I type and I watch. I'm catching out of the corner of my eye these mad dudes with their flying, flashing ski's willingly flip, well - fling themselves miles into the air and flip flop fall and float (but mostly flip) into the relative safety of the snow that sometimes catches and sometimes kick back with a splash of white and whatev's. All I can say is WHOA dude. These guys are awesome.
What inspired that? Were they like six years old and racing a car around the Berber carpet in 1994 and looked up at the flickering coverage of the Olympics coming to them from Norway and saw these nutty dudes flipping through the air and then turn to their mom's with big round eyes and matchbox car mid-track and point their little stubby fingers at the screen and say - "Yes, I will do that. It will be rad and I will wear shiny colorful spandex and I will win."
photo credit: Mike Groll AP/File
Don't you wonder? As I watched the other jumping event tonight - the ski jump - with the dudes that fly for like 30 gorgeous heartdropping seconds I got totally annoyed with my 10 month old son as I projected into the relative near future when lil BHB and I will likely have this conversation....
INT: OUR HOUSE - NIGHT
An adorable 4 year old BOY pushes a monster truck around the hardwood floors as his MOM and DAD watch slack-jawed as the Olympic aerialists flip fourteen times before landing on the fake snow.
His Mom is extremely hot and looks amazing in casual sweats. She is a very thin and young-looking 43 year old...(oh rats, sorry - went off into fantasy there) Ahem. The sweet boy looks up at the giant plasma TV that is uber fancy and wafer thin...
BHB
Look Mom! I can do that!
ME
Nope. No way. Forget it.
BHB
But Mooommmmmm.
ME
Sorry.
BHB
(looking offscreen with intense resolve)
I will wear flashy spandex, and I will win.
ME
Noo! I love your big head!
I don't want you to break it on that mean snow.
Curse you inspiring dudes who flip through the
air with the greatest of ease!
Sigh. I guess we're not going to be watching the next Winter Olympics.
With love from the future,
PS - Ok, I realize that reading the above is like watching reality tv when a really great drama is on the other channel. It's on the silly, fluffy and pointless side but thanks for coming by...
Now if you want to read something really heartfelt and poetic and filled with awesomeness, you should go here. The writer is a dear friend, filmmaker, writer, and mom of an amaaaazing kid. I met her in line at Sundance a bunch of years ago. She's just fantastic! But I digress. But yes, you should definitely check this post out (whut up double link!) And be sure to play the music, it's a wonderful good time.
I've been remiss and missing from this space and let me apologize in advance for apologizing because it's kind of ridiculous. I mean. Y'all aren't sitting next to your google readers tapping your foot and wondering where I am, right? No. I know that. I so often feel this delightful and delicious tingly pull in this direction, oh - OK, nightly. More often than not I resist the urge, close the computer and go to bed.
Because right now it's either LCD and all the fun I have up here yammering on about my THOUGHTS and FEELINGS and occasionally an IMPRESSION and maybe even an occasional OBSERVATION.
Or sleep.
And as you Momma's know, sleep is a nice thing. And clearly it's been winning.
During the day it's chasing tiny boy and making sure brown dog stays clear of tiny boy and his tiny hands and his new teeth and charming smile so that brown dog doesn't do some dastardly doggie thing like nip at the mischievous tiny he tries to grab tall soft, brown ears.
And mushing the food or heating up the mush or steaming the finger food or mixing the stuff or making sure there are enough cheerios on the tray. And watching those impossibly tiny fingers PICK UP the tiny bits of carrots or pears or apples or o's or yam bits. And occasionally drop the bits for the brown nose to scoop in and enjoy. That game hasn't become a full time pastime but I expect that it is coming soon.
And the toys and the books and soft green ball that pile out of the little faux leather chest in the morning and then pile back into that same little brown chest at night.
And then there are all of those tiny shirts, the ones with the stripes and the tiny dogs on the front or the soft pants and the socks that are too small when you buy them and the shoes, why doesn't he have any shoes, what the heck size is he? And the hand-me-downs thank god for those but then you've got to hand them back and what box and which mom goes to which baby is going to wear it next. In the meantime they've got to be washed. And folded. And put away. And coaxed over a big head.
And at night it's a mix of emailing and emailing and working and conference calls and trying to think clear, concise and meaningful and oh dinner and right now of course the olympics (oh crap I missed it tonight) but we need to do a re-write of the script and we are casting later this week and I have to go location scout, but I'll be doing that while he naps in the car and and and.
I guess it's obvious why sleep is winning.
But for what it's worth I am writing into this white box in my head all day. The sweet bits of floating observations like the backlight of the afternoon sun, a halo on his sweet blonde head. Or his smile of discovery at a new thing (a bird!) which he now shares with me in his eyes, the recognition in his eyes of me - and - of a thing - and - of the separation of him and me and thing and then his delight in it or me or him or frustration when something is awry. Then comes my scramble to discover what IT is although sometimes if I have had enough sleep I might just sit in (or next to) his frustration and let him BE without fixing it.
And that's a pretty good reason, right?
Floating in the joy bits,
P.S. - One of these Monday's I'll get to writing about An Education. Short review: Hell ya, see it.
I feel so trite saying this, but here I go. I too want to go for the gold, only I don't want the round disk that all of those folks up in Canada are after - I'm more interested in that shapely hottie they call Oscar.
I think I've been too embarrassed to say it, especially as a resident of Los Angeles. It's just so obvious. And the Academy Awards are so. You know. Such a swell of pretension and glitz and comon' tell the truth actual awesomeness but they certainly have been known to roll around in a stinky pile of lameness. Like the King of World moment. Ugh.
But I'm going to out myself here. I want Gold - and it's on my five year plan dammit.
I'm excited that Kathryn Bigelow might beat James Cameron this year, making Oscar history by being the first woman director to win. I say hells ya. Or, actually? It would be okay with me if I was the first. Sometime in the next five years.
Sometimes I get annoyed with the fact that I've been dicking around doing other for so many years when I know that my true dream is to direct features. I feel lucky that I've been able to carve out a living doing what I love - I mean - that's kinda bitchin'. But, you know what? I've been really beating around the bush....
For fun - let's look back down the road full of bushes, shall we?
Corporate vids - Big fun! Nice money. Lots of control over the creative! A product that only makes sense to a tiny segment of the population. I know, I know, I've already subjected you to some of it here.
TV Ad's - Big fun with someone else's big money! A perceived sense of control! Lots of people talking in your ear. And a product that's reallllly short. But seen! Sometimes salesy and lame. But. Fun! Be subjected here.
Here is one of my favorite commercials that I've directed:
Short Films - Not so much on the money. But so, so much closer to the prize. A narrative. Actors. Creating a world. Hard ass work. Nice reward when we go to Sundance. (hello Secret)
Viral Vids - No money at first. Some fun. Some success. Later on, perhaps some money. Need to see some?
The reason I'm going ON about my career (or whatever it is) tonight is that I'm in a reflective mood after watching something super fawking cool happen. One of my BFF's from Seattle just walked with her Olympian husband in the opening ceremony. He was the guy waving the flag for Peru. He and my girlfriend met on the internet and fell in love long distance about six years ago. I remember I was one of her only friends who wasn't going, "Are you nuts? Some dude from South America? From the internets?" Not me. Being a fate-lovin' ridiculous romantic who had just a few years before met her hubs on a plane...I was cheering for her instant messaging love.
And now they are hanging out in Olympic Village with their adorable two year old and preparing for the race of a lifetime. What about it?
It's just so amazing to see a dream of that magnitude come to fruition. So inspiring. So fantastic. So like me going to the podium and trying not to trip on my fancy-ass dress when I accept my Oscar. Don't you think? I mean I've been mentally prepping for that moment for a long damn time. In fact when I went to film school I would go on my nightly runs through Balboa park, pictured to the right. And as I would run on this road toward the fountain with the sky going through it's pastel wonderland into black, I would accept my Oscar. Pumping my legs with my eye on the shooting water I would thank my peeps, crack a great joke, stand to the left to show my good side, and then give a shout out to my Dad on the other side. For the record? This was in the mid 90's. I, like Oprah, was practicing the Secret long before the australian home-chic made that cheesy movie. Of course Oprah seems to be better at it.
I have to say, I miss the Hollywood YMCA. I used to run on the treadmill there before Mamahood. I'd always choose the machine that looked right into a blank wall which must appeared to be an odd choice because that wall was maddening, like two feet away. But I loved it, it was perfect for projecting a fantastic future onto. I would replay that moment, that dream moment - me, dress, moderate heels 'cause I suck at walking in them, and the feeling of 'dream come true'. So if there is anything to that Secret madness, I've certainly put in some time.
Hmm. Guess I better go back to my bookshelf filled with manifestation books. Here are two of my faves:
So hang with me people, I think it's going to work. Tonight as I watched the faces of people I love and adore march across my television, I thought.
Yep.
I can do it too.
With big dreams and big bags under my eyes to match,
PS - Please cast your ballot about Movie monday, I know we're all watching the Olympics but I'll blather on about a movie anyway...
As I yelled aboutshared earlier this week, we are going into production on our short film. I'm officially, as of yesterday, damn busy.
And as I shared last week, the boy is moving faster now - impossibly fast. So when he is awake I'm watching him intently as he swims around on the floor like a pinball in search of the most points. Or in the kitchen he's doing laps under my feet as I do dishes and wish I am a fly with extra eyeballs. Or mostly I've resorted to wearing him in the Ergo if I want to be in any room that he can't be scooting around in (most of them). So as of last week, I'm officially damn busy.
The boy on the move really presents alot of problems. And like everything else in parenthood when first presented with it, it seems pretty unsolvable and overwhelming in a throat-closing way. Okay now - Baby gates? Baby proofing? Little latches and plug covers and drape cord management systems? Most moms I know around here hire a professional to come in and do this thing and it's done, just done. So I imagine that these families fall asleep with sweet smiles and have good nurturing dreams and awake refreshed and happy to face another safe day filled with happy baby playing sounds. Unlike me with the soundtrack of my grinding teeth through the night. Awake to a new day of tiny boy chasing that comes with worry and wonder and discovery of the dastardly danger that lurks around every sharp corner.
you: Call the professional baby proofer.
me: Harumph, this is not really in my budget right now.
you: Go to Target.
me: Harumph.
I mean I will and I am but I just hate to buy all of these plastic crap, plastic gates or other plastic things that require installing them. And oh crap, who's going to install them? The other day I put dog and boy into the car to go to the mountain and as I buckled BHB into the car seat I heard myself think, 'Whew, at least he's safe'. In a car. In Los Angeles. This can't be good.
Friends, what the hell do we do with the ficas tree that he constantly wants to shove his little baby hands into or eat the leaves with his little baby mouth? I LOVE this tree. I don't want to put it outside. Sure we live in California and sure it will probably be just fine but but but! I don't wanna! Perhaps this tree represents my last shred of individuality, the last little bastion of me, the sappy ass adult who wants a pretty damn tree in the room. I know, I know, it's going.
This lil play pen is the only true solution, we call it the baby hot tub.
As you can see he looks pretty damn happy in it, and thank god he is. Of course I read the RIE parenting books and they make me feel like a rotten terrible person because I haven't created the safe room that he can just be in. And the hot tub is too small.
But for now it's the best solution for the occasional trip to the bathroom.
Or the 14 minutes of dishes until we can strap him into the high chair where he'll be safe until we can strap him into the carseat where he will be safe until I can strap him into the stroller and push him up a hill until we can then strap him into...the shopping cart and then I will strap him onto my chest to walk to to the car and then. Thank god for straps.
Of course we do release him on the floor occasionally and then follow him around going:
Oh well no honey um let's go this way and opps a cord and nope let's not do that and oh wow look at all of these big books at your level ready to tumble down on your sweet head or the stack of CD's that you really? Are going to pull the middle one out? And holy cats that cool antique tool box is built to hurt a baby have you ever seen anything more lethal oh boy, let's play with these super cool blocks made out of foam but oh man they are made in china? Uh-oh they are painted but sheesh please go ahead and eat these. Please little one, I'm begging you...sit down in one spot and gnaw on these blocks..
Google is going to have a field day with the ad's on this one, so much good crap to sell. Do you have any suggestions? Things that worked for you? A padded room I can borrow?
Yours in the 'whelm,
PS - I love this picture. You can tell he's really enjoying this hike. And that strap looks uber safe too.
What inspired that? Were they like six years old and racing a car around the Berber carpet in 1994 and looked up at the flickering coverage of the Olympics coming to them from Norway and saw these nutty dudes flipping through the air and then turn to their mom's with big round eyes and matchbox car mid-track and point their little stubby fingers at the screen and say - "Yes, I will do that. It will be rad and I will wear shiny colorful spandex and I will win."
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Of course Oprah seems to be better at it.
