It was fun.
Hee hee!
The whole time we were shooting, I was there. I wasn't daydreaming about being anywhere else.
And the kiss? Didn't happen. There was another scene that involved a peck or two, but the other actor, the director, and I choreographed The Big One so that people couldn't see our faces. I just waved my arms around instead. Rock on.
We have another weekend of shooting to go. I'm looking forward to it. How often do you hear me say that?
Next step: Superstardom. Or perhaps just being even more distracted at work. Who knew that was even possible?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
My Poor Nerves
Yesterday, I thought I was getting sick. I determined to take today off, so I'd have time to recover before my big weekend. I did call in sick, but as I type this at home, I feel fine, and I suspect I didn't have an illness at all: I was just nervous about last night's rehearsal for this weekend's film shoot.
Yeah, that's right, film shoot, baby! I am an ACK-TOHR!
Really, it's a web series, not a movie. But we still have to shoot it. And the deal is, I'm the female lead. It's great to be cast, and to have people think you're good enough to play the part and (I hope) easy enough on the eyes to be convincing as the object of someone's affection. But if yesterday's psychosomatic (emphasis on psycho) episode is anything to go by, I'm even more nervous and insecure about it than I realized. What if I'm goofy looking? What if I'm not funny? What if the audience just finds me annoying? Eeeeeeeeeeeeek!
I probably shouldn't indulge that negative voice loop.
It's ultimately a good thing, to be doing something I care about so much that I almost made myself sick with nerves. But dang, it could have been inconvenient. And I freaked out a fellow actor, whom I'm supposed to kiss in one of the scenes (never done that before -- double eek!), who's now afraid that I have actual cooties.
I'm a big old bundle of insecurity. It's bringing up feelings from when I was a musician, and never felt prepared enough for my performances. Only this time, I also lack training and experience. Awesome.
I see that I'm up to 35 followers now, despite (or perhaps because of?) my silence over the last two months. Welcome! In a few months, there ought to be some webisodes for you to check out, along with the blog posts and podcasts. Another chip away at the boulder of my anonymity, since I'll be credited in these webisodes under my full name. That's OK. If anyone decides to stalk me, I'll take it as evidence that my performance didn't suck.
Heck, I'll even tell you what it's called, since the production team has set up a Facebook page and perhaps other sites related to the production: "The Ex Factor." Pun intended. It's written by Greg Lam and produced by Malarkey Films. If you're in the Boston/Somerville area, you can even be an extra this Sunday.
If any of you are of the praying persuasion, I won't say no to any prayers for me and the rest of the team as we shoot this. I really want to do well. And it's a talented group of people, both behind and in front of the camera, so it would be great if the end product showcased that and got folks some well deserved attention.
Thanks for reading, guys. And until the shoot is over, Eek, eek, eek, eek, eek!
Yeah, that's right, film shoot, baby! I am an ACK-TOHR!
Really, it's a web series, not a movie. But we still have to shoot it. And the deal is, I'm the female lead. It's great to be cast, and to have people think you're good enough to play the part and (I hope) easy enough on the eyes to be convincing as the object of someone's affection. But if yesterday's psychosomatic (emphasis on psycho) episode is anything to go by, I'm even more nervous and insecure about it than I realized. What if I'm goofy looking? What if I'm not funny? What if the audience just finds me annoying? Eeeeeeeeeeeeek!
I probably shouldn't indulge that negative voice loop.
It's ultimately a good thing, to be doing something I care about so much that I almost made myself sick with nerves. But dang, it could have been inconvenient. And I freaked out a fellow actor, whom I'm supposed to kiss in one of the scenes (never done that before -- double eek!), who's now afraid that I have actual cooties.
I'm a big old bundle of insecurity. It's bringing up feelings from when I was a musician, and never felt prepared enough for my performances. Only this time, I also lack training and experience. Awesome.
I see that I'm up to 35 followers now, despite (or perhaps because of?) my silence over the last two months. Welcome! In a few months, there ought to be some webisodes for you to check out, along with the blog posts and podcasts. Another chip away at the boulder of my anonymity, since I'll be credited in these webisodes under my full name. That's OK. If anyone decides to stalk me, I'll take it as evidence that my performance didn't suck.
Heck, I'll even tell you what it's called, since the production team has set up a Facebook page and perhaps other sites related to the production: "The Ex Factor." Pun intended. It's written by Greg Lam and produced by Malarkey Films. If you're in the Boston/Somerville area, you can even be an extra this Sunday.
If any of you are of the praying persuasion, I won't say no to any prayers for me and the rest of the team as we shoot this. I really want to do well. And it's a talented group of people, both behind and in front of the camera, so it would be great if the end product showcased that and got folks some well deserved attention.
Thanks for reading, guys. And until the shoot is over, Eek, eek, eek, eek, eek!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Gone but Not Forgotten
Hey guys, just wanted you to know that I know that I haven't posted anything in a while. Sometimes it's not easy finding the balance between writing about things and doing things worth writing about. I don't plan on being gone forever. Don't wander too far!
Thanks :-),
Holly
Thanks :-),
Holly
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Friday, April 01, 2011
Winter Boots
I bought new winter boots a couple weeks ago, just in time for Spring. They seemed like quality boots that I'd be able to wear for years, but that's not the only reason why I bought them. The salesman was tall, cute, and had red hair and a London accent. I would have bought paper boots from him. Expensive paper boots.
Fortunately, my Spring purchase from a dashing salesman wasn't as stupid as it could have been. They actually appear to be sturdy items, and I got to try them out today because New England got some friendly April slush-rain-snow-stuff. Not enough to really put these suckers to the test, but enough for me to notice the difference between them and, say, sneakers. I walked in straight lines, with a normal stride, without regard for puddles, slush mounds, or anything else. No hopping, dodging, or walking in a big arc to avoid what could be a massive lake in the middle of a parking lot. I was the proud possessor of Podiatric Invulnerability! And when I got to work, I got compliments.
Another questionable purchase, redeemed!
Fortunately, my Spring purchase from a dashing salesman wasn't as stupid as it could have been. They actually appear to be sturdy items, and I got to try them out today because New England got some friendly April slush-rain-snow-stuff. Not enough to really put these suckers to the test, but enough for me to notice the difference between them and, say, sneakers. I walked in straight lines, with a normal stride, without regard for puddles, slush mounds, or anything else. No hopping, dodging, or walking in a big arc to avoid what could be a massive lake in the middle of a parking lot. I was the proud possessor of Podiatric Invulnerability! And when I got to work, I got compliments.
Another questionable purchase, redeemed!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Bloggeriffic
I just wrote a new post about eBay, and found a typo in the post about perfume and edited it. But Blogger has an aversion to hard returns today, and refuses to acknowledge my request to separate paragraphs, making these posts blank-space-free. I just wanted you to know that this is not my fault and I can write and I can structure what I write and I don't normally jumble it all together in one big blobby mass of words that's visually off-putting and hard to understand like a run-on sentence. Just so you know.
eBay
In my quest for oppotunities to spend money and acquire material possessions in order to get closer to God and grow spiritually, I have joined eBay. Results have been mixed. Good: I've gotten what I think are some pretty good deals. I also look pretty in my new dress. Seriously, rowr, if I do say so myself. Bad: Adding a competitive component (auctions) to an activity that I already find stressful and guilt-inducing (shopping). My new friend: The "Buy It Now" option, which sets a price above the minimum bid and allows you to bypass the evolutionary free-for-all that is bidding and become the fittest before anyone else gets their paws on what I want. Godliness creeps ever closer.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
This is How We Learn
Through trial and error. As part of my Princess Project, I thought it would be fun to smell nice. Hence, last night's quest for perfume. I've never had real, full-on perfume. I've done body sprays and lotions and such, but never a signature fragrance. So I headed to Macy's perfume counter and got sprayed. I had no idea how to make a choice, so eventually I just took the leap and snagged one that seemed nice enough. I had to ask what the difference between eau de toilette and perfume was. For those who are as ignorant as I was, here it is: Perfume is stronger, and eau de toilette is more diluted. Perhaps I should have gone with dilution, then, because I applied the perfume this morning, and I can smell myself, which I don't think you're supposed to be able to do. Pretty sure other people can smell me when I walk by, or come within fifteen yards. Am also pretty sure that that's bad. I hadn't even meant to spray myself directly. I meant to spray a mist in front of myself and walk into it. But I guess the little nozzle-y thing wasn't pointed where I thought, because I nailed myself. Noted. Also, this scent is reminding me of my first year in England, back in '97-'98. Specifically, it reminds me of the house of a gracious couple from my church who let me type my post-grad dissertation on their computer. They had a very young son, and I'd catch bits of British children's TV shows while I wrote about Mozart bringing trombones in at the end of Don Giovanni. So, instead of feeling sexy, my mind is full of the puppet animals on Dappledown Farm. Side note: I let myself get talked into buying some more expensive boots (this time for snow) by a cute-but-engaged shoe salesman who had a London accent. Other side note: I bought a top last night that is so unusually structured that I'm not 100% sure that I put the right body parts through the right holes.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The Princess Thus Far
I figured y'all deserved some kind of update on this whole Lenten Princessy deal. So, here's what's up:
I've spent a shitload of money.
I'd list out the stuff I bought were it not for the suspicion that it would be unfathomably boring for you. I will say that my purchases included a pair of $200 rain boots -- yikes! -- and a very, very flattering sweater. Most of the items have been useful, but not necessary. It's felt a bit extravagant, and I did have some of my usual Buyer's Remorse for a day or so, but you know what cures that pretty quickly? Compliments. One or two people saying, "Awesome boots!" or "That looks really hot," and all of a sudden it's worth every penny. All twenty thousand of them.
I'm also hanging out in some Scripture a bit, which I haven't done much of over the last few years. I realized that I had a filter that enabled me to interpret any verse in the Bible in the most legalistic, disheartening way possible. That was bad. So I stopped, to give my filter time to dissolve. I've been able to handle the occasional Psalm, but for the most part I haven't been pressuring myself to delve into the book if I didn't want to. I've gone in a couple times since Ash Wednesday, though, and it's been all right.
So, a little Bible, a lot of cash dropped.
We are pleased.
I've spent a shitload of money.
I'd list out the stuff I bought were it not for the suspicion that it would be unfathomably boring for you. I will say that my purchases included a pair of $200 rain boots -- yikes! -- and a very, very flattering sweater. Most of the items have been useful, but not necessary. It's felt a bit extravagant, and I did have some of my usual Buyer's Remorse for a day or so, but you know what cures that pretty quickly? Compliments. One or two people saying, "Awesome boots!" or "That looks really hot," and all of a sudden it's worth every penny. All twenty thousand of them.
I'm also hanging out in some Scripture a bit, which I haven't done much of over the last few years. I realized that I had a filter that enabled me to interpret any verse in the Bible in the most legalistic, disheartening way possible. That was bad. So I stopped, to give my filter time to dissolve. I've been able to handle the occasional Psalm, but for the most part I haven't been pressuring myself to delve into the book if I didn't want to. I've gone in a couple times since Ash Wednesday, though, and it's been all right.
So, a little Bible, a lot of cash dropped.
We are pleased.
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Granny Cart
I couldn't do it.
I have a pretty high threshold for some unpleasant things: I can be quite dorky and/or frumpy in public. I can handle a fair amount of ambient noise. Twenty years of playing trombone prepared me well for these things.
But when they all came together in a perfect storm in the form of the Granny Cart, I was defeated.
I tried, honest. After selling my car a few years ago, grocery shopping was one of the few areas in which I had trouble adjusting. A wheelie cart seemed like a fine solution. But these things are so ugly, loud, and flat-out awkward that I gave up after a few tries. I spilled stuff. I huffed and puffed it up a hill. I was almost deafened by the rattling. It was awful.
You win, Granny Cart. You managed to out-dorkify and out-noisify my 30-odd years of built-up tolerance. Well done.
Well done.
I have a pretty high threshold for some unpleasant things: I can be quite dorky and/or frumpy in public. I can handle a fair amount of ambient noise. Twenty years of playing trombone prepared me well for these things.
But when they all came together in a perfect storm in the form of the Granny Cart, I was defeated.
I tried, honest. After selling my car a few years ago, grocery shopping was one of the few areas in which I had trouble adjusting. A wheelie cart seemed like a fine solution. But these things are so ugly, loud, and flat-out awkward that I gave up after a few tries. I spilled stuff. I huffed and puffed it up a hill. I was almost deafened by the rattling. It was awful.
You win, Granny Cart. You managed to out-dorkify and out-noisify my 30-odd years of built-up tolerance. Well done.
Well done.
One Man's Hell
... is another man's heaven. Example: Do you relish the idea of a flight that lasts 15-22 hours? Sitting in coach, unable to wriggle around or fart freely, with "Big Momma's House 2" as your only entertainment option?
I do.
OK, the not-farting thing gets uncomfortable, but I love the thought of having such a long stretch of time where I'm practically forced to do what I almost always want to do anyway: Nothing. And no one expects me to do any more than that, when I'm on a flight. When I land, no one asks what I accomplished. I'm not expected to do laundry or cook real food or help mankind or improve myself or further my career. I don't need to make up some answer to cover up the fact that I sat and stared at things for the equivalent of two working days.
There will be a podcast related to this next week, so I won't spoil it all by elaborating too much. But know this when you listen to it: I mean it.
I do.
OK, the not-farting thing gets uncomfortable, but I love the thought of having such a long stretch of time where I'm practically forced to do what I almost always want to do anyway: Nothing. And no one expects me to do any more than that, when I'm on a flight. When I land, no one asks what I accomplished. I'm not expected to do laundry or cook real food or help mankind or improve myself or further my career. I don't need to make up some answer to cover up the fact that I sat and stared at things for the equivalent of two working days.
There will be a podcast related to this next week, so I won't spoil it all by elaborating too much. But know this when you listen to it: I mean it.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
This Year's Lenten Escapade
This year, unless something changes radically, God and I will be focusing on the Princess part of Musician Actress Comedian Writer Princess. It's been rather neglected so far. I'd assumed it was primarily a marriage goal -- not a literal desire to marry royalty (not that I'm saying no); just a desire to find the right guy. It hadn't occurred to me that it might have a lot more to do with how I treat myself, or that it might be a Daughter Thing, allowing God to spoil me.
Spoiling. When this Princess idea began to germinate in my brain a couple weeks ago, that was one of the big internal resistances that popped up immediately: I don't want to be spoiled. I don't want to be frivolous or self-indulgent or shallow. The problem is, I may be on my guard too much. It's one thing to be spoiled; it's another to allow someone else -- God or other people -- the pleasure of treating you well.
I can be way (way way way way way way) too practical. It would do me good to let myself buy things because they're pretty, not just because they're essential to survival. Spend money? On unnecessary items? On expensive, unnecessary items? That's going to take some practice for me.
And I'm not used to giving a lot of effort to being pretty or feminine. I put some effort into it, of course, but there are always reasons to exercise restraint -- I didn't feel pretty enough, I didn't have money, I didn't have a guy to appreciate it, I wanted such things to come naturally instead of painting them on. But I think I'm in a place where it wouldn't be a matter of tacking on externals; it would be an expression of how I'm feeling on the inside.
What does this have to do with Lent, a time before Easter traditionally observed by solemnity and fasting? Well, if you've been paying attention -- and why wouldn't you? I'm fascinating -- I'm pretty good at the self-deprivation, delayed-gratification thing. Too good at it for my own good. It makes sense for me to add something rather than subtract it for Lent, thus learning something about the joy and goodness of God in the process. So, this year, I aim to let myself do whatever feels fun and pretty and princessy for Lent, and explore what it's like to be God's daughter -- a princess who isn't locked away in a tower, but who gets to go to balls and drop her handkerchief before dashing suitors. I don't have a specific outline for what I'll do when, because I need the freedom to be spontaneous; even fun rules quickly become burdensome rules for me. Maybe I'll buy clothes, or items for my room, or anything I can find that smells like sandalwood. Maybe I'll hang out at home and play atmpospheric music and light a candle. Maybe I'll go on dates and let gentlemen wine and dine me in return for my sparkling conversation and dazzling smile.
Maybe I'll do it all.
Spoiling. When this Princess idea began to germinate in my brain a couple weeks ago, that was one of the big internal resistances that popped up immediately: I don't want to be spoiled. I don't want to be frivolous or self-indulgent or shallow. The problem is, I may be on my guard too much. It's one thing to be spoiled; it's another to allow someone else -- God or other people -- the pleasure of treating you well.
I can be way (way way way way way way) too practical. It would do me good to let myself buy things because they're pretty, not just because they're essential to survival. Spend money? On unnecessary items? On expensive, unnecessary items? That's going to take some practice for me.
And I'm not used to giving a lot of effort to being pretty or feminine. I put some effort into it, of course, but there are always reasons to exercise restraint -- I didn't feel pretty enough, I didn't have money, I didn't have a guy to appreciate it, I wanted such things to come naturally instead of painting them on. But I think I'm in a place where it wouldn't be a matter of tacking on externals; it would be an expression of how I'm feeling on the inside.
What does this have to do with Lent, a time before Easter traditionally observed by solemnity and fasting? Well, if you've been paying attention -- and why wouldn't you? I'm fascinating -- I'm pretty good at the self-deprivation, delayed-gratification thing. Too good at it for my own good. It makes sense for me to add something rather than subtract it for Lent, thus learning something about the joy and goodness of God in the process. So, this year, I aim to let myself do whatever feels fun and pretty and princessy for Lent, and explore what it's like to be God's daughter -- a princess who isn't locked away in a tower, but who gets to go to balls and drop her handkerchief before dashing suitors. I don't have a specific outline for what I'll do when, because I need the freedom to be spontaneous; even fun rules quickly become burdensome rules for me. Maybe I'll buy clothes, or items for my room, or anything I can find that smells like sandalwood. Maybe I'll hang out at home and play atmpospheric music and light a candle. Maybe I'll go on dates and let gentlemen wine and dine me in return for my sparkling conversation and dazzling smile.
Maybe I'll do it all.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
I Am Bored
I'm thinking of overhauling my LinkedIn profile. It's too nice, too professional. It has my work experience, which is too varied to be impressive and not a great indicator of my ambitions. It has my current job, which is, as far as I'm concerned, a placeholder. I'm not interested in getting job offers based on the face that I present to the world in that profile.
What I really want to do is fill it with snarky, irreverent comments -- about myself, about my work history, about everything. The employer who finds that fun is the one for me. If anyone decides they're not interested because I'd rather talk about pleather and whether corn syrup makes convincing saliva on camera, then congratulations: The lack of interest is mutual.
If you're linked to me, here's your heads-up. You can disavow any association now, should you see fit.
What I really want to do is fill it with snarky, irreverent comments -- about myself, about my work history, about everything. The employer who finds that fun is the one for me. If anyone decides they're not interested because I'd rather talk about pleather and whether corn syrup makes convincing saliva on camera, then congratulations: The lack of interest is mutual.
If you're linked to me, here's your heads-up. You can disavow any association now, should you see fit.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
PodCandy on Facebook!
It just occurred to me that I haven't told you that Holly's PodCandy has a Facebook page, and that you can "like" it. I don't know what good that does you, since I also post links to the poscasts here, although it does have some extra little status updates. OK, so yeah, you'd get extra little status updates. That's fun, right?
When I got this podcast onto iTunes (did I tell you you can also find it on iTunes?), I learned that there's another podcast called simply "Podcandy." I haven't listened to it, but it's probably great, since it has a good name. In all locations, though, mine is officially known as Holly's PodCandy. Because it's mine. I'm Holly.
TTFN.
When I got this podcast onto iTunes (did I tell you you can also find it on iTunes?), I learned that there's another podcast called simply "Podcandy." I haven't listened to it, but it's probably great, since it has a good name. In all locations, though, mine is officially known as Holly's PodCandy. Because it's mine. I'm Holly.
TTFN.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Burdens Italians Bear
I'm a lot of things. One of the things I am is Italian. I exaggerate, talk with my hands, and find a way to work olive oil into most dinners. All stereotypes. All awesome.
But it ain't all easy. There are a few genetic handicaps that come with these ancient Roman roots. And, like all self-respecting daughters of Italy, I handle it with dignity by talking about them to anyone who will listen, and talking more loudly if that person starts to walk away.
Problem 1: Grease. Not the cooking kind. The skin kind. I've had acne since I was ten. As you can see in the right-hand column of this blog, I'm now 36. That's a long time. And it doesn't look like it's going to let up soon. Medication has been keeping it at bay, but all I have to do is miss one application to realize that the medicinal levy is barely holding back the deluge. Upside: I may never wrinkle, ever. If my experience is anything to go by, this is a fountain of youth, but the price of eternal youth is eternal zits.
Problem 2: I wear my food. I'm like a magnet. Or a Swiffer. Or a black hole into which chocolate, peanut butter, and tomato sauce are irresistibly drawn. That Tom Sauce is a sneaky fellow. I keep trying to keep him away from my pure sweaters, but he finds a way to get at them. And Chocolate Chip always seems to fall onto the couch, waiting to be sat upon so he can melt onto my pants. P. Butter has found his way onto, of all things, my eyelid.
Something to look forward to: Turning into my Nona, who talked about bowel issues at suppertime. "A little shit with your dinner," as she said. What's the Italian word for "classy?" We're that.
But it ain't all easy. There are a few genetic handicaps that come with these ancient Roman roots. And, like all self-respecting daughters of Italy, I handle it with dignity by talking about them to anyone who will listen, and talking more loudly if that person starts to walk away.
Problem 1: Grease. Not the cooking kind. The skin kind. I've had acne since I was ten. As you can see in the right-hand column of this blog, I'm now 36. That's a long time. And it doesn't look like it's going to let up soon. Medication has been keeping it at bay, but all I have to do is miss one application to realize that the medicinal levy is barely holding back the deluge. Upside: I may never wrinkle, ever. If my experience is anything to go by, this is a fountain of youth, but the price of eternal youth is eternal zits.
Problem 2: I wear my food. I'm like a magnet. Or a Swiffer. Or a black hole into which chocolate, peanut butter, and tomato sauce are irresistibly drawn. That Tom Sauce is a sneaky fellow. I keep trying to keep him away from my pure sweaters, but he finds a way to get at them. And Chocolate Chip always seems to fall onto the couch, waiting to be sat upon so he can melt onto my pants. P. Butter has found his way onto, of all things, my eyelid.
Something to look forward to: Turning into my Nona, who talked about bowel issues at suppertime. "A little shit with your dinner," as she said. What's the Italian word for "classy?" We're that.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
From the Top
There's a show on Public Radio called From the Top, which features young (under 18) classical musicians. I couldn't listen to this show when I was trying to make it as a freelancer. Apart from the difficulty of listening to people 10-15 years my junior getting all kinds of attention and applause while I played to my apartment walls and scrounged for $60 gigs, it was a reminder of my own lost musical innocence. Music had become competitive, stressful, frustrating work.
This morning, six years after setting professional music aside, I turned on the radio and found that From the Top was on. And I'm not hating it. It's still not the easiest thing in the world to hear brilliant violin playing coming from a 16-year-old, followed by screams of approval from the audience, but it's kind of nice to hear the interviews with these musicians. They seem like nice, likable kids, and I begrudge them their success less.
This is progress for me: Not hating America's most talented young people.
This morning, six years after setting professional music aside, I turned on the radio and found that From the Top was on. And I'm not hating it. It's still not the easiest thing in the world to hear brilliant violin playing coming from a 16-year-old, followed by screams of approval from the audience, but it's kind of nice to hear the interviews with these musicians. They seem like nice, likable kids, and I begrudge them their success less.
This is progress for me: Not hating America's most talented young people.
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