Lyzz

Friday, June 26.  Yesterday we wrapped.  Everyone is gone, I am here in DC (where I currently live), trying to get back to “real life” again.  My head is still reeling, possibly more from the extreme lack of sleep in the past couple weeks than anything else, but certainly also from the complex mix of emotions reverberating through my heart and head.  A week ago, I wanted nothing more than to be home in my own bed, with my own pillow, my own shower, my own kitchen, my dear boyfriend, and normal work hours.  But finally being here has been existentially confusing, to say the least.  It’s always difficult to close one chapter of your life and begin another, but perhaps somewhat easier when the break is a clear one– graduation, break-ups, birthdays, moving.  This show made for an incredibly difficult few weeks, without much time for personal contemplation.  Did I learn anything about myself?  Am I any closer to answering the biggest question of all, the Why?  Maybe this is what we all struggle with forever; eternal internal jihad.  Is peace possible within oneself?  Is it possible anywhere?  I think that in all cases, we must believe and we must try.  It’s easier sometimes than others.

Shooting here in DC after being on the road so long was strange for me.  I am at home, yet still on the road.  The same long hours, the same production crises, the same late nights, but the added complexity of returning home after a long absence.  And then, as suddenly as it started, it was over.  Goodbye RV, goodbye Bertha, goodbye extra mini-van seat, goodbye Penske truck with the scrapbook of hotel room keys stuck on the back with gaff tape.  Hello bills that need paying, floors that need vacuuming, laundry that needs doing, dishes that need washing, back to the office every morning.  Standing there, saying goodbye to this group of people who I’ve lived, sweat, worked, complained, cried, laughed, and loved with for the last month made all the stress and all the headaches melt away like ice cream under the Texas sun.   There was a point, somewhere in the South, where I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into.  But as I happily enjoy a highly selective memory, I know I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.  And I’d start next week.

In Nashville we were privy to one of the most incredible electrical storms I’ve ever seen.  The lightning stretched out in a brilliant web across the sky, like the hand of God reaching down to us.  We stood on the balcony of the venue where we were shooting country singer Greta Gaines, no one willing to blink for fear we’d miss the next flash.

I’m sitting in my apartment on Capitol Hill right now.  It’s small, but comfortable enough for my boyfriend and me. We have a velvet orange couch inherited from his parents and a string of paper star lights around the front window, wine bottles with pretty labels doubling as candleholders.  It’s raining outside, that pounding warm summer rain that begins in the blink of an eye out of a still blue summer day.  Thunder is rumbling in the distance, I am still partially delirious without sleep.  The hail has started, it’s drumming on the windows and pinging the AC unit.  The children next door are yelling and running inside to their mother, holding a pink towel and rushing them through the door.  I make some iced tea, it’s still so hot and humid.

And now, like the climax of a dream, the sun is breaking through the clouds again and lighting up the yellow-green trees across the street, the hail is declining, and the rumbling thunder is fading into the distance.  It seems fitting that the end of our journey be capped like this, a downpour to sooth our heads, cleanse our minds, wash away our transgressions.  And after the deluge what is left but a sparkling new chapter, new friendships, new loves, new understanding, new perspectives.  Not tears, but a blessing.  Not the end, but the beginning.

-Lyzz

We’re finally in Nashville, TN; cradle of country and bad boy of the South.  So far so good– we have two days off before picking up shooting again.  Yesterday was a long drive from Birmingham by way of Space Camp (!!), which involved an torrential downpour… Ahh, summer in the South.

Our journey from New Orleans to Nashville took along part of the “civil rights trail,” through Montgomery and Birmingham, AL.  Two cities wracked by some of the worst mass injustices and cruelties perpetrated in this country, yet both also the context for some of the most powerful and catalytic events in the American civil rights movement.  Montgomery, home to courageous Rosa Parks, and Birmingham, where the unparalleled Martin Luther King, Jr. once lived and preached.

The first stop we made in Montgomery was the corner in front of the Empire Theater where Rosa Parks was arrested on the bus way back in 1955.   We met with a few people who are curators of the Rosa Parks museum and also personally connected with Mrs. Parks. I was in awe, as one woman told me about growing up around Mrs. Parks, how her aunt was one of her closest friends, how she lived “just up the street over there.”  Soon Katie (another PA) and a younger guy affiliated with the museum joined in too, and our conversation went on to the entire civil rights movement and the current state of race relations in the South.  The two locals said that sadly, an amount of very blatant racism still goes on– not “just” prejudice or bias, but true old-fashioned racism.  I know that for myself, growing up in Los Angeles, I tend to be desensitized to racial differences.  Segregation, whether overt or disguised, seems like a thing of the past to me.

In the past year, this country has been overwhelmed with a flood of calls for “change.”  Our own Bash has bravely embarked on his own journey of change, as we have been honored to have him share in his latest post.  But, the most difficult part of making this leap– whether it be fighting the lesser aspects of our characters, ending human rights abuses, or simply ushering in a new administration– is making a clean break with the past.  We all, individually and collectively, carry our history with us eternally.  It is always there, always unchanging, always final, and always reaching out to affect our future.  It is a dance we all engage in, a partner we cannot escape but can only lead in a new direction.

As I spoke with these two Montgomery natives, who were born and live steeped in Alabama’s civil rights struggle, I was amazed by their open forgiveness and firm belief in constantly moving forward, despite the many wrongs executed on them and their families.  “We all bleed the same red blood, and we’re all ‘colored.’ ” the boy said. “Most people believe what they’re told when they’re growing up.  But I think it’s like eating chicken– you have to eat the meat, and spit out the bones.”

-Lyzz

OTR2 has been featured in the Montgomery Advertiser, the local newspaper here in Montgomery, AL!  While filming yesterday we were honored to have another film crew from a local station and a couple local reporters with us.

See the article here!

And very best wishes to everyone in Montgomery who helped us out yesterday, what a wonderful and charming town.

Well, we’ve officially survived an entire week of “work” in the French Quarter. We left New Orleans this morning, after yet another long night on Bourbon St. (at least for some of us)… The problem (or at least so I’m telling myself) was that we shot Bash and the girls having a “night out on the town,” which obviously could only end with cast and crew getting hurricanes and “huge ass beers” (if you’ve been to Bourbon you know what I mean). Work hard, play hard, anyone? Did make for a looong day of driving to Alabama today though…

The past few days, our summer Gulf Coast weather kicked up to the next level. Walking outside in the morning is like stepping into a sauna; showering begins to seem pointless, and certainly futile. You run for cover inside blessed air-conditioned buildings, only to forget the suffering of moments before and be overwhelmed yet again when you’re finally forced to return to the street. But in a way, the insurmountable heat is comforting. You are left with no choice but to release yourself from petty cares like dry clothes and stable hair– no choice but walk straight past that mirror and revel in your own sweat. It’s the great equalizer, since no one stays fresh or clean for long.

Yesterday morning we headed over to the Upper 9th Ward to participate in a house build with Habitat for Humanity, who are the brawn behind Musicians’ Village, a post-Katrina rebuilding effort begun by Harry Connick Jr. and Branford Marsalis to re-house displaced native musicians. The sun was sweltering, but we toughed it out for several hours with the AmeriCorps and Habitat volunteers working on the house. The Village is a work of art in and of itself– each little house painted a different bright color, complete with a front porch and yard (pictures coming soon). All of us came away with the utmost respect for the volunteers working on these houses daily in the ridiculous heat. True, these houses aren’t mansions, but they still take an amazing amount of work to build (especially since they must be as hurricane-proof as possible). And, as one cast member pointed out on our lunch break, the volunteers build these houses without ever necessarily even meeting the final occupants– truly a selfless labor of love.

I spoke with our local producer, Melissa, about her personal experience with Katrina– working in Los Angeles when the storm hit, unable to be with her family as their homes were ruined, and with Joseph about his life growing up in a Palestinian refugee camp, and I started thinking again about the meaning of home.  So much more than simply a building; also a manifestation of your existence, in a way a projection of your life and an anchor for your family. To be displaced from home in such a brutal fashion can only be like tearing at a piece of your soul.  Hopefully, the work Habitat is doing in the 9th Ward is helping to restore some of that loss.

After Musicians’ Village, Joseph spent the evening and night in some New Orleans housing projects.  A far cry from the French Quarter, where drinks are three for one every night and Mardi Gras beads forever hang from lamp posts like Spanish moss. Two sides to every coin, two faces to every city.

We’re now in Montgomery, AL, the birthplace of the American civil rights movement. I think we’re all excited to see the town and explore a little bit of that very moving part of our national history, especially against the background of our current president. Of course its never so simple, but in a sweetly naive way it does seem as though history has come full circle.  More thoughts on that tomorrow…

-Lyzz

We’re halfway through our shoot in New Orleans, and if there’s been one over-arching theme of the week, I’d say it could be summed up in one simple word: “heat.” Anyone who’s been through the South in summer can tell you that the weather never leaves you here. It wraps you in a blanket of humidity the moment you step outside, drenches you in a tropical thunderstorm every evening, and is manifested through a landscape of banana trees, cattails, and murky swamps. But more than just the temperature, there’s another heat that permeates New Orleans– the passion and decadence of Bourbon St., the fiery soul of the Southern Baptist church, and the still-present sorrow from Hurricane Katrina. This is a city of many emotions, many temptations, and none of them restrained; a pretty lady with a dirty face and a secret smile.

Our first day of shooting was Sunday, and we attended three entire church services– one small Baptist in a rougher part of town, one Episcopalian in the Garden District, and another huge Baptist megachurch on the outskirts of the city. Each one was incredibly different, but all had the same overwhelming sense of community and faith.

Yesterday was spent paying homage to all the requisite New Orleans spots; beignets at Café du Monde, strolling through the French Quarter, exploring the Basin St. Cemetery, and a carriage ride through the Garden District.

-Lyzz

Well, we finally arrived in New Orleans last night from Dallas, after a long long day of driving. We wrapped Episode 2 on Wednesday night in Dallas, finishing up with a night out at the swanky W Hotel. Had to say goodbye to Mary, who isn’t directing Ep3, and Noessa who left us to do some prep work for Ep4, which she is Field Producer for.

Dallas was more interesting than I expected. I know what you’re thinking; isn’t it all ladies with giant hair, thick accents, and lots of oil money? I suppose they exist somewhere in Dallas, but as with most places, the stereotypes don’t really slap you in the face the moment you arrive.

Our first stop was an amazing biker bar / shop / dealership called Strokers. I’ll have some photos soon, because words really can’t describe– its an entire community in and of itself, you have to see it to believe it. So cool.

Unfortunately most of my time in Dallas revolved around fixing the many problems that have arisen or we’ve created (however unintentionally!!) with our may vehicles. I spent the drive from Clarendon, TX (and our amazing ranch.. see below) trying to convince our RV rental company that we needed– NEEDED — a new RV in Dallas. Finally I had to pull out the big guns and have our Supervising Producer Allison instill the fear of God into them. Remember the drama with the so-called propane leak in Santa Fe, Joseph passing out, etc.? Well the nasty smell which we all thought was propane kept up the whole way from Santa Fe to Gallup, Amarillo, and Clarendon. It got so bad that the rest of the caravan (all 5 vehicles!) could smell it behind the RV on the road. Thinking we had an imminent explosion on our hands, we of course cleared out all passengers and left Micah, our sacrificial lamb, to drive it by himself. Needless to say, there isn’t a whole lot going on between Gallup, NM and Amarillo, TX, and to make matters worse it was Sunday… NOBODY was open. We were also trying to get to Amarillo in time for Joseph to attempt eating the 72 Oz. steak at the Big Texan restaurant.

So, we stopped for lunch and finally decided that Micah and I would stay with the RV and see if we could find somewhere along the road to dump the propane and then meet everyone in Amarillo later. We all spent a good half hour (at least) trying to get all the gear off the RV and into the mini-vans before the caravan finally left us. Micah and I ended up sitting at a truck stop for an hour or so calling all the closed propane providers, trying to find an RV service station, and even having the local fire department come out to see if they could do anything… Which they couldn’t.

Fast forward to morning in Amarillo, where I woke early and took the RV over to a local propane station where a very nice man looked at the tank, confirmed yet again that there was no leak and there should not be any smells after we shut the valve. He suggested it must be something with the exhaust or possibly the catalytic converter, which can smell very similar to propane if not functioning properly. He insisted it wouldn’t be harmful, but of course nobody was willing to brave riding in the RV before getting it serviced (or hopefully exchanged) in Dallas.

And that was how I ended up at a Ford dealership in Dallas Tuesday night, trying to convince the mechanic to look at our RV immediately, which he finally did. After all this, it turned out that the exhaust pipe was cut a little too short. No immense propane leak, no faulty catalytic converter, just a short pipe. Sigh.

We also managed to put a big crack in the windshield of one of the minivans, which I got to spend a couple hours switching out at the Dallas airport. By the time Wednesday night rolled around, I was really ready to experience some Dallas-style nightlife with cast & crew.

-Lyzz

I arrived in Albuquerque Monday night, meeting the rest of the crew (who were driving down from Vegas). In classic roadtrip style, we somehow managed to forget about the change in time zones, which left me waiting in the hotel lobby for an hour and a half to greet the crew… They didn’t arrive til 11:30 PM. I quickly passed out at a table in the lobby, and was anxiously awakened by a couple crew members rushing in to say that not only have the finally arrived, but Joe is having an asthma attack and collapsed in the RV. Fun never stops with this crew!

We managed to get Joe conscious and somewhat rehabilitated, and find the source of his irritation– a leak in the propane tank of the RV. Finally after a the added chaos of checking 20 people into their rooms and parking and unloading three mini-vans, a big rental truck, and an RV, we dragged ourselves over to what is apparently the only establishment in Santa Fe open after midnight on a weekday (the Atomic Cafe) for dinner.

The next couple days were “off,” i.e. no shooting. But, as anyone who’s ever worked in production knows, you don’t really ever get a day off, and indeed I spent most of mine in the hotel lobby making good use of the free WiFi. That night we ended up at a local bar for dinner and well… Let’s just say there’s a couple bars in Santa Fe that may be ordering another couple shipments of tequila this week…

Thursday was our first day of shooting out of Santa Fe, and we kicked it off by going whitewater rafting on the Rio Grande. I somehow got lucky enough to end up in a boat (rather than facilitating from onshore), which was a lot of fun. The cast seemed to have a great time too, and after we passed all the rapids got to experience a capsize drill and all go swimming.

Yesterday we headed up to Los Alamos to play Ultimate Frisbee with a team introduced to us by an atomic physicist based at the lab there. It was a gorgeous day and we all had a great time hanging out on the field, playing some ultimate, and talking a lot about the state of the world (that happens a lot, not surprisingly). We also got some great Lebanese food from a local cafe, which was a very welcome change up from roadside stops and burritos. Not that I don’t love burritos…

Today we left Santa Fe, and headed three hours up the road to Gallup, where I now sit in the El Rancho Hotel while (almost) everyone else travels out to the Navajo Nation reservation. I’m sure its going great, apparently there is some sheep shearing going on… Always a good time…