f you, wolf camera.
On a shoot today and we needed an extra camera battery for the Canon 5D. The producer called the closest Wolf Camera at about 4:30, which was about a mile away from our location. “Yes, we have the battery,” they tell her. I drove down there, only to get the run-around. “It isn’t in the battery book,” he mused as he walked over to the antiquated computer system from 1985. He punched in the model – Canon 5D, Mark II. A slew of options came up, and he placed them on the counter before me while I called someone on set to verify. No, the battery I need is an E6. None of the options the guy has given me are anything close to an E6. “My boss called earlier and spoke with someone who said you guys carry it.” I said, wondering if the battery had been set aside somewhere. “Honestly, she spoke with our district manager, and he has no idea what we carry,” the clerk replies lamey. “I’ve never heard of the E6.” He saunters over to the battery book again and flips it open again. “I have an E3.” “Can you doublecheck for me?” I press, gesturing to a more modern-looking computer in the middle of the sales floor. The previous week, I went into a different Wolf Camera, completely ignorant to what battery my new Nikon D60 used. The kind sales clerk gladly checked for me on his personal cell phone, I bought the battery, and everyone was happy. But this guy – Mario, I think his name is – must be on salary and not commission, as his enthusiasm for being of any use is dwindling. After a quick glance at Ritz’s homepage, he’s had enough. “It doesn’t say on our website.” Not satisfied, I continue. “Can you check online? Google, or something?” “No, we don’t have internet in here,” he says, and hesitantly types in canon.com, which, surely enough, doesn’t load. And then, he loses all grasp of good customer service. “You can drive down to our West End store and see if they have one.” Yes, thanks, buddy. You’ve already given me the run-around, tried to get me to buy a battery that you were unsure of, and didn’t bother asking one of your coworkers for assistance. It’s 5pm rush hour traffic and your solution is to send me downtown? How about you call the other store and check for me? But whatever, I’ve had enough of this guy’s crap, and he’s had enough of me. He moves on to some elderly woman who’s got her eye on a Sony digital...
I’ve seen it all in a small town…
Regarding my previous post: I might be wrong about Obama. I hope I’m wrong. I have my beliefs, and all I can say is — we’ll see. But let’s all be friends… So, on a far lighter note. I’m at my parents’ home for a couple of days. I actually passed McCain’s tour bus on the ride home as he departed Blountville, but no matter. I also passed about 16 other tour buses– from just outside of Nashville all the way home. I wonder what that was all about. As I was saying — I’m home for a few days, in a town half an hour outside of the closest city. As we were sitting down to dinner, we heard a knock on the door. This alone is extremely uncommon for this area, as we are isolated in the midst of trees and forest.My dad answers the door. It turns out to be our neighbor’s son, who is probably 16 years old by now. I haven’t seen him for a good 10 years, and he’s grown up and out in all the ways a southern boy does. The entire family is extremely southern – the epitome of the term “local,” if you will. They have an eclectic mix of random crap in their yard – the old Bookmobile, a couple of broken lawnmowers, a rusted out truck, etc. Their collection of junk resembles Sanford and Son.My dad asks, “How can I help you?”The son says, “I was thinkin’, I hadn’t seen Laryssa in years.”At this point, I wander out from the kitchen into the living room and stare into the blank eyes of this boy’s friend who is also standing on our front porch. Fortunately, my dad standing in the doorway blocked my line of vision to the boy himself. “And?” My dad pressed.“I was wonderin’ how Laryssa turned out, what she was up to.”At this point I ducked into the corner of the living room before I could be spotted and feasibly recognized.“She’s down in Nashville. She lives in Tennessee now. I’ll tell her you stopped by.” My father said flatly, and shut the door. My parents then shooed me away from the windows until the boy and his friend had taken off down our driveway, unsuccessful in receiving my hand. What are the odds that he’d show up on one of the 10 nights a year I’m home? And my father summarized it well: “If you had asked me what the most bizarre event that could happen tonight would be… that WOULD NOT have been it.” He also said, “Tell Gunner you’re not allowed to come home...
a diamond in the rough and a jewel in dickson county
Yesterday was delightful. It didn’t begin that way, however — for the first time in my 21 years, my REM cycle took a rain check. 11:20pm I first laid down to bed in order to rise at 4:45am to get to work on time. And for whatever reason, I truly didn’t sleep a single wink. The rest of the day went quite the opposite. I got to work with a different production company–Taillight TV, specifically– a different director, different PAs, but the same crew. Knowing the crew and being familiar with the music video aura made the day more accommodating than intimidating, and being able to observe the workings of a different production team was insightful. I didn’t know the gaffer, but he took the time to teach me a quick way to wrap bandit (sp?), the insanely thick and heavy wires that run from the generator to the lights, thus further adding to my continuous process: Becoming a Knowledgeable PA. The video was one of the most fun to experience, as the majority of the day was spent filming muscle cars peeling out and turning donuts in a gravel parking lot. And the director was, ironically enough, the same director that executed and casted the video for Josh Turner’s “Firecracker”, back when I was desperate enough to attend a casting session– just a short 10 months ago. So technically, I had met him before. For the last scene, the artist was sitting in a car that was stationary — because the director wanted to shoot additional performance footage that also was a close-up “beauty” shot. The director stood on one side of the car, rocking it back and forth to simulate motion, while I stood on the other side with a 4 foot by 2 foot flag (used by the grips, these flags aren’t normal flags — it’s merely a square of piping that runs through the lining of the perimeter of the fabric) The window of the car was down, the artist began singing, and the director shouted, “Start the wind!”It was my cue. I flapped the flag up and down, rather jerkily and intermittently, in an attempt to replicate the wind one experiences on the open road. She kept singing. “Niiice wind, keep it coming!” The director praised. I beamed with pride, but sixty seconds later, my arms began to give out. The flag movement became more hasty and jerky, and it didn’t go unnoticed. “More wind! More wind!” ordered the director, and I felt all the eyes of the crew, the production team, the label, the DP, and God looking expectantly at the stationary blonde...
You know you’ve dated someone from New Orleans for 9 months when…
…you actually get excited about celebrating Mardi Gras rather than condemn it as debauchery.…you’ve eaten red beans and rice more frequently than pizza — and you know how to prepare it.…you’ve eaten shrimp etouflee, po’ boys, and jambalaya.…you’ve been quizzed on the spot as to the correct spelling of Tchoupitoulas.…you understand the prestige of someone returning with the gift of Big Shot.…you learn that jazz can be kind of tolerable at times.…you are extremely aware that Louisiana has parishes instead of counties.…you know “making groceries” isn’t when Kroger introduces a new product.…you know snoballs have flavors.…you have a quiet respect for Camellia Grill, even though you’ve never eaten there.…you know it’s blasphemous to suggest that any kind of food any where else in the world may be better.…you’ve had to watch Stuck in the Suburbs and/or Runaway Jury.…you actually know who Drew Brees is, and you love him some days, but hate him some others.…you know that Magazine is a street with a lot of shops… and it runs parallel with the river.…you know the definition of “zephyr” and its relevance to minor league baseball.…it breaks your heart that you have to wait until 8:15 tonight for King Cake.…your first date was at Chappy’s. (…and you had this proof-read by aforementioned NOLA boy and he still found three errors. What can I say, I’m only from...
About
I'm Laryssa, and when I'm not working in film or television, I'm attempting to travel -- or I'm here, providing resources for working in film or travel. Read more Elsewhere on the internets
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