It's been a busy few weeks, dear reader, and as I'm now realizing, the first casualty of having no time seems to be "blogging."
First off, it is becoming more and more apparent that people I know are actually reading this thing. It's a very weird feeling to bump into someone and hear them say, "I've been reading that thing you do online," and for a moment I think, "What thing?" Then I remember: "Oh, yeah, the blog. You read that?" Then my mind races: Have I written about them in the past? Did I mention some meeting or project that I shouldn't have? Even my mom "googled" me and asked me about it, so I begged her not to read it. If I knew she was going to the site on a regular basis my fingers might freeze up and the ability to type would disappear. Anyway, it's been happening more and more, which I suppose is due to the publicity around the short film that is now in festivals; people are looking me up and the first thing they find is the blog. So far, I've only mildly pissed one person off ("How could you call me a "silly rabbit?") but fortunately he had a sense of humor about it. Someone else said I sounded "angry," which is weird because I'm a pretty easy-going guy. (Any shrinks out there reading this, feel free to let me know if I am suppressing some major anger. Frustration, sometimes, but anger... nah.) I must admit, I'm still not used to the pervasive nature of the web; when you put stuff out there... it's out there.
In other news, there have been a few bizarre events at my apartment that have made me feel like I'm living on some sort of new show on "Animal Planet." Early last week, my roommate and I noticed a huge amount of ash and soot had fallen through the chimney, filling the fireplace and spilling out through the glass doors onto the mantel, the floor and everything else within a four foot radius. It was very odd. Two days later, I was sitting at my desk when I heard a noise coming from the living room. But when I checked, there was nothing to be found. I went back to work, only to hear more noises several minutes later. I went back out and, again, there was nothing, though I did notice the fireplace door had opened somehow. I figured more soot must have fallen from the chimney and the air had opened the door. No big deal. A few hours later, however, as I was walking to the kitchen, a giant bird flew up from behind the sofa, flapping it's wings and banging into the walls. I literally jumped in the air, my heart bursting out of my chest, and ran back down the hall. When the bird (and my heart) had settled down, I went back for another peek. At first I thought it was a crow, but it turned out to be a giant pigeon, covered in soot. It had parked itself on a chair by the kitchen table and was watching me. This thing was huge. I grabbed a broom and slowly made my way to the patio doors, opened them and then moved the broom towards the bird. Fortunately, we were on the same page and it took off through the open door to freedom. I looked around the room and noticed big black marks all over the walls, the spots where its dirty wings had hit in the mayhem. It must have been in that chimney for a few days or longer.
Three days later my roommate called me while I was out to tell me "we have a big problem." She's clearly upset and I immediately start wondering if I did something to piss her off, like accidentally take her car keys or leave a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Instead, it seems that a swarm of bees had infiltrated the apartment and were coming in through not only the windows but the air vents. Then she tells me she's deathly allergic and does not have one of those special medicated pens that she needs. And, for some reason, she is calling from inside the house instead of several miles away. I try to calm her down and convince her to call an exterminator, but none are available and the super isn't picking up his phone either. Finally she gets out of the apartment and spends the rest of the day with friends, and when I come home I find dozens of dead bees in my bathroom and on the windowsills. A few are still alive, limping along on their last legs, so I have no choice but to put them out of their misery before one of them turns out to be faking it and attacks my roommate. Today an exterminator finally came over and checked out the place, which apparently has a hive somewhere in the wall or vent on the outside of the building. He said he could take care of it but when he does there will be "a lot of activity" when the bees return to the hive later in the day and find their queen is dead. I taped up all the vents just in case. We don't need any more "activity" in here for awhile.
It's not much of a story, I now realize (nor does this have much to do with "an aspiring filmmakers life in LA"), but you have to admit that the two events, all in the course of a few days, is a bit strange. I suppose I'm wondering what it all means; if there is some sort of sign to be gleaned from the combination of a giant pigeon and a swarm of bees coming into our apartment. Hopefully it's some sort of good omen, an auspicious sign of great things on the way. They also say things "happen in threes," leaving me to wonder what might be coming next. A gang of squirrels? A herd of black cats? An escaped python?
But I have a feeling it just means we need screens on our windows.