Bunnies and Movies

This is Brownie, back in March.



Now he's called Ginger.



Some of you all have asked about my sordid past in the movie industry.

It is not possible to make this short and interesting. The story will be long and probably not at all interesting.

To start at the beginning, it seems like I was born sewing. When I was 4 or 5, I sat on the floor of the front porch and "helped" my mom sew on a treadle sewing machine by pushing up and down on the treadle. A few years later, I sat in her lap at the new-fangled electric sewing machine and seamed some gingham for a doll skirt. At age ten, I was given access to an even newer sewing machine in order to make "my own clothes." Mom's only caveat was "Don't break it!" Thanks Mom! I made my up own patterns and made my own clothes. I had no idea that this was supposed to be hard.

(Back then, it was actually cheaper to sew one's own clothes. Imagine.)

I parlayed this talent into a job at a costume company, back in 1976. (Before China made everything for us.) I stitched for money for many years. My friend Judy and I started a not-for-profit costume company in Atlanta in 1984. Judy was the resident designer and executive, and I was the general dog's body. I was the shop manager, first hand, stitcher, rental manager, and toilet cleaner. (Judy was so supportive, though. A great teacher! She had a big library! I am what I am because of her. Thank you, J. Dragon!)

I did not go to college to get a degree in theater or costume design/construction. I am an autodidact. If I don't know how to do something, I get a book and figger it out. With varying success. (I am not a milliner, for example. My hats suck.) I learned to how take a designer's rendering, create the pattern, and construct it.

So. Despite a lack of ambition, my talent became known around Atlanta. My talent also became known to me, when once I went toe to toe with an honest-to-god-college-ejimicated costume person. And won. Actors loved me because their costumes fit! I was good, pragmatic, and fast.

Circa 1991, costume gossip centered on a new teevee show, I'll Fly Away, that was coming to town and how to get one's resume to these California people. Faxing was new-fangled then, and costly. I was not interested because I already had a job. (Actually, I had three jobs then, but that's a whole 'nuther story.)

Imagine my delight when two weeks later I received a phone call from the wardrobe supervisor of the new teevee show asking if I would be interested in working for them. Seems she had called around and My Name was mentioned by everyone as The Best Costume Person Around. I loved working with that costume designer and I really loved that gig.

I also learned that getting into the working-in-film door is hard, but once one's foot is in that door, and one is deemed a reliable, good, and diligent worker, then practically every film door is opened. The costume designer of I'll Fly Away liked me a lot and he told his friends back in California. So, I got work on several straight-to-video movies, plus a few made-for-teevee movies. And made lots of money.

Soon, I discovered that this industry was not good for my soul. These movie people took themselves way too seriously, as if what they did was important made any difference. No cure for cancer was ever involved.

So I quit. Took my toys (and money) and moved to a state far, far away.

For Buster lovers everywhere, here he is with our new couch rat, Claudia.



The deposition went okay, although I did have bunny anxiety dreams again last night. (Little bunny feet rotting off from being in the rain and mud for three days.) (My mind has some sick alcoves.)

I truthfully answered all the questions, even if that meant saying "I don't know" or "I don't remember." Hey, if it's good enough for Alberto Gonzales, it's good enough for me.

I did succeed in pissing off the evil lawyer at least twice but I kept my wise ass in the barn most of the time. He asked me what J. and B. were thinking/meaning/whatever five or six years ago, and I replied "My suggestion to you is that you ask J. and B. for that answer." He got livid! And sarcastic! Nice. I love making a man lose control.

The other time was when he tried to pronounce a town resident's name, unsuccessfully. He said that he never could get "those Slavic names right." I piped up and said that the name was Estonian. Later, after a break (this thing went on for TWO FREAKING HOURS) he had to say that he had it on good authority that Estonia was Slavic. What did he do? Email his secretary to get that answer? He's still wrong because Estonia is mostly Finnish and not Slavic. It's these little things that make me fiendishly happy.

I was also happy that his client had to pay for TWO HOURS+ of his lawyer's time. HA-ha.

I try not to be petty. Really and mostly I do. But this episode tested my patience and so I freely spent a few of my Karma Dollars.

On the knitting front, I got several rows of the shawl done during my questioning. My lawyer said he didn't care what I did as long as I paid attention. It's still not much to look at but I plan to put it on a string sometime soon for pictures and a good looksee.

Some of you may know that I once had a brinks'n'mortar store. After I closed, several short lived enterprises occupied MY space. This spring, paper was again on the windows - Viola's Gallery was coming with art, antiques, and clothing. Who the hell is this Viola? The Bitch!

I broke down and stepped inside a couple of months ago, all ready to hate hate hate her and her little dog, too.

Know what? Deb is so nice. She and her daughter bought the building and renovated it themselves so perfectly! Everything they did, and what they sell, is what I had hoped to do - until my money and energy ran out. I visited several times and once I wore my little Barbie shoe earrings. When Deb saw them, she went wild and pleaded for me to make some for the store. So I have. I'll drop these three pair off today.



If any of you all want to contact me via email, try fuzzarelly at epowerc dot net

But first, let's kill all the lawyers...

In spite of feeling detached about the disposition this afternoon and saying out loud, "Yeah, it's all cool," I had anxiety dreams All. Night. Long. I awoke exhausted.

The dreams involved my two usual culprits - costumes and bunnies. I was having to create/sew/manage wardrobe for some huge multi-million dollar movie - and of course, every obstacle in the world was thrown at me. The bunnies were with me and somehow escaped, so I was distracted with trying to rescue them from some danger. I think the movie dream was triggered by reading Sweetie's brother's ex-wife's blog about the crazyawful movie business. I'm glad she has knitting to keep her sane, too.

I'm always amazed at how some of my dreams can be so detailed, but I won't bore you with said details. I'm sure it is not something peculiar to me.

(As an side, as I watched the football pre-game silliness yesterday, I was delighted to see a hand pain commercial aimed at knitters! And yes, I did listen to all of Terry Bradshaw's, et al. blather. As sick as it sounds, it is as comforting to me as meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The Colts kicked Tampa Bay's ass.)

Sweetie is still on vacation and will go with me to the lawyer's office. Maybe we'll go out to eat somewhere kinda nice. Maybe stop in to see Ann at Grinny Possum.

I'm okay. Thanks for asking. I'm okay in the sense of still breathing and not flat lining.

Sweetie fortuitously scheduled two weeks vacation for now. The plant's check book is in the care of the bank and he doesn't know if he will have a job once vacation is done. There are three prospective buyers looking over the place, which is good news and there is a union, so the pay won't be less. The 401k is safe. (Sweetie told me the story of the local biscuit plant that was bought out by an investment group. The pension fund was raided and then they sold it. I ask you, how can these people live with themselves after doing that to ten, twenty, thirty year employees?)

So he has been busy around the house. Outside the house, really. He spent two days on my dear car and now the horn works (yay!,) the back window rolls up and down, and - drum roll please - the passenger side door opens from the outside. He also installed the satellite radio system, which doesn't quite work yet because, all of the sudden, the front cigarette lighter is not getting voltage. (This is definitely not a new car. There are three ashtrays and two cigarette lighters in the back.)

This is the nicest beat up car I have ever owned, and I have owned some beat up cars in my life. She is a vintage '83 Mercedes. Runs perfectly, gets 24 mpg, and cost less than $2300. The only reason that I have such a dream car is because Sweetie spent a year of his life as an apprentice at a Mercedes dealership in Atlanta and he has all the books, literature, yadda yadda for this model. If one gets parts at the junkyard and does the work oneself, one can indeed own such a vehicle.

Enough about me. Let's focus about me for awhile, okay?

I went to the dentist yesterday because this one lonely tooth, who has no friends on either side of it, starting being sensitive to hot and cold. Crap. Let's just pull the sucker because I cannot afford several thousand dollars to have a bridge made and all that other stuff that a lonely tooth with no friends needs.

Good news! The dentist tapped on it and I did not go through the roof. The X-ray revealed that while the tooth has its problems, its roots are healthy! The dentist did not want to pull a healthy tooth. She asked about any sinus problems. Uh, yeah. In the most major kind of way do I have sinus problems. I have not had a sense of smell for months. Upshot is that I am on anti-robotics for ten days (Ick. I hate anti-robotics) to take care of the infection that most likely is located in my sinuses, not my tooth. Seems that the roots of said tooth are involved in my sinuses somehow. All action is on hold for four or five weeks to see if the infection goes away and stays away.

And. I don't hate all lawyers. But I have been subpoenaed to give a deposition this Monday for a town related lawsuit. (Yes! Get involved in your governing and you, too, can get sued!) It is all totally bo-o-o-o-gus, but a subpoena is a subpoena. I am to bring all sorts of nonexistent paperwork. Major pain in the ass.

The thing is that I have been subpoenaed by this same lawyer for a different case - again, a totally bo-o-o-o-gus suit. This certain lawyer is the kind of low life scum that gives good lawyers a bad name. He's a bully and a dick. I am glad that the town has a great lawyer who will be there with me.

So. I'm depressed, but Sweetie has a job for the nonce and I have my car and my tooth. Things could be so much worse.

And how are you all?

This is our entertainment center. The teevee, with rabbit ears, the Sirius boombox, and the combination record player, CD player, and radio.



I don't watch much teevee and I'm not just saying that. I don't. But I brought the set from the back living room into the front living room so I could watch The War on PBS this week while I knit. Can I just say, "Oh. My. God."

I know a lot about WWII - for a woman my age. Books, movies, teevee, stories. This series has brought home the horror to me all over again. And the wars don't stop. Sweetie says wars happen because of men. Men have always and forever (?) fought for wealth, status, power. It is their nature. He says that it's just like two male bunnies fighting - only on a larger scale.

For me, it's horrible.

When we went to the Patton Museum, Sweetie was enthralled with the tanks; the power and force, etc. etc. (They have the largest tank collection in the world, I think.) He put himself into the aggressor's shoes; the person in the tank. Me, I was in the regular person's shoes. I imagined the tanks from the weaker position. Being run over by the tank.

We have C 130s fly over us a lot. Maybe three or four in a line. C 130s fly low and slow and make a deep rumbling noise individually. In a group, they rattle the windows. It's awe inspiring. I imagine having a thousand planes flying over, dropping bombs on me. I imagine being on the ground and seeing the sky filled with death machines.

So, I'm depressed today. I'm glad the show won't be on again until Sunday. But I will watch it. Even if it gives me bad dreams again.

Otherwise, this is Floppy, the wry neck bunny. Sometimes I call her Fosdick. She escaped from her little corral last week into the larger enclosure and it seems to be doing her good. Her head doesn't tilt so far to one side anymore. I think she is actually getting better! She's getting around far better than I ever thought she could.



Percival likes her.




Also, some acid crazed spider got aholt of my shawl and did bad things. I have started over.



And it did rain.

Silky is so lovely covered in wool.




Not so lovely anymore but much cooler.

Knit and Hook

Still hot here, ninety-five degrees. Geez Louise. However, it should be 5 or so degrees cooler tomorrow and yet again we are being teased with a chance of rain. Percival keeps his cool, though. (I missed the shot of him on his back in the hole, little feet up in the air.)



I clipped Silky today. Sweetie dubbed him Sicky last year - but then he got better and so got a better name, too. He is silky. A good wooler, as they say. Bunny clipping season is just around the corner. Oh boy. One down, thirty something to go.

Still knitting the new shawl. There is something to be said about swatching, that something usually being "Don't need to" followed by "I should have." I mean, I should have at least tried a sample of the pattern alteration I made instead of spending an hour knitting two rows and then 4 hours unknitting those two rows. Lace, with its yarn overs and knit 2 togethers, behaves weirdly if one switches places of the yarn overs and knit 2 togethers. Who knew? But I got it figgered out and I am liking the change. I guess I better because I'm moving forward with this thing. You can't see the change in this picture, though, because it was taken last week. The green is gradually getter darker as the shawl gets longer.




Also, I meant this shawl to be a half circle. But because of one extra pair of yarn overs every eight rows well....who knew?

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