Friday, August 13, 2010

12 of 12: August

Another month, another batch of photos. 12 of 12 is the brainchild of Chad Darnell; blame him.

8:06 - It was a dark and stormy foggy night morning.

8:45 - French toast! On a WEEKDAY! Hanging out with retired parents rules.

8:50 - Alex reaps the leftover benefits, which he then guards zealously from Sherlock, who doesn't recognize them as food anyway.

10:45 - Act IV, take two. Or three. Four? Hard to say.

11:38 - Water lilies and a goldfish in my parents' backyard pond; slightly less romantic than Water Lilies due to non-cleaning of algae filter. Yum.

3:30 - Zipping to the library to pick up some old photos from a librarian friend.

3:38 - Let me just say: 1995 was not a cute time for any of us, and Academic Decathlon sadly did not have a "please stop looking like a dork/dressing like your grandmother" event. But...but at least we memorized all the capitals of Africa and were intimately familiar with the history and economic impact of the Nestle Corporation. Right?

7:20 - Hand and Foot with friends after dinner...

9:30 - ...followed by birthday peach cobbler! Which is the best kind of peach cobbler!

9:45 - Somebody forgot to birthday-ize the cobbler, but this is healthier, anyway. Happy early birthday, Mom!

10:30 - Watching the Perseids from the driveway. (With flash.)

11:45 - Sherlock's default position/location.

Saturday, August 07, 2010

Now I'm never going to get a job

So, I haven't been writing much about my summer—and it's all because I'm looking for work. This is the Internet! People read things! Don't you know about Heather B. Armstrong, who got fired for blogging on the job and then got huge ad contracts and a book deal and now doesn't need a job-job anyway? How can I start on my personal path to Internet stardom if I can't get hired, so I can get fired?

But, you know, there's a larger life truth here: sometimes it's not worth existing on the Internet if you can't tell funny stories. I think this is one of those times, and I'm pretty sure the getting-hired portion of this story isn't going to be a problem anyway.

So. This is the story of how I accidentally ditched my friend and watched a horror movie instead of having a job interview.

A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to interview for an internship at a production company that shall not be named. We made an appointment for 2 p.m. the following Monday, and my contact said she'd call on Friday to confirm—which she didn't. Meanwhile, I wasn't even sure which of my many applications the interview corresponded with, and couldn't find any definitive mention of them on Google, which of course is always a good sign. Ah, well. Glenna and I road-tripped to San Diego, caught up in the geek vortex that is Comic-Con, and then headed for LA.

Monday afternoon, I dropped Glenna off at a Starbucks on Sunset with promises to be back in an hour. The address I had was a house in the Hollywood hills, with a gate, so I called my contact and told her I was waiting outside.

"Oh," she said, "I thought we'd agreed that I'd call on Friday to confirm."

So did I, of course, but I didn't point that out. People flake on phone calls all the time--and she hadn't said we weren't meeting if she didn't call. So there I was, perched on the side of a very steep hill behind the Chateau Marmont, sweating profusely due to it being summer and all, and preparing to leap out of the way in case of any lizards that might dart into my path (Have we talked about my lizard phobia? Well, there you have it: I have a lizard phobia).

Then she said, Well, we're having a screening this afternoon at 2:30, and we were going to invite you—which was totally a lie, because when were they going to invite me to the thing they didn't think I was showing up for, exactly? But I said I'd go and texted Glenna to tell her I'd be awhile.

The screening was over on the West Side, and took me forty minutes of Sunset construction traffic and a couple of U-turns to get to. So I got to this office building, parked, and found the screening, and we all stood around while the actual DVD showed up from somewhere across town—during which nobody, including my contact, talked to me. Eventually, I cornered her and asked her a) who she was, exactly, (answer: the assistant) b) what we were watching, and c) how long the movie would be. At 3:30, the DVD showed up—a feature-length sci-fi/horror movie, apparently, that the company was thinking of converting to 3-D—because the only thing better than horror movies is horror movies that appear to be eating your face, right?

The movie was about ghosts and drugs. Ghosts and drugs with a side of rape and torture, actually. Not a slasher movie, so there was that, but let me say again: ghosts and drugs. Awesome.

The assistant had made some vague noises about my coming back to the studio after the screening—but by the time the movie was over, it was almost 5:30, and poor Glenna was still at Starbucks with nothing but her knitting and a crushing case of allergies, and also I'd spent the previous two hours watching ghosts/drugs and planning my exit strategy. I told the assistant I had to go, picked up my car from the valet (joy), and rewarded myself with a lollipop on the way back across town. Because, trust me, everything's a little better with a lollipop.

Hilariously, on the way out, one of the higher-ups—I still don't know who he was, because of how the assistant didn't tell me anything about anything—was all, "Great! Can you work tomorrow?"

I said I was sorry, but I really, really couldn't.