Think Before You Leap.

It's a cool summer evening. The kind that makes you want to sit on a porch, drinking a tall glass of sweet tea; savoring every sip as you watch the neighborhood kids run around their yards. There's a slight breeze blowing as I stand on the edge of a roof top, surveying the ground below. My toes are dangling over the side as I contemplate whether or not I should jump...

On the other side of the house, the cameras are getting ready to roll. I was on the roof tweaking a light when the AD shouted that we were "ready for a take!" and with those four words, the ladder I had used to climb up here was swept away. I'm now stuck. Damn.

"Sorry A.J." I heard over the walkie. "You can either look for a safe way down or wait until we're done with the scene. But I gotta warn you it looks like it's going to be a long one."

With a groan, I look around. Luckily, it's a one story building, but it's still one story too tall for me to hop off of. I notice that there's a part of the roof that seems to slope down a little more than any of the other parts, so I head over to check it out.

On that side of the house, there was a rather large, raised planter hugging the wall with nothing in it but soft looking dirt. Hmm... If I maneuver this just right, I could land in that patch of dirt and from that, I can easily hop to the ground and be at crafty, munching on a bag of Doritos in no time.

But on the other hand, if I miss the planter, I could potentially break a leg and/or twist my ankle. Not only would that take me out of commission for a while, but the loud thud of me hitting the ground followed by screams of pain could potentially ruin the sound during a take. And forget about me ever being hired by these guys again. No matter how safe that drop looked, I'd always be the idiot dumb enough to jump off a roof.

I look over to the back of the house where they were shooting. They had just started rolling and the Gaffer was intently watching the monitor. He's a good guy. He's one of those bosses that will help the crew pack up gear at the end of the night and doesn't leave until we're all in our cars, engines started. And when he heard I was getting desperate for work, he pulled a few strings to get me hired. I thought about what would happen to him if I jumped and landed wrong. He'd probably have his ass handed to him by Production for hiring such an idiot and "allowing" me to jump off a roof. They probably won't hire him again either.

Then I thought about how I met the Gaffer. I was sent to him on a recommendation from a DP friend of mine. Even though he wasn't on this shoot, his reputation was at stake as well. If the Gaffer was going to get shit for something that I did, you can bet money that my friend was going to hear about it. Any recommendations he gives from there on out would be either highly questioned or even ignored.

Then there was the money. How much was I getting paid for the day? Is the amount worth risking getting seriously hurt for? (The answer's always no.) Add in the cost of at least three ruined reputations, and the answer is a no-brainer.

Sure, the jump looked safe enough. It wasn't too far from the sloped roof to the planter, but one wrong move on my part, one caught shirt sleeve or even one strong breeze catching me off guard, and my ass would be in the emergency room.

A lot of guys I know (mainly the young ones) would have opted to jump. While they're fully prepared to take responsibility for whatever happens, they don't take the time to think about who they're really representing. Not only are you representing yourself when you step onto a set, but you're also representing whatever department you're in, the Key Grip/Gaffer or Best Boy who hired you, whoever recommended you to them, whatever film schools you attended... The list can go on. If you screw up, a lot of careers are on the line; not just your own.

I step back from the ledge and make myself comfortable for the long scene ahead. A little while later, I heard over the walkie, "Hey A.J. How are you doing up there? Do you need anything?"

"I'm doing fine, but I wouldn't mind it if a bag of Doritos from crafty found its way up here."

A few seconds later, a bag of chips landed by my feet. I happily munched on them as I watched the camera roll below me. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the happy laughter of children, running around their yard. I guess there are worse places I could be...

You Know You've Been Working Too Hard When...

... you're visiting your parents and your mom asks you to take out the trash. Your immediate response is, "That's not my job."

Oops. Sorry Mom!

You Better Be Worth It.

His eyes are a brown so deep, you'll feel lost just gazing into them. Yet there's a sense of security and comfort when he wraps his arms around you. He'll give you his jacket when you're cold; he'll hold doors open for you; he'll call you to make sure you got home okay.

On your first date, you'll go to the movies. You hate horror films, but agree to see one anyway because you don't want him to think you're a wuss. You wince every time there's blood on screen and by the third slaughter, you notice him watching you. You feel embarrassed and vulnerable, but he smiles that boyish smile of his and holds your hand. He agrees to never take you to see a slasher film again and the two of you go out for ice cream. He gets mint chocolate chip. You order cookie dough.

A job comes up that takes you out of town for a few days. He watches as you pack, wondering why you need to carry around four different kinds of screwdrivers, and do you really need that many wrenches? His questions are annoying, but in a way, also endearing. There are no phone calls exchanged when you're gone, but he'll send you text messages. Silly ones at first ("Marco Polo never learned to swim! Ironic, isn't it?") but they get more personal as the week progresses. ("My favorite shirt just shrunk in the dryer. :(" and "I miss you.") The two of you spend the day together when you get back.

He wants to know everything about you. Family, school, friends, how your first pet died. You tell him your story; he tells you his. He'll talk about how his day was. How his boss accidentally hung up on an important client, or how his coworker spilled split pea soup on the carpet. It took two janitors and a steamer to clean it up. You tell him stories of how the gaffer read the lighting plot backwards and what happened when the dolly grip wasn't paying attention and almost ran off the track. Then you explain to him what "gaffer," "light plot," "dolly grip," and "track" is. He sits there, listening, entranced. You don't know if he's in awe of you or the business you're in, but you don't care. You keep talking because you love the look on his face.

But one day, that look on his face isn't there anymore. You finish your latest story and ask him if something's wrong. "You work with a lot of guys, don't you?" he asks. It's then that you realize that most of your stories features men with the occasional cameo from a woman. That's just the way the job is, and they're more like the brothers you never had than anything else. But you sense that it's making him uncomfortable, so you begin to censor your tales of set antics. Instead, you prod him more about his job, hoping to draw attention away from your own line of work.

Eventually, you begin to notice that he gets jealous at more than just your coworkers. He glares at the guys sitting the next table over when you're out to dinner and makes snide comments about how chummy you are with the man you buy your morning latte from. You try your best to reassure him and no longer exchange witty banter with the barrista. The subject of work doesn't even come up anymore.

Then one day, you'll realize you're no longer yourself around him. You two have a long talk and break up. "I always knew you'd leave me," he says, "I never felt like I could trust you." His words hit you like a rock. But as much as they hurt, you're too tired to explain yourself. There's no reason to. So you walk away.

This is the point where you'll usually eat a bag of cookies and play "I Will Survive" on repeat. But you'll get called for a job instead. You'll spend the next couple of weeks in New York, eating pizza and hot dogs, taking pictures of the dizzying lights in Times Square and walking (and working) around in the cold. You're a California girl, born and raised, but the numbing cold feels good. When the shoot's done, you feel ready to go home again. You curl up in your own bed and sleep better than you have in a long time. In the morning, you'll wake up to a very quiet apartment. It's almost too quiet. You open a bag of cookies and put Gloria Gaynor on repeat.

After some time has passed, you'll come home to find him waiting for you on your doorstep. He'll have a movie and microwave popcorn in one hand and a single red rose in the other. You invite him in and the two of you watch the movie and eat the popcorn. The movie ends, the credits roll, but neither of you move from the couch. Instead, he takes your hand as you lean your head on his shoulder, and just as you drift off to sleep, he tells you how much he missed you.

The next few days are filled with awkwardness. Like two teenagers on their very first date, your time spent together will be filled with long pauses and nervous twitching. But eventually, things will get back to normal. He'll send you silly text messages ("Did you know that ducks can't digest rye bread?") and you'll bake him cookies (chocolate chip). The nights are often filled with good chicken wings, bad Karaoke, and lots of laughter.

Things will get so good, you'll talk of moving in together. Nothing's definite, but the two of you decide to look at apartments anyway. He wants a pool; you just want air conditioning. The first few places the two of you check out are dumps. You learn that "fixer-upper" and "cozy" are just code words for "run-down" and "cramped". The next place you're scheduled to look at sounds more promising, but you never make it there. Your friend calls you last minute to best on a music video and you have to leave immediately.

Sixteen hours later, you'll come home tired, dirty, and in desperate need of a shower. But that shower will have to wait. He's sulking on the couch, upset that you bailed. You try your best to explain to him the concept of day-playing and how a lot of jobs you get are last minute calls, but your mind's so fried you don't know if you're making any sense. Finally, he says, "Why don't they just plan these shoots better?" To which you'll reply, "That's what I ask myself every day." The two of you share a slight chuckle and as you finally step into that hot shower, he's in the kitchen making you a sandwich. You never end up looking at that fourth apartment.

Eventually, you find yourself on the crew list for a feature. You start shooting on Thursday and couldn't be more ecstatic. Two months of solid work compared to the ridiculously few days you've had all year. That night, he surprises you at dinner with a weekend getaway. You hate the look on his face when you tell him you can't go. It breaks your heart. "Can't you take a couple of days off?" You tell him it doesn't work that way. It's been a slow production year and you need the money. In this line of work, there's no such thing as paid vacation or sick days. He says he understands, but you can tell he's crestfallen. You order his favorite dessert to cheer him up (apple pie, a la mode).

The job starts. The hours are long, the days are hard, and no one can seem to figure out why the bulb keeps blowing out on that 5k, but you love every second of it anyway. Only you don't get to see him as much anymore. You leave early in the morning only to come home late at night, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed. Your weekends are filled with laundry, grocery shopping, going to the bank, and other mindless errands that you don't get to do during the week. But he'll say he understands. He'll sit with you at the Fluff 'N Fold and wait in lines with you. You'll bake him cupcakes which will still be cooling on the counter as you fall asleep on the couch.

Before you know it, it'll be your anniversary soon. He wants to celebrate with a romantic picnic on the beach. You tell him you're working that day. He'll plan a late dinner instead. But an actress will forget her lines, a stunt car will crash into a street light, and you'll end up working overtime. You leave an apologetic message on his phone, explaining the situation. It's no use though. When you finally make it home, he's waiting for you; not pissed off or annoyed, but disappointed. He'll say he's tired of only seeing you on the weekend and he's tired of all the times you had to cancel on him. And he'll accuse you of choosing work over him. You'll say that you're not, but staying late is part of the job and if he can't understand that...

He cuts you off before you can finish. "But it's just a job."

His words stop you. Working in the film industry isn't just a job; it's a lifestyle choice. Endless hours on a moment's notice, often working from sun up to sun down and vise versa. You can go days without eating a home cooked meal. And yet it's a job that you'll fight for because this is something you want to do. Hollywood's a creaky, shaky, unstable roller coaster, but you love to ride it.

You realize that if he doesn't understand your line of work, then he'll never understand you.

You will say good-bye for the right reasons. The days are just going to get tougher as you fight tooth and nail to climb that industry ladder to reach the top. You'll need someone who will trust and support you; someone who'll help you back up if you fall. Not someone who will make you feel guilty for choosing this life. Not someone who will resent you for it.

But until you find that someone, you find comfort in the fact that you'll always have a bag of cookies, Gloria Gaynor playing on your stereo, and a family waiting for you on set...

"I Tried To Show Them The Polaroids. They Wouldn't Look!"

It's interesting to see how the industry is portrayed on TV and in movies, so Sunday's episode of The Simpsons was a fun one for me.

For some reason, I found this part to be especially hilarious.

It's Lunch Time.

Do you remember what it's like to be the new kid in class? Or was there ever a day when your best friends all went on a field trip/stayed home sick/had a dentist appointment while you still had to go to school? Then you spend the morning sitting at your desk, wondering who you're going to play with at recess and even worse, who are you going to sit with at lunch?? You don't want to be the loser that sits by herself, feeling like a nobody and a misfit. How sad and embarrassing that would be!

And while I'd like to say those days are behind me, I'd be lying if I did. I don't know about you, but things have been pretty slow for me in terms of work. The only jobs I get called for is to day play, which means I'm only on a show for a day or two before I'm back on my couch, waiting for my phone to ring again. This also means that I've spent quite a bit of time being the "new kid" recently.

For the first six hours I'm on a new set, I'm usually rockin it. I've got a job to do and I (more or less) know how to do it. Everyone gets into a rhythm and things start clicking. Then we break for lunch and no matter how good of a job I did that morning or how well I'm getting along with the new crew, the moment I step into that lunch line, I'm worried about who I'm going to sit with. The obvious choice would be to sit with my the rest of my department, but it doesn't always work out that way. Sometimes by the time I get through the line, there's no more room at the table. Or they decide to try the burger place down the street instead of eating another day of mediocre catering. Hm... Now who do I sit with?

In the end, it usually works out well. I'll pick a seat next to a friendly looking person, have a lovely conversation while we eat our chicken and I'll have a new ally on set. Worst case scenario, the person turns out to be an arrongant dick, in which case I'll finish my meal and excuse myself to "return a phone call". What really sucks though, is when I end up sitting by myself. Then I revert to feeling like a nobody and a misfit.

I know I'm probably too old to be having these "high school cafeteria" anxieties. It's something that I should have outgrown, but I can't help it. There's something about the mix of new people, long tables and trays of overcooked food that revert me back to my young self, complete with any insecurities I may have had then as well.

Call me petty or immature, but I guess part of me is still seeking acceptance. And that's probably something that won't disappear, no matter how old I get...

Three Is Not A Crowd.

I've come to notice that when the topic of conversation turns to women on set (more specifically, those in g/e), there are two kinds of people: those who think there are very few of us and those who think there are a lot.

I'm on the side that thinks women are set are like finding an honest Agent; it's definitely not something you see every day. So it always baffles me when the conversation goes something like this:

Other Person: "So you're a chick working g/e? That's kinda cool."
Me: "Yeah, there's not a whole lot of women in these departments."
Other Person: (surprised) "Really? Because I know a lot of women who do what you do."
Me: "Oh?"
Other Person: "Yeah... [pauses for a moment] There's Girl Name #1, Girl Name #2.... Oh! And Girl Name #3."

And let me tell you, it's usually the same three names that come up. Which is definitely a testament to how much they rock if they're that well known. But come on, just three names? I can easily rattle off the names of ten male, union juicers without even pausing to think about it. Out of all the work contacts I have in my phone, the guys easily outnumber the girls 18 to 1 (yes, I counted).

So while there may be a number of female grips and juicers out there, please don't act like there's an abundance of us. If that was the case, we'd have shirts that fit.

Just Because You Have The Title Doesn't Mean You Know Shit.

I'm having lunch with an old friend from high school. We weren't great friends back then, but ever since we found out that we both live in LA now, we've made more of an effort to keep in touch and hang out. We still aren't great friends, but I guess we remind each other of home, keeping us grounded in this crazy, smog filled town.

Anyway, she mentions that a friend of hers is producing a short film and is looking for crew. Would I mind helping him out? (read: work pro bono) Her friend, I should mention, apparently went to school with us as well. He graduated a year or two behind us and I never even met him, but I'm a sucker for loyalty and school pride. It doesn't matter if he was one year behind us or ten; if we have the same alma mater, chances are I'll help him out.

So I agreed and ended up on a phone call with the Producer. He ran down the basics with me and thanked me about a zillion times for being the Best Boy... And then he let it slip that the Gaffer was being paid while I was only getting "copy, credit, meals". Hm... Interesting. But I brushed it off, rationalizing that the Gaffer is higher ranking and probably the only one they could afford to pay.

A little while later, I got a call from the Cinematographer who wanted to go through some details. Everything sounded fine and dandy... and then he brought up the Gaffer.

"So... Just a word of caution, the Gaffer's really green. Actually, I think he's fresh out of film school and this is his first gig since graduating. You'll kind of need to keep an eye on him."

... What?

I took a moment to process what he just said. "Wait... Let me get this straight... So, the Gaffer's getting paid, which is fine, he should be getting paid. But I'm working for free and I have to babysit him??"

"Yeah... I know it's kind of screwed up, but that's something you'll have to take up with the Producer, you know?"

So I call up the Producer who says there's nothing he can do. There's no money in the budget to pay anyone else, and asked if it was a problem. I told him that while I do think it's fucked up, I already said I'd help him out and I'll stick to my word. Damn my sense of loyalty.

And let's just say that'll be the last time I agree to a deal like that. The Gaffer ended up creating more work for our tiny crew due to his inexperience and problems arose where a more seasoned Gaffer (or even a regular grip or electrician) could have easily avoided. To make matters even worse, he wouldn't take any of my suggestions on how to make things run smoother and more efficient. Instead, he pulled rank on me every chance he got.

*sigh*

I know there are a lot of knuckle headed Gaffers and Key Grips out there, but at least they usually come with a paycheck to take the sting out a bit.

This goes to show that just because someone is a department head doesn't mean they know shit. I've worked for too many Key Grips that don't know what grid cloth is and too many Best Boy Electrics that don't know how many lights you can plug into a 20 amp circuit. One guy didn't even know how to work the lift gate on the back of the truck.

Unfortunately, things are never fair in the film world (or in any other industry, I'd imagine). For some reason, guys that don't know the difference between a single and a double scrim often climb up the chain of command faster than those who do. And the scary thing is that this stuff doesn't just happen on low budget indies. Guys like that Gaffer are hired all the time on big budget studio produced shows, where the toys are bigger, more expensive, and more dangerous. A couple of the guys from a previous post are Local 80 members and through a string of flukes, loopholes and luck, a former colleague of mine is now on the Local 728 roster. And this is someone I wouldn't trust to set up anything bigger than a 2K (if that... the last one I saw him put up almost fell off the stand).

Meanwhile, I'm still lugging around cable and sandbags on shows that are barely good enough for Youtube. I'm not going to lie. It bothers me how time and time again, people who don't know shit about the job somehow end up being my boss. The only thing I can do is take solace in the fact that at least I know what kind of cable I'm holding and how to properly rig that point so when the day finally comes where I get promoted through the ranks, the paycheck will be that much sweeter.