laura." They still won't talk to me though. They're making me jump through a bunch of monkey hoops because apparently they can't read a description and understand it. "What does Laura mean by 'varying heights of bud vases'? We DON'T want them all the same size."

Let make matters worse. You know that whole supply chain bit? Well the country is about out of flowers. My wholesaler sent out an ominous email yesterday suggesting that any "white and/or blush" weddings "aren't going to happen." Guess who's having white and blush weddings this year? MY ENTIRE LINEUP OF BRIDES THROUGH DECEMBER! I'm having to call them one by one and ask how they feel about yellow. Purple? "I know you wanted romantic white garden-style arrangements. How do you feel about orange?" I did have a gracious bride respond positively. "No problem, it will be beautiful no matter the colors." What a lovely person.

 I haven't told the Anemone bride yet. 

In more important news, we celebrated Ellen's birthday with a gigantic barbecue supper provided by Gigs and Dave, and I made some cheesecake filled cupcakes, a best seller back in my cupcake vending days. They're called Black Bottom cupcakes and Ellen would gobble them up. This time now, as age has set in, no one wanted to take them home because everyone is worried about lardiness. I had to force them on people. I had to force cupcakes!

While we're on the subject of Ellen, she's really been nailing it lately. She let out a big breathy belch while we were signing papers in a quiet lawyers office. She was in the middle of a sentence when BUUURRP! Ellen, the lawyer, and I slowly lifted our eyes from the papers and met each other's surprised stares. Ellen put one hand on her chest and said, "Well I am shocked!" It's possibly the cutest things I've ever seen her do. She and I caught uncontainable giggles (the lawyer did too) that turned into ugly cackles as soon as we closed the door behind us and stepped into the parking lot. 

Earlier this week, she had an 11:00 phone interview and as she sat in her car (for quiet, you know) waiting for them to call, she checked the email and noticed it was 11:00 Central Time. In a panic, she sent an email apologizing for missing the interview and asking to reschedule. After she sent it, she realized she still had forty five minutes until the interview. 
"You haven't missed it..." the person wrote back. 
"Now they think I'm an idiot!" Ellen shouted. "Wait til they find out I'm pregnant. They aren't going to hire a pregnant idiot that can't tell time!"

Hayden & Jenny Get Married (Again)

A chilly but beautiful March celebration. It was certainly a treat to go to a wedding after hunkering down in our houses for a year. Jenny looked like a Disney Princess and gosh they smiled all day.

Hayden with his three brothers.

Do you remember these faces from our wedding day? What a treat. 

On the left there are Hayden's parents. Jenny's dad is in the back trying not to cry. 

Photos by Anne Rhett Photography

A Big Two Days

Lux n' U finally made it around to its fifth birthday. It feels more like the twelfth or so but I'll let that slide. We threw a little celebration for friends and family and then all of those friends and family were surprised to arrive to our house only to find friends and family

"Didn't you invite your colleagues, your wholesalers, even some old clients," lots of friends and family asked me. 

"I did not," I informed them. One should only celebrate themself with the people who know that they'd never truly celebrate themself. I wanted an excuse to have a party, and this tiny milestone, accompanied with the knowledge that I hope not to make it to the next business milestone, seemed like the perfect excuse to have a charcuterie board and a good laugh that I've been pulling this off for so long. 

In the days leading up to the party, we cleaned the house with extra gusto, the way you do before people come over and you don't want them to know the dusty truth. Brett and I reveled in loss of floating dog hairs in the home and decided we should pretend to throw a party every two weeks or so, and then we could live like this full time. I also took down the Narcissistic Family Portrait display in the dining room so that I could make something jazzy and unexpected. There are all kinds of floral things that I want to make. They either involve weird shapes, unromantic colors, or creativity - things you don't find in the wedding world. I used this as my opportunity to unleash my repressed floral designer and it was truly invigorating. It confirmed my suspicions that I could be better at my job if people left me alone to do it.

Just like our wedding day, the happy smiles and well-wishes and tasty snacks blew past us in moments. The friends and family all noticed that I had used the same caterer and baker for a few of the treats. It was a selection of people from our wedding day guest list, and then they commented that I was wearing a little white top. 

"Are you just trying to relive your wedding day?" more than five people asked me. 

Yes. Wholeheartedly yes.  

The next day, I branched out of my safety bubble, got up at 5am, drove to Daniel Island, and checked in with HBO to spend the day as a background extra on a tv show that films here. There was a casting call in the newspaper, which I read with great interest because we don't really have those around here. I giggled at the thought of it and then called my friend Ellie to see if she'd do it with me. 

"I've applied three other times and they never choose me," she said, "but yeah, I'll try again." Relieved that the chances were slim, I sent in my "headshot" and measurements and shoe size, and I waited. Two hours later I got an email asking if I'd be willing to take a covid test and give them my entire Monday, no matter the hours. I immediately regretted the whole thing as I wrote back, "Sure, no problem." I filled out a bunch of forms, took two covid tests, and mulled over the inner workings of my character.

Ellie also got selected, much to her fearless delight, but they choose her for Tuesday's shoot so we wouldn't get to do it together. 

I was less interested in doing it without Ellie. They don't give you any details at all until the day before your call time. Where would I be? Would it be hot? Cold? I'm sure they'll have food, right? What can I bring with me? Where will I put my phone and wallet and keys when I'm "on set"? I had a lot of questions.  The night before, I was given a time and location to arrive, clothes to be dressed in, and the character of "movie crew."

We were shooting a scene within a scene, you see. The scene being, the characters in the show were filming a movie in the show, so we had the real crew, making things happen, and then we had the extras, dressed as crew, pretending to make things happen. 

The real crew thought it was "very cute" to watch the extras pretend to make the movie, though it did make it hard to tell who was in charge. 

Anyways, I put on my slouchiest black clothes, had a minor panic attack, and then finally buckled up and drove the 45 minutes to Daniel Island. I am ashamed of the anxiety I felt about this. I was tickled and calm about it all until I woke up that morning, and then I nearly didn't go. I understand that most people don't like "the unknown" but I was having a particularly hard time with it for something that is often described as "boring and fun" and takes absolutely no qualifications to do successfully. I have no problem with my not being brave person, but this was too much. I needed to get a grip. Moreover, I thought about all the scary things in life that I haven't come to yet and I wondered how I'll ever get through it. More on that existential crisis later.

I sat in an old conference room with all the other extras as we were assessed one by one; first by the costume department, then make-up, hair, and finally props. The costume department determined our "role" for the day. We could be camera operators, hair and make-up, stunt performers, sound people, etc. I was selected to be "2nd assistant director" which meant nothing to me but when the real crew asked what I was and I told them that, they all acted impressed and excited, because they must have forgotten that it's all fake. As the 2nd AD (thats industry lingo), the costume department loved my outfit (I was one of the only people who they didn't make change - more in this in a moment) but they really mulled over whether or not I should keep my hairband on my wrist. While the three women looked me up and down like I was a painting in a gallery, the conversation went like this:

"Hey, will you take that scrunchie off?"

"Sure," I said, slipping it off my wrist and tucking it into my pocket.

"Wait," one said.

"What," the girls all said to each other.

"In real life, she'd have the scrunchie."

"Well that's true. We're all wearing them now." Then everyone looked at everyone's wrists. I pulled the hairband out of my pocket and put it back around my wrist. Everyone looked at the scrunchie, and then back at me, up and down, and then back at the scrunchie.

"I don't know, normally we take those off."

"But on a movie set, people aren't dressed like movie characters." There was silence.

"Yeah, it's like, if this was real life, we'd have scrunchies on," the ditziest one said.

"Yeah, set people have hairbands." More studied silence.

In the end, I got to keep my scrunchie. Then they debated if my brown boots were too "bright brown" before they sent me back to the conference room to wait for makeup. I was one of few that didn't have to change because all the other girls came in dressed to be discovered. Even though there was an entire email sent to us about the dark, loose clothing that film crew wear ("Please wear dark, very casual clothes. Below are some photo examples...") girls arrived in short black dresses and Fall boots. Scarves, hats, etc. One girl arrived in a crop top. Another girl did wear black pants and a tight black t-shirt but her giant fake boobs stuck out way too far so they put a bulky knit sweater overtop of her outfit. Crop top girl was given a full sized shirt and an apron to wear, while the girls in dresses were put in long pants and jackets. The men were easier of course, because they could just dress like themselves, but a few older men were chosen to be "producers" and they were put in nice button-downs and slacks. One man was called back three times to change the color of his polo. The costume girls couldn't make a decision. 

The hair and make-up girls looked and me and then waved their hands and went on to the next person. While I was initially flattered, later that day a make-up girl passed me in the hall and told me to reapply my lipstick. I told her I wasn't wearing any and she said, "You mean you went out on set... like that?" 

That balanced things out again.

Meanwhile, in the conference room, the extras were quiet. A mix of sleep and uncertainty filled the air. After hair and make-up, you were allowed to go to craft services for breakfast but I was too nervous to eat. Meanwhile, I had befriended Tom, a fifty-something Korean man who was endearingly oblivious to the rules and was also exhilarated by all the hubbub. He and his wife have just retired and are on a mission to have new experiences. "So today I signed up to be in a movie!" he declared. "It actually a show," someone told him. 

"Is it?" he asked, "I've never heard of it." 

He was hunting out breakfast when they told us about the scene we were shooting. "Today we're shooting a stunt scene...not a big shoot today...we'll be working with these three actors, etc."

Minutes later Tom came back and said, "I wonder what the scene is about."

Just before they called us to set, Tom and I were sent to the prop department. I was given a walkie-talkie, a headset with a bunch of chords that ran in and out of my clothes, and some extra batteries clipped to my belt. I looked very official. Meanwhile, Tom was outright laughing as they clipped wires to his belt and gave him a utility vest. He was so tickled and excited. Even though there was a strict "no pictures" policy, Tom handed me his phone with the camera already pulled up, and then motioned for me to take his picture. I hesitated as the prop people watched us.

"Take it," he said, "for my family. They will love this."

I did it quickly and then the prop people told us not to do it again. Tom was unfazed while I was apologetic.

Tom was somehow always goofing off somewhere when the crew would come in with instructions. He'd come back into the conference room and everyone would be packing up stuff. His eyes would light up and he'd run over to ask what was going on.

"They need the camera and sound guys on set," I'd tell him. 

"Oh wow," he'd say as he sat back down in his chair.

"You're the boom operator," I'd remind him.

"What that?"

"That's sound. You need to go."

"Me?"

"Yeah!"

"Now?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh boy!" and then he'd scamper off.

As the 2nd AD, my job was to march through the set as though I was very busy. There was a 20 yard stretch through the "crew" that I must have walked back and forth 60 times. In one scene, I was the only one walking and everyone else was still, so I really hated that. They had me start my walk slightly off set, so when we reset between shots, I could see the playback footage that the real crew were watching and thats when I discovered that I walk like a girl. Like a girlie girl. I was transfixed. "Is that what I look like when I walk?" I said out loud to no one. I became determined to walk "cooler", the way you imagine you look walking down the street in a leather jacket. They'd yell "Action!" and I'd march through the set and then loop back to start and watch the monitors. The walk got worse and worse. 

It was very cold on set. Even the men were chilly so that tells you something. It was in fact a stunt scene so we watched a real stunt guy fall four stories out of a window many times. It was hard to watch, as you don't usually see human bodies falling through open air, but it was neat to see how calculated and precise the fall was. All the women on set would gasp and hold their breath. All the men wanted to try jumping out the window.

There was really tasty food there as well. There were the hot meals you needed to eat and then there was a giant counter with every junk food snack you could imagine, all up for grabs any time. I loved watching the real crew busily accomplishing things and cutting up with each other. When they'd finish a shot from one angle, all the crew would descend onto the set like busy ants on a hill, and they'd twist things and crank stuff, and carry things, cling clang, thump! And when they all scampered out again, it was a whole new setting. 

I'm almost done with this report, I promise. 

Even though most often the background extras spend most of their day sitting in the waiting room, we got lucky and only had to sit for 45 minutes two or three times that day. It was a 12 hour day and I was always either hungry or needed to go to the bathroom. The second big shot of the day had me walk my same stretch but this time I had to carry two stacked Starbucks cups and a croissant in a napkin. This sounds simple but it was a test of balance (the way I had to weave around famous actors and all) and my hands got progressively more sweaty. I was worried I'd drop the coffee at the feet of Hollywood's near-elite. I was so close to them I coulda kissed 'em. All of my new Extra friends would silently cheer when I made through the set and out the other side. They'd all laugh at me juggling the cups and make comments about getting my steps in for the day. They all seemed to have easier jobs that kept them pretending to be busy in place. A few of them had jobs where they got to sit down - those were the real winners of the day. One Extra was chosen to be in the scene. They gave her a few lines and one of those folding canvas Hollywood chairs. The rest of us Extra's were a divided house. Half were jealous, and the other half were so glad it wasn't them. There was a surprising number of shy people that were certainly not looking for their big break. 

Towards the end of the day, Tom got bored and wanted to go home. "I didn't know we were just going to shoot the same thing over and over and over. All this for a single scene? It's too much." At some point he decided to try to lightly brush the lead actor with his fuzzy boom as he walked by. I couldn't see him from where I was standing but it was a real testament to how not-seriously Tom was taking things. "I might just have to go home," Tom said. "What do you think happens if I just leave?"

We were dismissed shortly after that, so Tom got to keep his pay for the day. We all turned in our props and visited the snack bar one more time on the way out. 

When I came home, I felt that the experience was a net neutral, because it doesn't add up to anything really. Then Brett, with his optimism and pragmatic outlook, suggested that I should be pleased that I tried something new, met people I liked, learned a little about filming, had the opportunity to do something so unique(ish), and will get to see my young self on a tv show when I'm an old lady. He's probably right but it still felt like a long day to be uncomfortable. As time has passed, I'm quite pleased that I did it. But don't tell Brett that he's got the right outlook.

Ellie went for her day as an extra, and she was out in the hot sun for 14 hours. They were shooting a Fall scene so she had on a thick sweater and had to cozy up with her boyfriend (another sweaty extra) on a park bench. Seeing as she's married to a woman and all, we all found this extra funny. She was in a scene with my favorite character on the show (her name is Judy), and Ellie said she (Judy) was so funny that she (Ellie) had a really hard time not laughing. Instead of getting frustrated, Judy was amused by Ellie's amusement. That's what you want to hear about a famous person.