It's still tomato season
I keep waiting for a quiet moment to send a newsletter. As if there will be a quiet moment when U.S./world events don’t eclipse my small personal struggles.
What do I have to report, even?
R and I had planned to shoot a short this fall. I wrote a great script, if I may toot. It felt inspiring to embrace the constraints of the pandemic. Two characters, mostly outdoor locations, a remote setting where we could sequester cast and crew. The beginnings of a story that could be fleshed out into a feature. Gahd I was so eager to MAKE SOMETHING. But fire in the Eastern Sierras, where we'd scouted—fire all over California really—raised a thick black cloud over our shooting schedule that stubbornly hung there.
Someone I trust suggested, why not write the full-length version now? Why sink all that time and effort (and money) into a short? And this person has offered to help develop and produce it. So. That's what I'm working on. My goal is to shoot in March, lord willing and the crick don't rise or whatever. Anything could happen!!
December will mark a year since since I've been gainfully employed. A few jobs are starting to pop up, we'll see, the industry may be getting back up and running. But it seems just as likely that everything shuts down again.
My weeks (upon weeks upon weeks) are anchored by the farmer’s market. Atwater on Sundays, for bread and “winter mix” and baby arugula, Silver Lake on Tuesday or Saturday for Ha’s apples. And tomatoes. Always tomatoes. We’ve had beautiful, locally grown heirlooms since March. I love them, so I’m not complaining, but... This feels unusual to me. Either it’s global warming or the farmers are somehow stepping up to meet demand or, I dunno, I’m losing my mind. d) All of the above?
We’re finally getting chilly evenings in L.A. I pulled out a big stripy sweater the other night and thought, oh yeah, I was wearing this when we first went on lockdown. Wild. It was chilly then, and look it’s come around again.
And yet. It's still tomato season.
xoxxx. Please vote.
What do I have to report, even?
R and I had planned to shoot a short this fall. I wrote a great script, if I may toot. It felt inspiring to embrace the constraints of the pandemic. Two characters, mostly outdoor locations, a remote setting where we could sequester cast and crew. The beginnings of a story that could be fleshed out into a feature. Gahd I was so eager to MAKE SOMETHING. But fire in the Eastern Sierras, where we'd scouted—fire all over California really—raised a thick black cloud over our shooting schedule that stubbornly hung there.
Someone I trust suggested, why not write the full-length version now? Why sink all that time and effort (and money) into a short? And this person has offered to help develop and produce it. So. That's what I'm working on. My goal is to shoot in March, lord willing and the crick don't rise or whatever. Anything could happen!!
December will mark a year since since I've been gainfully employed. A few jobs are starting to pop up, we'll see, the industry may be getting back up and running. But it seems just as likely that everything shuts down again.
My weeks (upon weeks upon weeks) are anchored by the farmer’s market. Atwater on Sundays, for bread and “winter mix” and baby arugula, Silver Lake on Tuesday or Saturday for Ha’s apples. And tomatoes. Always tomatoes. We’ve had beautiful, locally grown heirlooms since March. I love them, so I’m not complaining, but... This feels unusual to me. Either it’s global warming or the farmers are somehow stepping up to meet demand or, I dunno, I’m losing my mind. d) All of the above?
We’re finally getting chilly evenings in L.A. I pulled out a big stripy sweater the other night and thought, oh yeah, I was wearing this when we first went on lockdown. Wild. It was chilly then, and look it’s come around again.
And yet. It's still tomato season.
xoxxx. Please vote.
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