The Critical Nature of Extra Napkins

So one of those things that has always struck me as odd is the big wad of napkins that often come with a fast food order. It has always seemed to me that the number of napkins that one receives in any specific instance is inversely proportional to the actual need for extra napkins. You know what I’m saying, the two napkins and two tiny wet naps with the family size bucket of chicken, the four napkins with the extra large pizza and the fist full that accompanies the relatively dry burger and fries, no ketchup. 

While all those who’ve ever seen me eat or imbibe liquid of any sort can testify, I am a multiple napkin kind of girl. Always have been, always will be. Over the years I have therefore developed a wee bit of a paper napkin collecting habit, a habit which has served me fairly well all in all as witnessed by the events of the past 24 hours. A dirty grocery cart (ick!), a broken egg on the kitchen floor, milk spilled on the coffee table, coffee spilled on the coffee table too for that matter, an errant sneeze at the computer keyboard, a stray tear squeezed out in response to a memorable musical performance on TV, you get the idea.

But today I saw my spare paper napkin collecting habit in a slightly more sinister light as a colleague witnessed me pulling a spare napkin from my desk drawer in order to put it to some minor use and she asked, in a tone of voice that I thought was rather melodramatically aghast given the circumstance, if it was indeed the case that the entire drawer was full of spare paper napkins. Ah, yes, in fact that is true. I have an entire desk drawer devoted to the accumulation of extra paper napkins. Is that so wrong? It’s not like it’s a big drawer. Does that make me a hoarder or just well prepared?

As long as I’m the Empress of the Cocoverse, which is a position held in perpetuity by the way, I’m going with “well prepared”.

P.S. I promise to figure out how to get rid of the annoying advertising that I added in a strange fit of "I wonder what this button does?" Now I know. Ick

Just a Little Bit Cocoa

So here I be, trying to get all organized for a serious turn off the tv/phone/internet writer's weekend and suddenly all I can think about is how great it be if I rolled a few teaspoons of peanut butter in chocolate cheerios and then dipped them in the melted remains of the organic chocolate chili bar stashed in the filing cabinet. Now I can hear many of you screaming "no don't do it" but truth to tell, sweets are not my food waterloo and that chocolate chili bar has survived unscathed for at least ten days, so regardless it won't be as bad as you fear. Chocolate seems to be the one thing I like to eat for which I have a reasonable "off" switch.

In the end, laziness will out and I'll just snap a couple squares off the bar and retreat to the purple velvet couch for this week's episode of "Supernatural". Which since you're asking is something for which I do not have an "off" switch. Then to bed cause I did in fact rise in the deep dark of the night last night to work on my spec "Lost Girl" script. Awesome funny scene actually, and a little bit naughty. Though if any of you have any practical suggestions about how to get my Muse to show up at about 7 p.m. instead of 3 a.m. I'll save the rest of that chocolate chili bar for you.

Instead of a Moldy Rutabaga: A Reprise

Okay, yes, the ultimate in lazy blogging is re-posting an old blog. But since me, with the new found expertise reading my blog stats, has concluded only three people ever actually read this one, I don't feel so bad out the re-post 'cause it is one of my favourite rants and I'm in a ranty sort of mood but too pooped to work up the fresh head of steam required for a truly fabulous original shellacking. So here's hoping one or two more of you enjoy this, the inaugural Friday Rant.

Really I crack myself up sometimes. I mean seriously, who am I to have such strong opinions about writing and story. Me with my one and only option cheque for 1$ stuck up on my book case with a bit of sticky tape. After a morning spent giving notes for favours it seems particularly hilarious that I’m still, at 7 pm at night, fuming over the issue of voice over in film scripts.

Just in case you’ve never heard me say it out loud before, here it is. "Voice over is the refuge of the lazy writer." Or the addition of a spectacularly insecure director or producer who doesn’t trust the very expensive team of artists and craftspeople they’ve hired to express the story in the glorious visual aural literary medium that is film.

I read this same sentiment once in one of my hundred books on screenwriting and I do so wish I could remember which A-list screenwriter to attribute the quote to, but, I don’t. Which is sad because sometimes I feel like I’m standing alone, screaming it into the teeth of a hurricane force wind with fellow writers and film business folks lined up like pilgrims in front of a pilloried (your word for the day) harlot chucking rotten root vegetables at me chanting the names of successful and highly touted films that use the medium. And I don’t care if that is a dreadful run-on sentence that needs an editor. Get your own blog.

You really think you are Robert Redford and your script the next A River Runs Through It? Okay, maybe you are but if you’re going to get the voice over by me man you better be chucking the Oscar or Golden Globe at me instead of a moldy rutabaga.

You see the great glory of film is when the music, words, acting, visuals, camera movement, casting, costuming all become a greater synthesis – you know the whole becomes greater than the sum of their parts. It is possible. Just layering good acting and nice visuals with a poetic voice over is self-indulgent crap. Sorry too harsh. It is what I call “young man” writing which is actually separate and distinct from “young woman” writing which has its own pitfalls.

Young man writing is self-indulgent and masturbatory while young woman writing tends to innumerable cups of tea and tedious descriptions of the actions of other people not on the screen to trustworthy confidantes. Certainly a place for both voices in the cannon of our craft, but really people. Look at not only what you are writing but how you are writing. Go ahead and chuck the moldy rutabagas if you must but be brave enough to have the tosser taunt me in his own voice.

Note to Self

When MacGuyvering eyeglasses back together with black masking tape, ensure that you do not spend 15 minutes trying to attach the left arm to the right side of the glasses.  "But Carolynne, surely you realize that is not black masking tape in the photo?" Yes, yes my friends I do.  That is regular masking tape and it appears in this photo of the repaired spectacles because the black masking tape gave out completely as I tried to maneuver the glasses into position in order to take this wonderful photo to share with you all.

So here is my wonderful photo to accompany a story that is representative of my month so far. I will now leave you to go stir the pot of beans on the stove which is representative of my attempt to loose 20 pounds between now and the Canadian Tenors concert 72 days from now where, if I succeed my Mom will pick up the tab for the tickets. Taken together, the cheaply repaired glasses, beans and desire to get someone else to pay for my Canadian Tenors habit, these things are representative of my attempts to save up enough money to finance the filming of my award winning short film script, The Lobby.

Current funds assembled to date total 100 dollars and the refund on 11 empty liquor bottles recently discovered under the sink - 5 Absolut vodka, 2 Bombay Sapphire gin and 4 wine bottles(2 red, 2 white), for those of you who enjoy excessive detail I will post the wine brand names upon request - which have been there since I decided that booze was too expensive sometime last June. Oh, and of course the tea light holder full of nickels which are no longer accepted by Vancouver parking meters.

After the bean stirring I should return a phonecall, but it is too late already because glasses repair took 7.5 times longer than budgeted. Instead I'll be practicing the guitar till bedtime which is representative of ...um, my desire to practice the guitar until bedtime.

Sleep well. Don't forget to vote for Georgia Murray on Cover Me Canada and like all her vids on YouTube many times and like them as often as the button will let you hit it. Which is representative of my wanting the dreams of a terrific artist and lovely person to come true. Won't you sleep better knowing you had a little part in that?

Fandom in the Cocoverse

Synchronicity. I was going to erase that word and start these musing anew and then realized that I didn’t want to. After all I did experience it about an hour ago while driving in the car and listening to a radio station to which I rarely listen. Cory Hart’s “Sunglasses at Night” was playing and I cranked it up and listened with an intensity never before witnessed between myself and that particular pop classic. All to say that my girl Georgia Murray is taking the stage in Toronto in mere moments real-time to cover the song for tonight’s CBC show Cover Me Canada. Now perhaps Mr. Hart’s song still receives daily air play here in Vancouver - who am I to know such things - but somehow doubt it, good tune that it is notwithstanding.

I don’t know about the specific space-time continuum that you inhabit, but here in the Cocoverse music seems to carry with it a greater preponderance of synchronous moments than any other single media or entity. Perhaps because it is so intermeshed with our processes of emotion and memory at a neurological level. Or perhaps that is just part of it’s magic.

I’m a fairly recent addition to Ms. Murray’s bandwagon, having had the extreme pleasure of seeing and hearing her perform live here in Vancouver not more than six weeks ago. She was awesome live and the CBC production team has yet to capture the full range of that awesomeness on their show, in my humble lay person’s opinion.

It is no small challenge to do sound for a live broadcast for not only a disparate group of bands but also having only 90 seconds to get the mix right. I don’t envy them their task but perhaps in future, not doing a 100% live performance with such (relatively) inexperienced bands would significantly elevate the quality of the sound on the show. I’m afraid that the general public is so used to polished perfection that many can’t pick out the moments that are gems from the nerves and miscues. In truth all eight bands really have something great and raw going on and a couple of the bands have superb chops.

I offer as evidence the YouTube videos of Ms. Murray - last week’s official version from the show - which was good - and the acoustic version she and the band laid down only a few hours later in their hotel room which was all kinds of amazing. Without strangers on the sound mixing board and the over-caffeinated lighting technician strobing crazily, in the acoustic version of Alanis Morrisette’s “You Oughta Know” Ms. Murray and crew kicked that song’s ass from Tofino to Cape Spear and back .

As a writer and neophyte guitar player I’m avidly participating in Georgia’s journey to musical stardom for a number of reasons. One is that I get a huge buzz from “discovering” talent on the way up and watching them ride the wave. Sometimes, as we have all borne witness, the talent and genius and celebrity ends up with the artist smashed on the rocks. But sometimes, and in this case I’m willing to bet on it, the fifteen year overnight sensation can enjoy each and every moment in the spotlight and ride out the dry spots sure to come with the same joy in the music that has sustained them thus far.

For me too part of the attraction is that I am an artist that performs best in my own milieu when I find others to inspire me. And I’m not taking about famous dead geniuses or celebrities whom I may admire but have never met.

I seek out the everyday artists in my everyday little life. It is shocking how many you can find if you only look -- the accounting clerk who is genius with the knitting needles; the sister who can take a pot of dirt and a few scraggly plants and compose a living tone poem; the roommate who taught me to brew the perfect cup of coffee; the graphic designer become award winning children’s book author; the colleague entering her first ballroom dance competition; the executive assistant become novelist and yoga teacher; the 10 year old boy who would not stay in the green room during the opera performance become a tenor known round the world; the guitar teacher become film composer; the Dean become choir master; the under 30 actor become film exec -- and today Georgia Murray, reluctant reality TV contestant. Tonight she sings for you and she sings for herself, but in the Cocoverse, most of all, she sings for me