Blender Day...Thursday...26th of June

I call it a blender day because that's what today was like. I was the blender, my mind in 30 places at once, the tasks were the fruit that kept getting added as they were churned by my brain (my brain being the blades at the bottom that are sharp and so hard to clean...whirrr, whirrrr). People kept taking the fruit smoothie from the top of my head as I kept their respective furnaces burning, but the fruit kept being added, the empty cups poised toward my open eyes -- clear eyes, full hearts can't lose! Or can they?

Today we were back at Mammoth. Marco and I prepped the Bullet's raisin bran, orange juice, 4 vitamins (Vitamin B-12 is too big! Must replace...) and I scrambled to get my computer plugged in (new printer setting!) to print the pitch document (potential movie for SL to direct) before he arrived. Had it on his desk (after borrowing a MAC plug from Serge in VFX for SL's computer) and got the movie clip for him to review before he walked the set with the A Team. Bullet told me which clips he wanted to license and then we were off on our way to set.

My walkie was still in the trailer from the night before (the trailer quite far from the office...over the river and through the woods) so I called the 2nd AD on my cell to let her know the Bullet/Rattler was on his way. Set of the National Gallery is STUNNING and there's really nothing more to say. Took everyone's breath away. We had to slip on paper thin booties to make sure the fake marble floor stayed looking buff. Rattler walked the set, discussed the shots he wanted with the team, made a call to a guy at the Smithsonian about the piece Ben will be doing an on-camera presentation for, and and then he was ready for the movie stars to block the scene. Rattler had me ask which door Ben would be entering through, but the info was one door off -- which made me cringe a bit when Ben approached from behind.

And here's where the day picked up speed. Emailing are flying into my blackberry at the rate of 1 email every 3 minutes. THIS DOES NOT STOP FOR THE REST OF THE DAY. I am emailing Ben's assistants about getting an answer on whether he and his family will be attending SL's birthday party -- and when I can expect to see Ben's contribution to the birthday book. I'm emailing Dwight in Post about which clips Rattler wants to license for the gangster footage. I'm emailing Sally (let's call her Sally) at Fox, about who to talk to about renting a bus for all the press and big whigs visiting the set next week, I'm emailing a travel agent in LA about charter flights for three different dates and 7 different possible routes in the next 2 months for SL's family, I'm emailing our post production supervisor about the agenda for this Saturday's shoot (and where the money will be coming from), and just when I'm about to email 4 people back about 6 more things that have just come into my cue -- Rattler says: "I wanna go to my trailer! What's the fastest way?" "Uh..." I stutter, shaking the loose change of the 7 thoughts I had just organized in a cue in order to bang them out. SL does not wait for the nickels and pennies to hit the fake marble floor. "All right, I'll find it myself." This pisses me off. "No!" I say, squeezing ahead of him (the crane of the camera is in the door poised towards the three cherubs bathed in Schwartzman's brilliant light, real water trickling into a fountain filled with actual nickels and pennies...). I am in front of Rattler and move towards the direction I remember being the back parking lot. I recognize the area that had been Larry's apartment and know I'm going the right way. "Where's my golf cart?" Shawn asks me. "Good question," I say. Then I say, into my walkie: "Transpo, go to 2." They do! I'm in business. "Can we please get the director's golf cart parked inside adjacent to the set?" A voice comes back with an unmistakeable note of 'this isn't my job, it's someone else's.' "Where's his driver, Ken Marsden?" I start to feel that prickle on my scalp that is essentially the wolf in me about to come out. "Ken is picking up the director's family from the airport today," I say -- but as we exit through the cargo doors I see the cart. "Nevermind," I say. "I've got it. Back to one."

The Bullet ducks in his trailer for a few moments and I follow him, remembering he's asked me for something that was in the trailer (what was it I can't even remember. Smithsonian text? A DVD? Something). We're back in the cart, racing towards set. I'm back in the blackberry, on the phone -- someone is calling for SL. He takes the call. We jump out of the cart and walk back into the set, Rattler heading towards a quiet section of the set (an as of yet empty presidential portrait gallery). I've since received 2 emails about the clips SL wants to license...there are questions about sound or no sound, can we add our own score or not...I ask Rattler and he demands that I put him on with the editing team. "They should not be emailing you about this, let me take care of this." SL tells post EXACTLY what I emailed them 30 minutes prior. THIS annoys me. An actor's deal closes. Rattler calls to congratulate, re-writes a scene that the closed deal affects, and tells me he is feeling like he needs a little protein. I call Bob the chef and order up a protein smoothie. Then I call the head of Universal's assistant to confirm that her boss received an email Shawn sent about getting her to pay attention to a project that his production company is trying to sell. 2nd unit has a question for SL - which he answers. Zulu radios over the walkie: "Where is Rattler?" I answer immediately. "Hall of Presidents. Do you need him?" He replies. "Yes." I get eye contact with SL, who knows what I'm about to say as he stands and wraps up another phone call. I go to my walkie: "Rattler is on his way."

We get to the nucleus, which is what I'm going to refer to either video village or the A team from which the info flows gets disseminated. Zulu pretends to be radio'ing: "Come in, Gina, Come in Gina -- Gina, do you copy?" It is a joke but I am PISSED. I look him dead in the eye (glasses on, hair back in a tight, we bun): "I walkie'd his movement, and you heard me." I leave to gather his smoothie. I feel like I could hit something. Hard.

And it goes like this for the rest of the day. Before I know it is 30 minutes before lunch. I leave to gather the Bullet's food, giving myself time for the logistical clusterfuck of what I need being in 3 DIFFERENT PLACES. Location #1 : Kitchen in the production office where I grab plates of various sizes, silverware, napkin, cold diet coke and glass. I go there first. Grab these things. People are chatting and some are just grazing on fruit plates and cookies. Their idleness infuriates me. Location #2: Conference room off the main hall of the production office where the nuclear group eats their lunch and watches the dailies from the day before (essentially so SL can talk out loud about his intentions for what he shot and how he wants it to cut together, which helps the editors CUT it together). I go there second and set his silver and plates down along with his drink. Location #3: Outside, across the 'bridge' and down a set of metal steps to the catering truck. I gather 5 to go boxes and carefully select and array of choices for Shawn, making sure none of the food touches in the process. Biscotti and chocolate cake in one box. Snap peas and steamed yams in second box. Caesar salad in third box. Tomato basil soup in 4th box (in a paper container alongside a ceramic one which I plan to transpose when back in the conference room). 5th box has the miso glazed salmon. I grab a cold diet coke for myself, slip it in my purse, and pile the boxes high like the guy from that children's book who carries all the hats on his head...up the stairs I go. A nice, older gentlemen holds the door for me as I head in. As I approach he says: "Are you ticklish?" I feel the urge to let out a Marge Simpson groan.

I get to watch dailies (eating the remnants of the slightly ovesized portions I did for Rattler before transposition...that combine nicely into one plentiful plate for me). Marco calls me. He is headed back having met with Serena and the party planner. I feel myself start to relax. I have help coming. SL is done with lunch, done with the dailies, but heads to the Zimmermans to check out another sequence. I follow and he asks me for my opinion on a couple of sequences -- which did I prefer? I tell him. That feels GOOD. But my joy at being valued for something more than my multi-tasking prowess dissipates as soon as we are back on the stage, because things get a little more hairy.

However -- in all honesty -- if I don't go to bed right now -- I will be a plain fool.

But before I do, I must say that a lot of people think the director's assistant is a cush job. And in ways, they are correct in that your stuff gets paid for (rental car, apartment, cell phone, per diem, etc). But is an ignorant assumption -- not just in terms of how that person thinks of the director's assistant -- but how they think of the director. If you've been around the dynamic enough, you realize the Assistant truly is inhabiting the director's brain on a sublet basis. And if your boss is The Bullet -- you better make sure he's ready to fly -- and that you've appropriately fueled the airfcraft carrier beneath to ensure an emergency landing pad, ground support, and fuel -- to keep the bullet in he sky.