Blood and Guts: Helena Lazaro

Man, downloading shows using that iTunes store (formerly known to me only as the Gay-ass iTunes Store for Gay-ass People Who Belong to the Scary [and Gay-ass] Mac Cult) may be the best and coolest thing I’ve ever learned how to do. Besides making egg sandwiches (which I do a lot of lately).

As I think most of my friends know, I have been TV-less for over a year now. This wasn’t done to take some hipster stand, or so I could say, “Yeah, man, I don’t watch that shit.” It was mainly because paying that much so I could sit inside and stare at the History or Discovery Channels (or Ooh! CourtTV or…AMC!!!) all day just didn’t make any sense (I already pay for the internet so I can stare at a screen all day. Hello?). The point wasn’t that I didn’t LIKE television, but that I liked it too much and would watch anything remotely edifying (or anything half-convincingly masquerading as edifying) until my eyes glazed over.

So, when I moved to the new place, I decided not to get cable. This was a problem for two reasons. 1)Adult Swim (which is still the sad, missing piece of my life-puzzle) and 2)Stupid Lost, which I got turned onto (yeah I’m using dated drug-slang to describe the process, because that’s exactly what it feels like, man) by a co-worker who brought like the first ten episodes to the office when the crew was out of the country shooting and we watched one a day for two weeks, bringing me up to date for the episode about to air and making me an official Lost junkie.

After the move, I was left to fend for myself, depending on the kindness of friends to help me sustain my habit. Then I had to quit the junk during their break, and when the second season premiered, the edge was gone for me. Thanks to Barry and Nicole (and their Tivo), that edge came back FULL FORCE after a short marathon. And, although I have now missed three episodes in a row due to being a shut in (I know, how backwards is that…I have to go OUT to stay IN and watch television), I don’t have to fret.

My addiction to Lost can now be fed without having to inconvenience friends by begging for copies of their recordings, or imposing on their Tivo.

Because of that formerly mentioned, formerly Gay-ass (now miraculous and life-changing) iTunes store. I have downloaded these episodes. It is the raddest thing ever, and I can’t wait until more shows are available!

Now, you might ask, Helena, did you really come here just to post about your lame Lost habit, and the Gay-ass iTunes store?

Yes, yes I did.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare an egg sandwich, and sit down to watch my stories.

I realize that my writing paints a certain picture. It paints a picture of my life, my romances, my family, my heart.

But the thing is, as most who write already know, it is not the whole picture.

Very recently I dated someone whose perception of me was shaped, in large, by my writing. He “got to know me” through the poetry and stories here. He made a lot of assumptions based on what he read. And it became painfully clear, very quickly, that those assumptions were off track. Way off track. Like, you are on another train, going in the opposite direction, Off Track.

Continue reading Creative License…

This is one of my favorite movies, if not my absolute favorite.

I watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s yesterday afternoon for the first time in several years. The opening credits alone had me crying. It’s because of Moon River. Such a sad and beautiful song. For me, it’s personified by Audrey strumming it on her guitar with tears in her eyes, unknowingly watched by the upstairs neighbor that wants desperately to love her.

I had always adored this film it for its humor, the grace Hepburn exudes, the romance, the glamorous costumes, and the cosmopolitan fantasy of New York that it presents. But, like so many of my old favorites, as I grow older it grows with me. There are facets of it I appreciate now in ways I never could have before.

Continue reading Breakfast at Tiffany’s…

This is one of my favorite movies, if not my absolute favorite.

I watched Breakfast at TiffanyÂ’s yesterday afternoon for the first time in several years. The opening credits alone had me crying. It’s because of Moon River. Such a sad and beautiful song. For me, it’s personified by Audrey strumming it on her guitar with tears in her eyes, unknowingly watched by the upstairs neighbor that wants desperately to love her.

I had always adored this film it for its humor, the grace Hepburn exudes, the romance, the glamorous costumes, and the cosmopolitan fantasy of New York that it presents. But, like so many of my old favorites, as I grow older it grows with me. There are facets of it I appreciate now in ways I never could have before.

Continue reading Breakfast at Tiffany’s…

Note: More, better photos are here at Flikr now…no joining up! Unless you want to see my super secret photos that might get me fired, in which case you just have to ask me, and I will add you to my friends/family list so you can SEE ALL.

Ok, so I realize that not everybody is one of the three close, personal friends that actually know what I have been doing, where I disappeared to, and why.

You may know that I have been doing research for this show. That involves finding out what locations to visit in our planned country, and what we can do in said locations. Shortly before the trip to Argentina, they decided I should go in place of the Location Coordinator (since I already knew the trip inside and out, and am fluent in Spanish), so that he could stay here and finish working out the next trip. These shoots are really back to back, they are only home for about two weeks between. So, the process of getting settled in my new apartment was traded for packing things up again.

After flying all day and all night, we arrived in Buenos Aires. Once we had been closely scrutinized by security (our cameras and other equipment were apparently not documented correctly, and the airport has examined incoming baggage with much more care since that coke thing), we were on the other side and officially in Argentina. Cigarettes were a dollar. Our Argentinian production company picked us up and we drove to the hotel for a quick check-in, shower, lunch, and then we were back out to shoot. Yay! Who needs sleep? We stayed at the beautiful Buenos Aires Sheraton whenever we were passing through town, but rarely there long enough to enjoy the atmosphere…with the exception of the bar, which we enjoyed tremendously. We went to Esquina Carlos Gardel for a tango bit, then an Opera House to see if an opera singer could really break glass with her voice.

The next morning, we checked out of the hotel (wait, we just got here!) and went to this gorgeous Estancia. Estancias are the ranches in Argentina. Many of them carry on some of the gaucho traditions of yore (Yore!). We explored these traditions, games, etc. Then we ate some serious fucking beef. I mean, serious. We ate this kind of beef pretty much every day. I can say with confidence that the entire party was fully sick of meat by day five. We stayed there and enjoyed their fantastic parillada dinner, many many many bottles of wine (though the owner of the ranch is a member of Opus Dei…he posed no opposition to our debauchery…go figure), dessert, and a couple from the country that came to dance for us to live music. That night, two of our crew had birthdays. We treated them to a “traditional” Argentine Tortaverde (Green Cake). On a horse ranch. There was no cake. You fill in the blanks. The night quickly degenerated into a blurry mess, which I will not detail here. It is enough to say that I was goaded into slapping my boss repeatedly–by him–and that people ate shit. Literally.

Wake-up call the next morning was not pleasant. But we managed to get everyone together and out. We visited a horse fertility center. The memories are too painful and terrifying to recount just now. Then we drove to the Lujan Zoo…by far my favorite stop on the trip. In this zoo, the animals essentially roam free. The ones that are in cages, you can walk right in and visit with. Monkeys, goats, seals, you name it. While they are shooting, there’s not much for me to do. I’ve gotten the paperwork I need, set up all the things I was supposed to. The lions’ keeper noted my idle state and, eventually, got me in the cage. Me, and our bus driver. Yeah. And then I hung out with the baby goats, which I was totally in love with.

We got back to the Sheraton at about 9pm, and had to be up at 2:30am (yes, you read that right) for our flight the next morning to Peninsula Valdes. That night, I was ready to crack. I really thought that there was no way I could make it. We were barely three days in, I had been covered in horse, duck, and llama shit all day, and I was exhausted. And I was going to get about two hours of sleep. Then I saw the message light blinking on my hotel phone. Who knows I’m here? My dad, who had not responded to the email I sent over a week before leaving, with the dates I would be in Buenos Aires so we could get together. The message said he was on the way. I lost it. I tried to call my mom, but she didn’t pick up, so I called Adam and sobbed (almost hysterically) for fifteen minutes, kicking off my poo-encrusted boots and wanting only to take a shower and drift away into a long sleep. I managed to get it together enough to meet him downstairs, along with my cousin (don’t know her, met her once when I was ten), and her boyfriend (never met him). I don’t think I need to tell you, I was not in the best shape that evening. The cold I had fought off before we left was creeping up the back of my throat.

The wake up call came at 2:30, just as requested. I’d been asleep for just under three hours. I stumbled into the bathroom and took my five minute shower, dried off my toiletries, and put them right back in the suitcase again. The flight to the Peninsula, where we planned to see the Orcas, shear sheep, and ride a llama, was waiting for us.

This week has been hell. Out every night, driving and looking for signs. Scouring the ads and making calls every day. Driving back out on lunch sometimes (and Santa Monica to Los Feliz is no joke at 12 o’clock!). But it paid off!

Here’s my new building!

And here’s my new pool and hot tub!

And here’s my new kitchen!

And here’s a headshot of my new neighbor!

Okay, maybe that last one is wishful thinking. But I’ll post their real headshots after I move in.

It’s pretty, isn’t it? There’s also a gym, but since I’ll most likely never set foot in it, I’m not posting a photo. And a great big laundry room. And underground parking. It is right in Los Feliz Village, and I’m SO excited! I’ve been thinking about furniture arrangements, color schemes, so much exciting stuff.

I’ll be able to walk to the Dresden!

And Los Feliz 3 Cinema. Look how cute!

Los Feliz, in case you don’t speak-a even a little the Spanish, means The Happy Ones.

I feel that.

This week has been hell. Out every night, driving and looking for signs. Scouring the ads and making calls every day. Driving back out on lunch sometimes (and Santa Monica to Los Feliz is no joke at 12 o’clock!). But it paid off!

Here’s my new building!

And here’s my new pool and hot tub!

And here’s my new kitchen!

And here’s a headshot of my new neighbor!

Okay, maybe that last one is wishful thinking. But I’ll post their real headshots after I move in.

It’s pretty, isn’t it? There’s also a gym, but since I’ll most likely never set foot in it, I’m not posting a photo. And a great big laundry room. And underground parking. It is right in Los Feliz Village, and I’m SO excited! I’ve been thinking about furniture arrangements, color schemes, so much exciting stuff.

I’ll be able to walk to the Dresden!

And Los Feliz 3 Cinema. Look how cute!

Los Feliz, in case you don’t speak-a even a little the Spanish, means The Happy Ones.

I feel that.

Adam has been using his Tivo-y thing to record episodes of Jackass for me, because before my boss was my boss, he appeared in many of their stunts. I get a huge kick out of seeing him stuffed in a bucket, and Adam appreciates this.

Tonight on the phone, he was relating one of the segments he had just recorded involving my boss, in which Johnny Knoxville is “testing” a cup. He has croquet balls thrown at it. He has several schoolchildren (many of whom have bad aim and pointy feet) kick him in the crotch. And, last but not least, he has a paintgun fired at it. My boss does some of the firing. Knoxville warns that if he shoots him in the leg, he’ll kill him. This man, who commands the respect of everyone in my office, proceeds to nail him right on the head. Yes, that head. And while Knoxville is doubled over in pain, fires one more—right into the leg.

However, Adam said that the schoolkid stunt looked particularly painful, as Johnny was repeatedly “taking it in the ‘taint.”

“The ‘Taint?!” I burst out laughing. “What the hell is that? Is that what you get kicked in when you’re wearing pantaloons?”

Adam is patient while I laugh myself breathless.

“Well, that’s what it sounds like,” I pant out. I sense that he thinks I’m missing something.

“Do you know what a ‘taint is?”

I hazard a guess. “Is it the thing between the balls and the…?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“But I thought that was called a perin—”

Adam interjects, “Well, yeah, that’s its real name. But you don’t say he was getting shot in the scrotum or testicles instead of balls. Everything has a real name, and the name we call it.”

“So the thing in the middle is called a ‘taint?”

“Well yeah! Because ‘taint one thing and ‘taint the other.”

Oh.

My.

God.

I just die. I can’t believe how well I set that up. I can’t believe that Adam executed a punchline so perfectly deadpan. And I can’t believe that Johnny Knoxville, with the help of my boss, would allow children to kick him in that Land Without Borders to test a piece of sports equipment.

Boy, I can’t wait to see the kind of search results this entry returns in Google.

Adam has been using his Tivo-y thing to record episodes of Jackass for me, because before my boss was my boss, he appeared in many of their stunts. I get a huge kick out of seeing him stuffed in a bucket, and Adam appreciates this.

Tonight on the phone, he was relating one of the segments he had just recorded involving my boss, in which Johnny Knoxville is “testing” a cup. He has croquet balls thrown at it. He has several schoolchildren (many of whom have bad aim and pointy feet) kick him in the crotch. And, last but not least, he has a paintgun fired at it. My boss does some of the firing. Knoxville warns that if he shoots him in the leg, he’ll kill him. This man, who commands the respect of everyone in my office, proceeds to nail him right on the head. Yes, that head. And while Knoxville is doubled over in pain, fires one more—right into the leg.

However, Adam said that the schoolkid stunt looked particularly painful, as Johnny was repeatedly “taking it in the ‘taint.”

“The ‘Taint?!” I burst out laughing. “What the hell is that? Is that what you get kicked in when you’re wearing pantaloons?”

Adam is patient while I laugh myself breathless.

“Well, that’s what it sounds like,” I pant out. I sense that he thinks I’m missing something.

“Do you know what a ‘taint is?”

I hazard a guess. “Is it the thing between the balls and the…?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“But I thought that was called a perin—”

Adam interjects, “Well, yeah, that’s its real name. But you don’t say he was getting shot in the scrotum or testicles instead of balls. Everything has a real name, and the name we call it.”

“So the thing in the middle is called a ‘taint?”

“Well yeah! Because ‘taint one thing and ‘taint the other.”

Oh.

My.

God.

I just die. I canÂ’t believe how well I set that up. I canÂ’t believe that Adam executed a punchline so perfectly deadpan. And I canÂ’t believe that Johnny Knoxville, with the help of my boss, would allow children to kick him in that Land Without Borders to test a piece of sports equipment.

Boy, I canÂ’t wait to see the kind of search results this entry returns in Google.

I hate seeing every day in relation to how close the weekend is. I shouldn’t think, Well this week is almost halfway over, and wish I had a way to make time hurry past. How sad!

I’m just bummed because I feel invisible today. No one is listening. The same dumb questions from these people, and I have no patience for it today. You know a good way to lose your job? “I have no freakin’ clue when Room Raiders is gonna be on. I don’t care about your stupid idea for a show. And I definitely don’t know how to put you in touch with Ashton Kutcher. Ass.”

Fortunately, I would never do or say any of those things. Partly because I’m just good at my job, and no matter how inane a caller is, I will respond with professionalism and courtesy. And partly because I’m living paycheck to paycheck, baby!

As a result of holding back all these words, I think I sometimes take advantage of the fact that I can respond however I like to questions in my personal life. And sometimes I get a little snippy, especially with those who deserve the most of my patience. Doesn’t really seem fair, does it?

I’ll try to be better. But for now, between 8:30 am and 5:30 pm, it might be best to consider me a tiny, raging, volcano of sarcasm, poised to erupt at the slightest hint of inattention.