Talk about timing. I’d just put the last item into my shopping cart when an urgent announcement came over the PA system. A tornado watch. The grocery store asked us to leave our carts, and report to the back.
I joined other customers and employees in the walk-in dairy freezer, behind the milk case.
Normally cold-natured, I credited my irritation for keeping me warm. For the first time, being pissed off worked in my favor since I didn’t have a coat or jacket. Another thing that kept me warm was fuming about whether anyone was taking things out of my basket.
Even though we sheltered in the diary freezer for over an hour, I remained standing rather than sit on an empty milk crate.
Milk crates are better suited for holding milk and other inanimate objects.
Contrary to popular belief, a well-rounded butt like mine doesn’t render uncomfortable things more comfortable to sit on.
By the time I exited the freezer, paid for my groceries (which were still all there!) and went outside, the sky was a vibrant, crisp blue. Unbelievable.
We don’t normally get tornadoes in Austin, so I thought my sheltering among the milks (which can be from a mammal, a nut or legume) would be my only interesting story for the week.
Three days later, my usual African dance practice, due to a scheduling conflict, had to be held outside rather than in our usual trapezoidal-shaped dance studio. After surveying the surroundings, our choreographer asked if we could dance in the drained swimming pool.
Unlike synchronized swimming, we danced in the pool without water. Normally, African dance is performed barefoot, but only a few dancers chose to do that inside the pool. No space is perfect, but despite the intentional incline, the cracks and rocks, I loved dancing maskless in the fresh air. Here’s the thing: I danced with my mouth wide open as if I were trying to breath through a mask while dancing. Once I realized what I was doing, I copped a more attractive “dance smile.”
See if you can spot the change in this “summarized” version of our practice below.
A soulful dancer graced the stage, opening the first in- real-life poetry reading I’d attended since the pandemic had begun.
I had invited a friend, who had been a dedicated member of the Austin Writers Roulette, to join me. We used to attend such events individually with writing material in hand and laugh when we’d see each other from across the way. Now we check in with one another to see if we’re attending the same event.
Years ago, attending such an event didn’t warrant clearing so many extraordinary hurdles other than having the time and energy to go. And yet, for this event, I wouldn’t have attended had I not been double vaxxed, and boosted. Not to mention the night was clear and beautiful, so I didn’t have to cancel due to icy or flooded roads.
Next arrived the Slam Poetry Queen herself.
She filled us with her limitless energy as she emoted each poem, which punctuated her narratives with seamless integration.
The poem that resonated with me the most was about pockets. All the angst I’d felt toward the fashion industry for neglecting to make the vast majority of women’s clothing with pockets versus men’s clothing bubbled to the surface. Men’s nightwear has pockets. Even their underwear has pockets for their dicks.
As a matter of fact, the fancy secondhand jacket that I’d worn to the event had an inside pocket that I’d sewn because fuck them for not having one there in the first place.
That was part of a phase I’d gone through where a few jackets gained inside pockets and several pants had their pitiful shallow pockets deepened.
A few of the deepened pockets need to be reinforced because frequent wearing and washing have worn holes at the seams. I don’t attach superstition to the fact that money can slip through those holey pockets because I know that’s not where my money went.
Nothing as simple as that. This pandemic ripped away the economic illusion of my gig survival. I’ve landed a straight up full-time job with several production metrics, an hourly wage, benefits and praising the lord that progressive liberals before me negotiated a 40-hour work week along with the concept of the weekend.
Those pockets still have holes in them. My money’s all digital now.
As soon as I wished out loud to be part of a real film set, versus the spur-of-the-moment set where I shot my first short film, the universe granted my wish. Originally, I applied for the “Sound Mixer” position not really knowing what all it entailed. The only other open position was DP (Director of Photography). I learned back in undergrad that I didn’t have the “eye” to be DP. Besides, I’d edited several podcast episodes. All I knew was that the filmmakers, who shared director/producer titles, stated they would rent the equipment if the Sound Mixer didn’t have their own equipment–something I learned while on set to not be the usual case.
Fortunately, my mentor guided me in the right direction by providing a few videos and a blog. Until she did that, I truly thought I’d stroll up on set, dressed in all black, wearing hiking boots and a camelback without having done any research. Thank God I killed the camelback idea and brought a water bottle like a normal person.
The first thing I learned and immediately internalized was: early = on time; on time = late; and late = fired. Since my official title for this set was “Sound Shadow,” which, if I hadn’t known any better, I would have assumed was the latest comic book superhero, essentially meant I was an unpaid intern.
At least I didn’t have to pay for a class to gain this experience. As an undergrad, I’d worked on three student film sets. In that blind-leading-the-blind situation, none of them were at any level of professionalism as this movie set was. Regardless of my volunteer status, I still respected our mutual time and made the most of the opportunity.
The second lesson was an explanation of what “collaboration” means on set. As collaborative as both codirectors/coproducers, who I’ll refer to as A and C, announced they’d be on set, I’m happy I didn’t go with my original plan. Instead, I quietly approached the codirectors to ask a question or suggest something. That way, none of the actors overheard, which might have been confusing.
Plus, if one talks when things aren’t rolling, then they should do so quietly. I witnessed first hand how side conversations get out of hand. I found myself pulling a Ms. Roberson and gesturing two people on set to talk quietly. Given the lag time between takes, there was no way we’d all remain silent, but talking normally was too loud.
On the first day, I parked on the edge of the lawn among the other cars with a minute to spare from my call time (ie, late) and texted one of the codirectors/coproducers, C, about my arrival. I entered the house through a side door, nearest the line of carefully coiled cables–another thing the videos had reminded me: the over-under method to wrap most cables that would minimize damage and entanglement. C met me at the door with a big smile on her face and gave me a hug. (At least her eyes communicated “big smile” since her face was actually covered with a mask. Everyone on set had to show a negative COVID test that had been administered within 48 hours).
As I walked in, I met the Boom Operator, T.
For weeks I’d sung the phrase “boom operator” to the tune of Sade’s “Smooth Operator.” Took me mere seconds after our introduction to sing it to T. It had been my ear worm for a while, but I didn’t quite plant it in T.
Moments later, the Sound Mixer, J, arrived with an impressive amount of equipment, 12 years of filmmaking experience and a remarkably positive attitude for someone who wasn’t a morning person. The most golden nuggets of information I learned from him was that sound mixers were expected to own their equipment, and that he sometimes makes more money renting his equipment verses his labor rate. Although I’ve been a lifelong an emerging entrepreneur, my ears perked up when he talked about “rental.” There’s a standard package of sound equipment that filmmakers pay for. On top of that standard package, any additional needed sound equipment will be rented at a daily rate.
One of our producers/directors, A, bravely chose to shoot in and around her home.
I could have made a documentary just from the furniture alone. The piece that spoke to me the most was the Singer sewing machine that had been repurposed into a table. My maternal grandmother had a Singer. When I visited her, I’d sit down in front of the Singer and peddle. Not sewing, mind you, just idly peddling. Bonus: the set dog is in the picture. He was super chill for that many strangers doing strange things around his house.
I notoriously have cold fingers and toes even in warm weather.
For once, masking due to a pandemic worked in my favor because it kept my face warm. We purposely had open doors to keep fresh air flowing–fresh COLD air. Except for when I was eating or using the bathroom, I had gloves on whether I was inside or outside. The combination of post lunch, a comfortable beanbag and comfy coat and KA-BOOM! immediately transported T into a power nap. The headphones were such a nice touch for someone who confidently stated that she wouldn’t fall asleep.
At one point on the first day, T and I talked about me handling the boom when we were outside.
Yet, I didn’t want to be part of the reason why the shooting schedule got further behind. So, even though I never worked the boom for a scene, I miked the actors. Plus J told both T and I that whenever we were operating a boom, we should either fully extend our arms or have them bent and close to our ribcage in order to use our bones rather than our muscles. He summarized in this sound adage: “Muscles wear out; bones don’t.”
On Halloween 2021, I’d requested to read A’s script after she announced that she wanted to make a movie. Just get the dang thing done. Although I didn’t know her, I loved her confidence. Since it was a short film, I offered to read it and made three suggestions.
Fast forward to mid-February 2022, I was part of the crew. The first scene we shot implemented my first suggestion. To my joy, as the two-day shoot unfolded, I witnessed my other ideas implemented as well. That was my preproduction contribution. Being on set was a whole different animal, just seeing those words come to life through the interplay of crew and actors.
In the one screenwriting class I’ve taken, the instructor said that a film gets made three times: once when you write it, then when you shoot it, and finally when you edit it. Throughout the shoot, A kept thinking out loud about how to edit the story altogether. I didn’t envy her that, having to switch back and forth from director and editor.
On the second day of shooting while we were finishing up lunch, I looked at A and asked if filming in her house was everything she thought it be. Her nonverbal reaction, which ran from exasperation to optimistic smile, was something I wish I’d captured on film. Her practical answer saw the value of saving location fees. Another thing I wished I could have captured on audio: the other producer/director, C, commanding “Quiet on set!” Up until then, I’d never experienced her voice hitting the back walls.
The second day of shooting began outside, adding to the challenge.
Our location was near traffic and in the flight path of several planes/jets. I helped solve one challenge that day.
I’d noticed on the first day that a tablet, which was linked to the DP’s camera via an app, had to either be held or lie on some inconvenient surface. My solution? I removed all the painting paraphernalia from my music stand, which has not hardly had sheet music on it since a friend had gifted it to me years ago. Now I can add another nonmusical item to the list of things that have rested on that music stand.
Ever since I was offered the position of “Sound Shadow,” I wanted to illustrate it as a superhero. The moment I can use as inspiration occurred on the second day shooting while we were outside.
Our lead actress lost an earring. At one point, a handful of people were looking for it. Then, just the lead actress and another actress who had been in a scene with her were on their hands and knees still looking for the earring. My attention was on the shoot nearby, but from my peripheral vision, I saw them searching for the lost earring in the same patch of ground as if conducting an archeological dig. I carefully walked over, not wanting to accidentally step on it. Once the lead actress showed me what the earring looked like, I looked at the patch of ground in front of the chair where she’d sat, and squatted to examine the ground closer.
“Don’t hate me, but…” I held up the earring and handed it to the lead actress.
That’s precisely the types of wrongs that The Sound Shadow rights–small scale, huge sentimental value. Like a mysterious superhero, regardless of magnitude, I drove back to my lair once the shoot was over.
Never have I been able to combine a pseudo-holiday like Valentine’s Day with something far more serious and precious such as voting.
As a matter of fact, I’m not worried about whether I’d ever fall in love again. At the rate this country is going, I’m increasingly concerned if the last time I vote will be the last time I’m able. Actually, voting early elevated the holiday for me. I thought the only thing I would do was my usual grocery shopping on a Monday.
The second best thing I did was to text this picture and a message to friends, reminding them that early voting had begun. I even sent that text to various family for whom early voting on Valentine’s Day wasn’t a thing. It’s the spirit of the situation. I have the greatest love of exercising my voting rights and doing my civic duty.
Half the reason I attended this event was to dress up for it.
Given the lack of motivation I had to put a costume together for Halloween, I redoubled my costume effort for this holiday party. At least I had a theme, a place to go, and I already knew enough people to feel comfortable if I didn’t really want to be sociable.
I didn’t have to worry about that, though.
The crowd was small enough not to overwhelm, but big enough to be interesting. Since we were all creatives at varying points in our career, there was no shortage of wonderful conversations. I circulated around the room, even striking up a conversation with two other women after I asked them to pose with me because I liked their attire.
One Christmas miracle: I won a raffle prize!
I’d laughed at myself while writing my name on the slip of paper. After all, I infamously didn’t win one of the 14 raffle prizes when there were 15 of us at a workshop years ago. The joke was on me at this event. As soon as they handed me the prize, I started thinking of which costume my golden purse would accompany.
One of the first friends I made when I moved to Austin in 2009, started a standing annual date with me to do the East Austin Studio Tour. The only thing that interrupted our touring was the pandemic in 2020, but fortunately we resumed our date this year.
Along our way, we witnessed contemporary history integrated along the art tour.
In the backyard of a historic house that had been converted into an art studio, visitors were invited to paint on a long rectangular canvas, anchored on a fence.
By the time we arrived, only spaces that fit in the palm of my hand were available. A thin brush and magenta and deep blue paint called to me. One thing that has never failed me: a swirling spiral, which never quite manifests as I originally intend. Even so, that motion brings me joy. Given time, the motion usually creates something that I like to call “The Eye of God,” which stares back at me. If one views either the magenta or the blue, one can see the separate eyes. Once I completed the pair of eyes, only then did I notice the bold red streak that it sits upon.
While strolling from one studio to another, we came across a bit of nostalgia.
I asked my friend to check it out. It was purely decorative. Considering how much most of us are on our phones, some to the point of addiction, this was a throwback to a time when we weren’t so available. A phone was merely a means of communication. It’s interesting to note that now we have so many different means of communication, one would incorrectly assume that no one would ever be out of touch or lonely. It’s far too much.
The best part about touring is hanging out with a longtime friend out in the fresh air, being inspired by other people’s creativity.
I’m not into dumpster diving…especially with this pandemic business going on, but I’m all about picking up gently used furniture that is dumpster-adjacent.
Hence, our new circular dining table. As I strolled around the apartment complex on a beautiful Sunday afternoon and talked with one of my sisters, I saw it.
I fast walked back to the apartment to get my car and ask my roommate to assist me with retrieving the table. All I can say is thank goodness I have a hatchback. We put the table into the car, legs first, which my roommate held onto since we couldn’t close the hatch. I drove slowly, avoiding speed bumps.
Now one of the upsides of the being in a pandemic is that I had plenty of disinfectant wipes to clean the table off before bringing it into our apartment. I’d had a card table for a dining table for over ten years. I’m sure part of my fascination with the preowned table has to do with being sequestered for nearly two years. Yet, the energy in that corner of this tiny apartment has been changed.
After we positioned it, I announced, “We’re going to have a shot party on Friday!” Didn’t even have to check my schedule or ask my roommate about hers. When I texted a picture of the table to some friends along with the impending shot party, one friend immediately invited herself.
My roommate had her drink together precisely at 5:01.
I had some other running around the apartment to do. As soon as I got off from work, which I do from home, I had a 15-minute workout on my vibration plate. Then I set the party table.
For my drink, I googled something like “fall shots” and landed on a recipe that included fresh ginger, sparkling apple cider, apple brandy, honey, with fresh mint garnish.
I’d bought a nice-sized piece of ginger for another drink recipe from Mom: whole cloves, a few sticks of cinnamon and chopped ginger. I brought all that to a rolling boil, then let it steep until it cooled. Turned out very strong but still drinkable.
Good thing too. That healthy drink made a delicious mixer for the alcohol I added to make my fall cocktail. Why mix in only ginger when you can have cinnamon and cloves as well?
Although I called it a “shots party,” let’s face it, I didn’t do shots when I was a cute age to do it, so I surely wouldn’t start that up as a newly minted middle aged woman.
I sipped my cocktail with a throw-together meal my roommate and I put together: cauliflower crusted supreme pizza with a biscuit, baked asparagus and pork ribs. OK, so my only contribute was the pizza. Then again, I spotted the table and planned the party. Great thing I don’t have to do everything.
As usual, I cast my vote in person on the first day of early voting.
I worried that I’d have to wait in line with the other people just getting off work around that time. Silly rabbit! No one but other very nerdy voters booked it to the polls on the first day they were open to vote on bonds and proposals.
Nonetheless, I perform my civic duty as soon as I’m able to, no matter how seemingly trivial the election. After all, I want to have a say in the community in which I live. Plus, I wanted to sport my sweet “I Voted” sticker as I shopped for groceries afterwards.
More importantly, I texted my photo to several friends to remind them that early voting had begun, knowing that about half of them wouldn’t even bother, but for the half who would, totally worth it. In this current climate of voter restrictions, who knows how many elections I have before the restrictions take me back to the 60s?
When a member of my creative writing group suggested we attend a quirky poolside talent show at an iconic motel, I jumped on the opportunity.
In real life, I wouldn’t have ever paid such a ticket price, parking fee, and lord don’t get me started on that overpriced watered down allegedly tequila-based drink I ordered before the show. All I can say is, I’m glad I took a picture of the provisional poolside bar as a shortcut to telling my friend what the bar offered. This picture at least proves the appearance of alcohol even if there was no evidence in my cocktail.
Nonetheless, very little could spoil this picturesque evening.
I even slathered on the Skin So Soft just in case climate change hadn’t killed off all the mosquitoes.
Although the host and judges were part of an improv troupe, the entire show seemed improvised. Not a single performer played it straight, which made me wonder how they curated the acts.
The synchronized swimmers performed first.
They achieved synchronicity more by the power of suggestion than actual timing.
Their stilted moves, along with their stiffly serious facial expressions, captivated us all.
They worked the crowd both in and around the pool.
Then the most bizarre talent on the scene did their thing.
As loosely as I used the phrase “synchronized swimming,” this performance I’d characterize as “burlesque.”
They removed the outer frumpy masculine-appearing layers, revealing the fight between bra and breasts.
They removed the outer frumpy masculine-appearing layers, revealing the fight between bra and breasts.
When as many layers that could be legally removed were finally stripped away, they jumped into the pool.
Another performance I’ll call “Elvis-flavored.”
When he first came on the scene prior to the music playing, I had a 50-50 chance of guessing correctly: Roy Orbison or Elvis. Then the Elvis medley came on, I think. It was definitely Elvis. Don’t remember whether it was one song or a few.
Next up: light sticks guy.
Or was it lit batons man? Either way, I was more amazed by the lit sticks, especially the illusion of geometric patterns as they moved swiftly through space.
Followed by a fire dancer.
Who ended up jumping in the pool after a fire hoop twirl gone wrong. That spontaneous pool dive was one of my favorite parts of the show. The sheer spontaneity of following her creative bread and butter.
After all was said and done, I spent around $80 for the evening. My cheap ass normally wouldn’t have spent that much on an outing. However, times have changed. The last time I’d hung out, I’d had a different job and hadn’t yet taken my first data science class. A lot can happen in nearly four months. So, I figure if I only drop about $80 every four months, that’s not too bad.
Never before have I used a birthday to make a conscious effort to improve the quality of my life. The kind of changes that most people make around New Year’s, but then again, I’ve never lived through a pandemic either. Going on two years of being sequestered. Now a combination of middle age bulge and pandemic pounds are literally weighing me down.
I’m not even trying to be girlie here. Recently, a man had a heart attack and couldn’t find a hospital to admit him. He died because so many COVID patients crowded him out. I cannot say that my recent lifestyle change will prevent a heart attack, but it’s better than sitting around and seeing how far and fast my ass can spread.
As much as I like my new job, I’ve sat on my ass for 8 hours a day. A full-time desk job managed to change my body faster than I imagined. I’m not at the place yet where I believe “sitting is the new smoking.” Then again, I’m not going to wait until my excessive sitting catches up to smoking levels.
Adopting a new exercise routine wasn’t too hard, courtesy of the pandemic. My active schedule has been wiped clean, so breaking up my online bingewatching when not asleep or at work is a good thing. Plus, it gives me something new and interesting to think about.
My eggbeater kick has come along nicely. I still can’t quite do it, but the overall pool workout is what I focus on while the weather permits. I only have a few more weeks until the temperature drops or the rainy season begins.
Just in time to level up on my vibration plate. I’ve used that magic machine twice a day during the week and once a day on the weekend. The first thing I noticed when I started using it was how good my joints felt. After about two or three days, I discovered how it helps “detoxification.”
I’ve not had a bowel movement like that since being in the yoga hot room before the plague. Thanks to a mostly healthy diet and exercising on a regular basis, I don’t experience constipation. But this vibration plate, just like Bikram yoga, causes “enhanced” bowel movements.
Call me crude. I can’t help thinking that this is one of the few cases where getting more shit is a good thing.
