Flashes of Life Behind
As I ride the humble Daelim motorcycle through the streets of Phnom Penh at night, perhaps on my way to Zeppelin Rock and Roll cafe, I catch glimpses of some shuddering moments I left behind: travelling all the way from New Mexico to New York for two job interviews, one with my Alma Mater (NYU--a mediochre use of bucks and time)the other asa potential DGA Trainee.
The first, I went and interviewed buyt never even heard back from them, never even received a "thanks for coming", this again from my own Alma Mater...
The other, well I made it to the next round of the very selective process, bu tthey kept asking me, based on my resume:
"You like to make films, do you think you'd be happy in this program where you'd just be supporting a production?"
YES--I thought and said, dying for a break, a gig in my field after starving for so long out West trying to push the picture forward.
I remember the anonymous, mean highways of America...one time, Rich and aI slid off the road in his Plymouth Sattelite just after a short rain, there was a hairpin turn on the road and we blew it. Thus we skidded through a farmer's fence and into his muddy cowfield.
We stood at the side of the road for a long time, trying to get one of our fellow "Leave No One Behind!" patriotic Americans to stop their minivan so as to at least help us call a tow truck, etc...no dice. They all swooshed by with their Big Gulps in hand and stared at us, dough faced, out their windows.
Finally a big pickup stopped. It was full of Mexican farmworkers. They immediately uncoiled a big chain from the back of the pickup and with one sprightly yank, plucked us out of the mire.
I remember these thoughts and more as I look back on my times in the USA...
Stayed up all last night loading the second half of the footage for Susan Hero. Will now haul ass and leave a monkish existence getting it finally cut together.
The first, I went and interviewed buyt never even heard back from them, never even received a "thanks for coming", this again from my own Alma Mater...
The other, well I made it to the next round of the very selective process, bu tthey kept asking me, based on my resume:
"You like to make films, do you think you'd be happy in this program where you'd just be supporting a production?"
YES--I thought and said, dying for a break, a gig in my field after starving for so long out West trying to push the picture forward.
I remember the anonymous, mean highways of America...one time, Rich and aI slid off the road in his Plymouth Sattelite just after a short rain, there was a hairpin turn on the road and we blew it. Thus we skidded through a farmer's fence and into his muddy cowfield.
We stood at the side of the road for a long time, trying to get one of our fellow "Leave No One Behind!" patriotic Americans to stop their minivan so as to at least help us call a tow truck, etc...no dice. They all swooshed by with their Big Gulps in hand and stared at us, dough faced, out their windows.
Finally a big pickup stopped. It was full of Mexican farmworkers. They immediately uncoiled a big chain from the back of the pickup and with one sprightly yank, plucked us out of the mire.
I remember these thoughts and more as I look back on my times in the USA...
Stayed up all last night loading the second half of the footage for Susan Hero. Will now haul ass and leave a monkish existence getting it finally cut together.
