Tuesday, July 8th -- 240 emails a day

I did not wash my car off behind the stages, but I DID take a wet paper towel, after we wrapped, and wipe off the white crud from my window and the door. Check.

Today was long. We wrapped just before 8pm and I was home by 8:30pm. Now it's already 9! I think I could be in bed right now, but I want to blog, want to drink a glass of tea, want to talk to Chris...my time is not my own, for the most part. I knew that coming into the job. But some days, it just hits you. You spend your entire day and part of your night organizing someone else's life -- actualizing someone else's wishes, catering to someone else's desires. You are a servant, an appendage, a muse, a confidant. My mom seemed skeptical that this was, in fact, the drill. She loves me and is worried that too many people take advantage of me. But the reality is -- on a big, tent-pole studio movie such as this -- being the Director's Assistant pretty much means they own you. I don't believe this...and yet, if I were a lab mouse, would the scientists conclude that I had some variation of Stockholm Syndrome?

What are some images from today...standing on the side of the stage taking a pic of the green screen stage, a grilled chicken breast in a to-go cardboard box on Rattler's table -- as I cut it for him with plastic cutlery; Jill's baby Jalen sleeping in her arms as she typed away on her blackberry...today I calculated (and this is a modest estimate) that I receive and send around 240 emails per day. From the time we are up and running (7am) til the time we wrap, the emails are flowing in -- at a rate of 1 every 2-3 minutes. 60 minutes in an hour, 12 hours in the 'work' day, 60 x 12 divided by 3 = 240.

I'm not sure if that's healthy for one person. Then again, if I were in another field of information dispatch (let's say field reporting or documentary film making) -- perhaps I would be receiving and sending as many thoughts, responses, directives, questions, answers and requests. Maybe more like an auctioneer. An auctioneer on a blackberry.

A couple people have said to me lately: "I don't think I could do your job." Which is kind of odd, because I think anyone could do anything if they believe it's an ends to a means. A way to see the nuts and bolts for myself when I direct my own piece. A way to get my pilot seen by other people in the business who are making things and may be able to help my career. A final piece to a journey of making my way here, all those years working for Shawn, waiting my turn in line. And now that I'm here, although it's hard, just as I suspected -- it's not impossible, not nearly the hardest thing I've ever done. Don't get me wrong, it's hard -- but it's not brain surgery.

Back to the anecdotes. These are what make good set pieces, as Shawn said. He liked the one a while back, in the blog that got shut down, of me trying to get him Earl Grey Tea from the production office down to the set. So...here's one for today's stew: Marco had to leave to run errands for Serena. Shawn had said to me first thing: "either you or Marco stays on me today, I'm in a bad mood." So -- I had my marching orders for staying on Shawn -- but when he asked me to print the newest version of a museum intro for Ben -- I had to run to the trailer. I told him I'd be back with a vitamin water -- and that a grilled chicken breast was coming soon. I get to the trailer and the internet is down. I call Hedayat but get another call -- it's my rental agency. They haven't rec'd my wire for my rent. "But I sent it yesterday, I have the confirmation, I can forward it to you..." but then I remember the internet is down. Then I remember that Shawn is waiting for the document that I need to print from an email that I can't access. The dude at the rental agency, his name is "Steve," Steve is talking in circles about the rate of exchange and how banks calculate this rate differently and how I'm going to owe money at the end of my tenancy. "Steve," I say -- and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck and scalp starting to rise because Steve doesn't let people interject almost as much as he feels free to interrupt -- which is maddening.

I wait for Steve to finish his long sentence about how you never know what a bank is calculating and I say: "Steve, the bank didn't do the exchange rate for me. I use a currency conversion for yesterday and told the bank to wire that exact amount." Steve starts talking about how banks have different rates again (it's like he's not hearing me when I ask him to explain the very simple differential of what I'm paying and what I supposedly still owe) when I see that Shawn is calling me on the other line, just as Hedayat (internet super-hero to the rescue) is entering the trailer with Ross (the well-meaning but tech ignorant 'internet specialist' that's almost as bad as "Henry" the phone guy). I tell Steve I have to call him back and I go to Shawn.

"Gina, did you do the Tuskegee edits like I asked you?" and I say: "NO, you didn't ask me to implement," with an unmistakeable edge of annoyance in my voice (which later prompts Shawn to enquire if I'm feeling all right), but I stay firm "I saw that you had made changes but you never gave me the green light..." All the while 'm staring at the dead airport signal and thinking I need to call "Steve" back, but Shawn has heard enough (remember, he is in a bad mood today) -- "just make the changes and email it to me after you print the museum doc, and where is my food?" I tell Shawn it's coming. It's ALL coming.

I look up and they've gotten the internet working by locating the IP address. It seems like a new process (other than the 5 servers we are supposedly supposed to be wired to for immediate wireless) -- but I don't have time to chit chat about what they've done. I print the pages, plop an ice cube in a to-go cup for the vitamin water, and grab my laptop to make the Tuskegee edits on set. When I get there, the chicken is just arriving. I set the computer down, arrange the pages I've printed as well as open the doc to be edited with the handwritten notes. I go to set up the chicken but realize there is no silverware. It also hits me that I have to pee. RATS! I run towards crafty, and quickly find a fork, but cannot find a knife. It's bad enough that it's plastic but now that feeling you get about the likelihood of sprites or gremlins when just too many things are going nuts -- starts to take over. I find another drawer at the craft station and grab a knife. I run back in and tell Diane the Script Sup that I'm going 10-1 (to the bathroom) and that Shawn should have everything he needs.

Cut to me in mid-pee, my walkie dangling precariously close to my pee stream, my fannie pack on the floor, as I hear over the walkie: "Regina, Regina -- go to 2." I go to 2 before I reach for the TP. "Go for Regina." The response is sadly not a surprise at this point on the job. "Shawn is looking for you on set." I wash my hands quickly and run back. Shawn comes up to me before quickly turning back to blocking the shot. "I don't have time to cut that chicken." Diane looks at me, rolling her eyes. I have the silent sympathy of others sitting at video village. I sigh and cut the chicken into pieces. I should be embarrassed but I'm not -- I just feel exasperated. Then I hear the key Hair Stylist (who is in her 50's or 60's) say under her breath: "Maybe you should just make him a chicken puree," and I am laughing at the image of chicken in a baby jar.

Funny thing is..."Cut Chicken" is the term Zulu uses when we've finished a certain shot and it's time to check the gate and confirm there were no technical difficulties with the last take before moving onto the next shot. "Checking the Gate" becomes "Cut Chicken." Isn't the English language a trip?

Last set piece: Shawn gives me an envelope to be mailed today -- a magazine subscription that needs to be sent in with a check. Usually he gives me all bills to send to LA, where they are paid by someone else. Towards the end of the day, Rattler notices the bill is still on the dash of the trailer. He brings it out to where I'm standing and asks me why I haven't mailed it. "When was I supposed to mail it? It requires that I go all the way up to the production office." Shawn thinks and says: "I saw you up there at lunch." I say: "Yes, but if I had mailed it at lunch I wouldn't have been able to eat lunch, it takes me twenty minutes to fill out the forms and mail it..." Rattler keeps going. "But if you knew that, you should have just told me that you were going to be gone for 30 minutes, I'd have been OK." And now I counter again (I am getting less and less intimidated by showcasing the argumentative skills that being the child of 2 lawyers affords). "But SL, what did you say to me this morning? You said that either Marco or I STAYS ON YOU cause you're in a bad mood." Rattler gives a little. "I did say that." Then I tell him that the office only lets me take one fed-ex slip at a time. Rattler gets rattled. "I'm calling them right now!" I tell him to not do that (his ire only makes them resent me more). "Let me handle it," I say.

And so I go to mail this one bill, via FED EX, back to LA (which probably costs over 20 bucks and is sort of crazy when you think about the fact that it's a magazine subscription) and speak with...lets call her Gillian. She sees me coming for many desk lengths but does not look up until I say HELLO. I ask her politely for a stack of 10 fed ex waybills. I sense the office prickle around me; the limitation of waybills is clearly coming from the top down) -- she gives me six. Ross, the internet 'tech' guy goes into a long to-do about how the internet is now fixed for the benefit of the production coordinator (who looks like she is about to lose it) and although I'd love to figure out the nuances of all these Canadians and their passive aggressive roundabout ways of communicating, I instead look for a quick out as I know Shawn is once again needing something.

Shawn is cutting with the Zimms again tomorrow night -- which means that tomorrow will be an even longer day than today. Gifts are on the brain -- everyone's assistant is in touch about what to get the Rattler for his birthday. I have a lot of emails to write tomorrow.

I definitely was a bit aggressive today; I yelled at Billy Orr for taking Shawn's gum. He only chews one kind (Dentyne ICE) and therefore -- it's a luxury item.