Footprints?

So I'm alone at my cabin till my family comes up on tomorrow, and I've been having a fun time putting around and getting stuff clean. That is, until I woke up this morning and saw footprints around the house. Needless to say, I was slightly creeped out. I mean, there are plenty of innocent reasons they could be there, like a neighbor chasing a runaway pet or some such. Why is it that my mind immediately jumps to the conclusion that it's a SCARY PERSON DETERMINED TO HURT ME?

I guess I'm just paranoid like that. I am just being paranoid right? RIGHT?

Sigh, I'm gonna go play some Sims and lock myself in tight tonight.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Cole and I finished rough drafts of two scripts today, our pilot and a spec script for Pushing Daisies. These projects both still require a TON of work, but it's really satisfying to at least have a rough draft done. We've had good days and bad days, but now, no matter what happens, we'll have something to show for our time up here.

I'm still trying to decide whether or not to post any of our writing up here. At this point, it's probably still too rough, but maybe in the future. It would be nice to get some feedback.

But yeah. Cole and I are ballers. Or is it Ballahs? I should really stop trying to type like this, it's definitely not my forte...

In answer to the question: "What the hell are you doing?"

I decided it's time to face my demons and actually write about what I'm doing with my life. The truthful answer is that I don't really know, and that I've spent the last few months trying to figure it out.

After graduating, I sort of took the same path as everyone else. I got a summer job, and moved into a house with four friends. Everything was pretty OK - I had enough money to pay the bills but not much else. I was working as a tutor at a college prep company, and while I liked some of the classes (mainly the ones with jr. high instead of high school kids) I absolutely HATED teaching SAT prep. Something about the soulless drilling of vocabulary and grammar really got to me, and I felt like I was sort of wasting my time and theirs. I mean, in all honesty, there's only so much you can teach a non-native English speaker in a few months to try and prep them for the SATs. Needless to say, I was not having the best time.

So I was floating, not really happy with what I was doing, but unable to think of anything better. I could move to LA and try to break into the industry, but I really don't like LA all that much as a city. I could keep teaching SAT prep, and endure the painful feeling that someone was dripping acid onto my inner organs. Or I could think of something else.

Dave came up with the idea originally. We were visiting my grandparent's cabin in the woods, and he recommended coming up here and getting some writing done. I sort of dismissed the idea as impossible, but the more I thought about it, the better it sounded. I looked around and found an online job editing essays that I could do anywhere with an internet connection. It pays between 15-20 bucks an hour, and I can basically work when and however long I like.

I knew that I needed structure, though, and a definite kick in the butt to get started. I had tried to write over the summer, but it was sort of a failure. I have a little bit of trouble self motivating, and I needed someone to help get me on the right path. I called Cole, who had been off having an adventure in the big apple, and low and behold, he had no idea what to do with his fall either. Eureka!

So we came up here, a little later than planned, and we got to work. It's not always easy. Some days we're really productive and we write multiple scenes for our screenplays. Others, we finish a single essay editing assignment and call it a day.

I'm still a little torn about the whole experience, partly because of the mixed responses I've gotten from friends and family. Some think we're really doing something unique and challenging, something that will hopefully get us on the right path to ultimately finding an agent and getting our work to the studios or publishers. Others think we're just escaping from reality and not facing up to getting a real job with medical insurance and stability.

Honestly, I don't always know who to agree with. Don't think I don't ask myself what the hell I'm doing - believe me, I do all the time. Sure I'm sort of avoiding finding a real job, or really buckling down and trying to break into the industry. But at the same time, I'm getting stuff done up here. I've applied for film school, made some money through my online job, and by the time Christmas rolls around, Cole and I will have completed two rough scripts, one pilot and one spec script.

I'm happy, I've lost weight, and I'm doing something I love every single day. It really doesn't get much better than that.

Tis the season

Nothing like this Japanese Christmas card to get you in the mood. Come on everybody! Let's kinly wrap giftings of friend joyful joy. The jesus, uh, I mean Santa, will come deliver us, no, deliver presents to...I just don't know any more...

In other news, I am re-reobsessed with Sims 2 now. Dangit.

Snowshoes

As you know, snow has finally arrived at the cabin. Yesterday I made the trek down to the local store to get some milk. It was unfortunately shut down, but I enjoyed the walk nonetheless. The only drawback was that my inadequate running shoes were slipping and sliding everywhere.

I figured I would just wait until Christmas when my family visits and brings snowshoes with them. But when I talked to Mom and Pitza last night, they suggested I simply borrow my grandmother's shoes. Duh. We wear the same size, why didn't I think of that?

This morning I rummage through Pitzas closet and find a nice pair of little galoshes. I try them on and they're perfect. "Great," I think "problem solved." But then I glimpse, at the back of the closet, a beautiful pair of fur lined winter boots. Nice boots. Boots that scream - "I'd keep your feet warm hiking up Everest!"

Unable to resist, I grab them and bring them out. I open up the tops of the shoes, move my foot towards the opening, and glimpse, at the very bottom, little scraps of kleenex. "Now why would she stuff the toes?" I think. Then I remember. The little shredded Kleenex we found in Cole's room, the little skittering figures in the garage, the mouse traps set up all over the house.

I don't think I've ever moved that quickly in my life. The boots were chucked out in the snow so fast, the mice are probably still dizzy. I have no idea if they're still in there, or if it was an old nest. All I know is I'm not touching those boots until I see little mousy footprints leading away from them. Or, you know, until Cole wakes up and checks them for me.

I'm just glad all my toes are still intact.

Snowing!

It finally started snowing up here! And I can't even begin to describe how happy that makes me. I don't know how long it will last, or if it will even stick for long, but it is beautiful and peaceful, and makes me feel that everything is going to turn out just fine.

It also seems like a good time to say a few things about my Grandfather. Papa passed away a few months ago after a battle with cancer. It was one of the hardest things my family and I have ever been through. He was such a wonderful man, and he cared so much about his family and friends.

This cabin was one of his favorite places. Almost every year the family would spend either Thanksgiving or Christmas up here, all together. We'd drive up the steep (usually icy) driveway and he'd be at the top, chopping wood or clearing the driveway for us. I have so many warm family memories at this cabin, and the snow only makes me think about them even more.

My family's getting by, although I still worry about Pitza, my grandmother. I know she'll be OK, she's an incredibly strong woman, but I also know the holidays will be hard for her.

Still, I think the healing has begun a little for me. When I walk outside in the forest, or when I cook scrambled eggs in the morning, or when I look out the window at the snow, I feel happy and connected to him. This was his place, and I feel happy here.

I'm going to go now, and walk in the snow, and just enjoy being.

The cabin

Life at the cabin is pretty Idyllic. Since Cole and I both work online, we can wake up when we want, and work when we want. Our days are filled with writing and editing, which is pretty fun.

Right now, we're sitting in our respective places. They've become traditional. He's sitting on the long couch directly facing the TV with his feet propped on the coffee table (a faux pas he'd never get away with in my house). I'm lying on the smaller couch perpendicular to his, with a blanket pulled up and my laptop on my lap.

These days are just about perfect, filled with fires in the wood stove and long hours on the laptop. The main drawbacks are these: television, internet, and a nagging doubt about the whole endeavor. We've had to make a rule about no television until after sunset, but that resolution has sometimes been hard to maintain. Equally hard to resist is the alluring appeal of the Web, which sucks us in when, with the best intentions, we sit down to write our scenes. And finally, the doubt. Here we are, new Stanford graduates, and all our friends are off working full time or, you know, going to medical school or something. We'll be typing along happily when the doubt creeps in the backs of our minds, whispering "Hey, guess what? While you're up here brainstorming about Greek gods and editing essays, all your friends are ACTUALLY MAKING A DIFFERENCE! Or, you know, at least holding down real jobs."

And at that point, all we can do is shove the thought back down into a little mental box labeled fragile, listen to some more Christmas carols, and write another scene.

It's been a while

So I know I've been neglecting. A lot. I figure it's about time for another blogging blitz. Brief summary of the past few months (some things may be touched on in slightly more detail in the near future):

Graduated from College
Worked as a tutor for the summer
Visited Australia with my cousins
Grandfather passed away
Darpa Grand Challenge - Robotic car race
Trip to Oklahoma
Got an online job editing essays
Applied/Applying to various film schools

and finally:
Moved up to a cabin in the woods to write screenplays with my friend Cole.

As you may be able to tell, the past (cringe) eight months have been a bit of a roller coaster. The hardest part was definitely dealing with the death of my grandfather. He was an amazing man, and he really influenced all of my values. I will be posting soon about him, and about some of the other items on the list. I'm going to be making some big decisions soon, and moving in new directions, so I figure blogging may be the best way to vent about some of those choices and changes. At any rate, it feels good to look back at the past few months, and to be back in the blogosphere, at least for the moment.

The Plot

This basically sums up my life. As I get more and more stressed about job hunting, I begin to admire her calm collectedness in the face of that great abyss known as next year. But then again, at least my life deos have a superb cast, and that's saying something...

The moments that count

So I'm biking to class around 4:15, minding my own business, when I glance up and see something truly amazing. There, in front of me, is Mr. Bean riding on a segway with his nose in the air. OK, it may not ACTUALLY have been him, but it was his spitting image, an Indian doppelganger, and he just looked so pleased with himself. Nose in the air, cruising around Stanford campus without a care in the world. Knowing Mr. Bean, he probably ran into something or someone soon after i passed him, and had a spectacularly hilarious spill. But that one moment of pure, unadulterated smugness and contentment will stay with me. And yes I laughed at him. Out loud. Hope he didn't hear me.

No one outside of my circle of friends will probably read this blog, but in case some stranger swings by, I'd like to provide you with this insight into my subconscious. Here is a film a friend and I wrote, filmed , and produced for a campus movie competition. For some reason, my sense of humor closely resembles that of a 13 year old male. Who'd have thunk it? Anyway, here it is: How to Make a Classic

Please forgive the terrible quality - we had a week to film it, and very little clue what we were doing...

Pearls of wisdom

No, I don't feel like dancing when the old Joanna plays.

Life imitates art imitates life.

Corn chex get really soggy in milk almost immediately. It's definitely one of those snarfing cereals.

Bad Poetry

I'm slowly finishing up my English major, and one of the final requirements I'm fulfilling is a cretive poetry class. We don't really look at much traditional poetry (you know, Shakespeare, Frost, Spenser, etc.) Instead we focus on modern poetry, which in many ways is exactly the same as prose, except you get to ignore the laws of punctuation and you can divide the lines any way you want, usually at random. In spite of this poetry being pretty weird, and sometimes not very good, it's interesting to see the different types of poems that the other students come up with. Some of it has been surprisingly good. Poetry tends to get people to bare their inner thoughts, and I now know more inner thoughts about mothers and significant others than I ever wanted to. Still, it's nice to let loose and sort of write whatever the hell I feel like, and not have to worry about plot or character or anything. As you can imagine, what I write is pretty crappy, but at least I enjoy writing it.

Don't worry, I wont post any of it. You guys have much better things to do than read bad poetry. But I will say, even non-rhyming, free flow, touchy-feely poetry has its good side. Who knew?

Let's Give It A Shot

I'm not gonna lie, I've tried to keep up with blogs before. I always start them (with the best intentions of course) and post religiously for about a week. Then it degenerates quickly, and eventually I'm only posting when I'm very upset about something. But this time will be different, I have high hopes. Even if it's brief, and relatively meaningless, it would be nice to start something and stick with it.

As for the name, I am neither a pothead nor an alcoholic. Bud is my nickname, even though I'm a girl. And this Bud's for you.