Friday, February 26, 2010

NYPD Smackdown

A funny thing happened at work on Sunday....

First, I pulled the alarm. I was opening that day, and seemed to have mixed up the numbers on the code. At 10:30am it was pretty jarring to experience blaring sirens and flashing lights, but I remained calm (or half-asleep, I couldn't tell) as I called the receptionist. She told me the right code and the jarring ear-rape ceased. "I'm not sure, but the police might be coming," she said.

I should hope so. This is a building with a shit ton of computer equipment, and there's a 24 hour guard right downstairs. Luckily she saw me come in, but, it's NYC...why wouldn't they come? It was also Sunday morning, and dealing with police seemed like the worst thing to start off a week with.

Slightly less droopy-eyed, I bided my time throwing out the stale donuts and putrid coffee from the day before. A rep from the alarm company walked in with a knowing look of empathy. I put my tail between my legs and signed the paper that said "Yes, you guys responded to the alarm, even though it was not a burglar, but a bleary-eyed 24 year old who is apparently dyslexic."

As my crew started filtering in and complaining about the lack of coffee, I felt more at ease and laughed at the incident with some of them. I was already sitting down at my computer (on the couch in an edit suite, which is the location of my ever-changing desk) when I hear an unfamiliar voice outside.

Me, being a high strung producer type, RUSH out from the room,
behind a frosted wall panel,
towards the front office,
(don't want people to get freaked out by police in the workplace at 11am),
and SKIIIIIID to a stop..
right behind a cop.
Who then jumps,
swivels like a top,
and strikes a jujitsu pose like he's going to take me down.

Luckily he realized that I was only a lanky white girl with Lisa Loeb glasses before he could pounce on me (which would have been an even better story). He just managed to exhale a, "You scared the shit out of me."

Contrary to shitting my pants, I was actually quite impressed by the rather short and stocky cop's stellar reflexes. If he had had his pepper spray out I would have been screwed.

This is an accurate reenactment.

I also found out that only minutes before, they had been creeping into the front area, bewildered by the TV playing "Spirited Away" and the lights all on, wondering where everyone was. As animator, Anthony, (who happened to be wearing stripes and a beanie cap, and is also Hispanic), was walking to the kitchen, he saw Mr. Stocky Cop edging towards him with a gun pointed straight at his chest.

We all concluded that this would have been the shittiest way to die.

Luckily we were all able to laugh it off after the cops left, especially after they asked us if our office was a karaoke place. Apparently, having an audio studio and walls painted neon green gives people the notion that we deal with bad singers and alcohol.

At least we can count on our city's best for their brawn. And, that you should never sneak up on a cop. Always a lesson learned.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Trip Down Memory Lane

Excerpt from my travel blog
The Country Bandit.....

This blog is really a personal journey, if anything: remembering the good, the bad & the ugly of all the places I've been and the people I've met....and some I wish to forget.

Nevertheless, there's something therapeutic about digging deep into the past and reliving moments; whether it's through photos, mementos, or letters. I have a habit of not only saving everything and anything - from grocery lists to childhood drawings to letters from friends - but also, of taking them out from their dusty closet boxes to reminisce whenever I feel the urge to remember a past that I have outgrown, yet possibly never let go of.

Maybe this will be my way of letting go. Or perhaps, it is just another exploration as I venture into the future.

And, if by some slim chance you choose to accompany me on this lampoon journey, just remember: you asked for it.

Below is merely a glimpse of what I've kept hidden away after
all these years. Don't know how old I was when I made these, but I must have been young. When I was a kid, I was lucky enough to have been able to take a bunch of trips, mostly with my Aunt Diane and Uncle John.

One day, enamored with my travel achievements, I began to make "luggage stickers" of all the places I had visited....some more than once. If only I knew how many places I was yet to see.....

My Uncle Jerry (also my godfather) and Aunt Debbie lived here for many years. He worked for Kodak. was always my fave, and probably always will be. Grandma lived in Brooklyn until she moved to....

..."Stinky" Staten Island. When I was younger, the garbage dump was still going odor.
Philadelphia (yeah, yeah, I know it's spelled wrong above.) Philly is home to a Zoo, Sesame Place, great museums, and yummy cheese steaks.

I've been to the Poconos so many times, I couldn't even keep track if I tried. Though I never went canoeing, I did go to Shenandoah's Water Park.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Kiki Dunst Turning Japanese

Not really sure what to think about this....

It might be wise to share a few fun facts so that this makes a bit more sense (?)....
  • Kirsten Dunst played the voice role of "Kiki" in Kiki's Delivery Service (Hayao Miyazaki)
  • She was also rumored to be playing the role of Sailor Moon in the live action movie (Yes. I am that nerd. Don't judge; Sailor Moon rocks my knee-high schoolgirl socks.)
  • Takashi Murakami is an acclaimed Japanese artist. What decent otaku wouldn't want to work with him?
I have perhaps alienated many by just publicly proclaiming my knowledge (and it's true, love) of J-Pop culture to my readers (readers? I haz them...?)...but I cannot hide my guilty pleasures.

If Tokyo is anything like what's in this video (minus the crazy hentai posters....which are slightly disturbing), then sign me up. I also pre-request the rainbow tulle skirt that Kiki wears.

The fact that my brother is only 19 and has already visited Japan, whilst I remain drooling in America, is blasphemy.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I've Created A Monster

You may have noticed that Goy Vey has went under the knife and changed its look from "This-Is-Obviously-a-Blogger-Template" to "This-Is-a-Slightly-Better-Template-That-May-Not-Be-As-Common-and-I've-Obviously-Invested-Some-Time-In."

I was tired of looking at my blog and realizing that it had nothing interesting about it except for my wonderful writing, the pun-tastic title and my big-nosed mug on the left. It needed some personalization, as you can see from my stream-of-consciousness banner. (Think of them as all my personalities if you will, battling it out inside my mind, forcing me to constantly ask...WHAT is my real identity?? WHAT IS IT? ::pants, out of breath::)

I admit it was a little daunting to take on HTML. I've never done it and I really still not sure how. But I'm good at three things: researching, process of elimination, and of course, the copy and paste function.

Now for the exciting part: somehow I figured out how to add links - many links! a menagerie of links! - to my home page so you may be directed to my many other blogs of interest, including my reel (which is really just my works organized in blog posts........sssshh.)

Also, at the top there is the infamous About Me page, as well as some (get ready for this) a link to MORE Links, which breaks it all down for ya, making it easier for those to stalk me.

Check out the links. Use 'em. Wear 'em out.

In the meantime I will be playing catch up on all the posts I should have been writing whilst engaging in some selfish blog beautification.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Oh, Vanity.

Just added a new "About Me" page above!
(I know you guys are just dying to know who this unkosher girl is.)

How's that for a short post.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

To Be Brief, or Not to Be Brief

I will try to curtail this posting of the usual lengths, so as not to scare the faint of reading away.

Yes, I am talking to you! Thou who has not the time nor the desire to read through such wordy entries, which require so many tiresome scrolls and the squinting of red, bleary eyes into the throbbing, epileptic interlacing of thine computer screen.

Oh, how I cry for thee.

And I do. It's a lot to ask someone to read through my rants each day, pretending to give a hootenanny about my odd, childlike obsessions and musings on humdrum life, when there are many other non-Jewish girls out there, living in NYC and thinking that their day-to-day thoughts are just as worthy of being read. I'll be the first to admit that mine is not a remarkable status.

This blog (among my others - I could never do anything in small doses) was created for the purpose of....
a.)....having a creative outlet that is both easily accessible and less intimidating than putting a pen to paper
b.)....keeping memories from fading from my aging mind
c.)....putting a fire under my ass - the best way to get things done is to threaten oneself with potential public failure.
However, I would be remiss to not admit that of those three reasons, there is a wee little part of my humble mind that would love for other people to be reading. To enjoy. To show that, perhaps? This might stem from a deeply seeded unfulfilled childhood need for self-worth, OR, it could just be that I'd like to have people that find some worth in my writing, aside from my selfish reasons. If you'd like to leave a thought or share that you've read, it just makes me smile a little extra.

But I could never take advantage of this ability to share my thoughts with others to enforce my writing upon then. Do with it what you will. Take it or leave it.

And that said, for those of you who insist that what I write is too much for you to spend your time reading. Well...thou art lazy. But I can't hold it against you. I'm just not going to be changing my habits anytime soon.

Or should I? That is the question: do I forsake my long-winded nature to appeal to the masses? Or do I stay true to my words and blow a raspberry into the faces of those who'd rather not give me the time of day?

To whomever is out there, audience/loyal reader/avid writers/passing curious-eur.....if there is indeed anyone (let's not be cocky and presume here, folks) you come to the end of this not-so brief read.......what is your opinion on this question of brevity?

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Delusions of Grandeur

In March 2008, I visited Los Angeles for the first time to interview people for an A&E Biography on Winona Ryder. I was extremely excited. I'd never been to the West Coast, and I was going to finally see the legendary Hollywood! The Film Frontier! City of Dreams! I am not a stranger to naivety, but I was perplexed by what I actually found. The city was glum, overcast and rainy, with a chill in the air, which certainly didn't help. Driving around, it felt like a ghost town: no one was out walking, the buildings boxy and dull. The colors were bright but seemed muted by loneliness, as if we were making our way through a vast, abandoned movie set.

The Kodak theater had already begun to set up for the Oscar ceremony. Tents and red carpet lined the street. But there was no excitement, no kinetic energy, no passion. I felt as if I was playing a game, that this wasn't really Hollywood, we were just pretending it was. I could walk up to the and push over building facade like a piece of cardboard. And in my eyes, that's all that Hollywood seemed to be: a dying illusion.


Where is everybody?
I have taken a bite out of the Oscar noms [nom noms].

Normally I would be very excited about the Oscars, but over the years, my anticipation has dwindled substantially. Like every rare-yet-memorable tradition (Christmas, birthdays, lunch at McDonald's), the Oscars were a welcomed treat in my family. At least, for my mom and I, it was our Super Bowl. It was the only time of the year that....
a.) we were allowed to stay up until 2am
b.) total control of the remote was relinquished to us from dad (and thus no skipping through commercials!)
c.) we could eat entire cans of pringles and make cheese nachos, whilst on the couch, whilst in pajamas...
..and lastly, that I could immerse myself in the glitz and wonder of Hollywood. Hilarious things happened at the Oscars, things that (before the internet world) you simply couldn't miss seeing firsthand. Billy Crystal as Luke Skywalker! Whoopi as the Queen of England! Roberto Benigni jumps over chairs to accept Oscar!

By age 9 I was convinced that I could become history's youngest Oscar host. I would arrive in one of our crappy Stromberg fixer uppers on wheels, wearing an exclusive TJ Maxx ensemble. James Earl Jones would come out with a bunch of yellow pages to prop me up high enough for all to see. (Ah, a child's humor.)

But it wasn't just the hype and the entertainment value of the Oscars that left a kid like me in awe. I just loved movies. My parents had brought me up on a healthy diet of Bugs Bunny & The Twilight Zone, cartoons like Animaniacs & The Simpsons, which parodied some of the greatest films ever made. Even though I hadn't seen most of these classics, I already knew them so well somehow. Granted, I had a long way to go. But Spielberg, Burton, Lucas and Orson Welles were common vocabulary during my childhood . I worshiped them. They did what I longed to do; write amazing stories, envision them onscreen, and convey that vision to the world.

However, what was hidden to me were the politics of the whole biz. The fact that this was a film "industry", and that not everything was as magical and wondrous as it appeared. Cynical as it may sound, I'm sure everyone can agree that money runs the show. And while many are often rewarded for creativity and filmmaking prowess by the Academy, there always seems to be a hidden agenda as well. I knew about Spielberg and Burton for a reason. And there were many other movies, other directors, other writers, completely other realms of film that I had not even begun to explore.

Now that I'm older (though not exactly wiser), and have attended a film school divided amongst the pretentious (who think that the Oscars are simply a joke, a dog-and-pony show for manufacturings of the industry mill), the enthusiasts (for which Spielberg, Scorsese and all epic filmmakers reign), and those who are in-between/uncertain/tolerant.

I'm not sure what category I fell into, since all of these new realizations scared the shit out of my naive mind. I just wanted to make movies...or so I thought. What did becoming a filmmaker mean?! Would I have to sell out? Or would I have to give up my love for those movies that were now deemed "cliche"? I was afraid that I would never be able to honestly like a film again. I would be labeled! classified! ridiculed!

As a child, I thought everyone equally respected movies; all movies. I thought celebrities were figures of prominence, success. I believed that the union of moving image and music and performance was an art form - was a superior art form - that when experienced could evoke joy, resolve conflict, bring people together, move them to tears. I wanted to be a part of that, share in that moment of creation and be responsible for changing people's view of the world.

Now, I find myself confronted by a big brick wall. On the other side, a machine that is fueled by money, fame and thousand of egos. How can one scale this wall? And once you do, how can you be sure that you're doing it not out of a delusional hunger for fame and acceptance, but from the sincere passion to create something of meaning?

Monday, February 1, 2010

Weekend Enlightenments (or "It's About Damn Time Ya Blogged!")

Lots of things happened this weekend. And since I'm too far behind on my blog in general, (and I very much enjoy lists) I will quickly run through the highlights, in no particular order, and possibly provide an explanation when I deem it necessary:

Amazing Mexican food at Taco Chulo in Williamsburg
Let it be known that I am not a taco fan: at least not a taco that has anything more than the stapled meat, cheese and tortilla ala powdered flavoring sauce. But my steak quesadilla combo, with Chihuahua cheese & onions ($14) came with an amazingly spicy tortilla soup (better than chicken noodle!) and a sweet, tomato salsa (I don't even like tomatoes!)
Of course, the Mexican hot chocolate aperitif won me over from the very start.

The realization of two new great memoir title ideas:
- "Sorry for My Greasy Napkin"
- "I Opened My Mouth and My Teeth Got Cold"

Pretty sure the movie "The Happening" is tongue-in-cheek.
I know Mark Walberg is a bad actor....but here is no way that he could be THAT bad without some purpose. (Either I over- or under-estimate his potential.) Those fishbowl perspective shots, the ridiculousness of the story, and the hilarity of the dialogue are very telling of an albeit forced parody, not just a "horrible movie."
Did that make it more more enjoyable, and hence good? Well I did laugh my ass off. (C'mon, that crazy woman at the end had so many good one liners, ie; "Why are you eyeing my lemon drink?").
I just wonder if Shyamalan really meant to pull our leg.

NES Games had awesome music.
The game "NARC" let's you blow up drug dealers, limbs flying everywhere, whilst you listen to this awesome music. Other than that, I still maintain that after 15 minutes, I lose all interesting in playing any video game.

John Goodman was in "C.H.U.D." ('84)!
(Presumed eaten by cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers on Kenmare & Lafayette, which still has the same small diner marquee, now a Mexican food hotspot.) Daniel Stern and John Heard also acted alongside eachother, then were reunited in Home Alone. Great film to see the grimy evidence of SOHO before its fashion gentrification - I feel like this should be a double feature alongside Street Trash.
Another little nipplet of knowledge: (you'll understand my shitty pun in a second...) On the DVD Extras menu, click on the flashing cursors over the creature's eyes and you'll get to see the shower scene in all its topless glory. Don't judge; everyone enjoys boobs.

Ft. Greene has KICK ASS apartments!
Slanted roofs! Turrets! Towers! Bay windows!
Williamsburg has lots of condos.......with no one in them.

Something in the world of Chat 'n' Chew has cha-changed....
Their fries are no longer seasoned. They serve brunch (or did they always? I never do get outdoors by 12pm), and they have a new dessert fridge...not that I'm complaining that they have more room for cake. And the mac 'n' cheese is still delectable and gut-busting.
What will I miss most? The cute 50's-ish, retro diner paraphernalia decor. No more decrepit tin Coca-Cola signs or vintage toasters...where have they gone?! And more importantly, where can I buy them?

John Carpenter's student film "Dark Star" is sort of boring.
Funny? Sometimes. The giant beach ball alien was the best part, but alas, deflated early on.
However, I bet as a student film it was pretty awesome, considering the special effects used to recreate the 2001-esque setting.

They may have changed Domino's pizza sauce, but their cheesy bread still rocks.
And in case you're wondering this is the same day of the mac 'n' cheese. Hence, my weekend cheesy-carb diet.

Isabella Rossellini is in "Death Becomes Her." And she is HOT.
Something I probably didn't quite get at age 10 while watching it on Channel 11's Sunday Night Movie.

After cleaning my closet out for the first time in 5 years, I was able to stuff 6 large shopping bags full of unwanted/never worn/worn out/shrunken clothing away from my wardrobe forever.
Beacon's Closet credit price: $12.50.

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