If he could see me right now...

Up until a few minutes ago, it was a normal day of office-y / housework-y stuff. I did, however, learn that my "hair in the wind" movie is one of only a short few that IS going to make it onto the official DVD of the short films from last week. They threw out many of the others, but kept that one. Yay...I think!

I have to tell you this, no matter how unattractive it may make me sound. (We're friends and I'm hoping you like me anyway.) I'm sitting here doing desperately-needed laundry, wearing (gasp) blue, white, and yellow striped pajama pants and a pink, green, and brown flowery shirt that I wore to work today. I'm a clashy colorful explosion (clashy, not classy)! I have Clearasil on part of my face, and a tummy full of mac and cheese and chocolate milk. (Really, I rarely eat like this...but it's cold tonight and this combo sounded good.) Oh, and I called Paskal (from Saturday's pockets/poutine) earlier tonight and left him a message indicating that I'd like to take him up on his offer to be my tour guide of Montreal. I keep checking my phone, but he hasn't returned my call yet. Maybe the message didn't record. Maybe the sound cut out as I left my phone number...I really have to stop checking my phone...

Okay, keep this less-than-flattering image of me in mind as I continue...

So, as I sit here feeling entirely ho-hum, I hear my Facebook window "click" with a new instant message. I figure it's Shelley or somebody like that. I look, and much to my surprise, it's an actor named Andre, who's in the "hair in the wind" movie with me. We didn't really speak at all the day of that shooting, other than introductions, and he paid me a nice compliment. Yesterday, he sent me an email (via Facebook) asking if I'm still in town for awhile. I heard he has a girlfriend, though, so I didn't reciprocate at all. I told a couple of the guys at work about the email. They were shocked. Little did I know, he's a relatively famous actor in Canada! I looked online, and lo and behold, he's all over the place -- he's even done a couple of successful TV series here, among other things. Famous or not famous, though, I'm not looking to play a "personal supporting role" with an actor who's already in a committed relationship. That'd be slimy. Here's a picture of him that I found online.

Back to my story. I hear the click of an instant message, and it's him. Here's the conversation. Forgive me for keeping it in French...I'll translate...the French is just for my own record-keeping so I can look back at this someday and laugh.

Andre

Sarah serais-tu à l'aise de faire ma girlfriend dans un short film? (Translation: Sarah would you be comfortable playing my girlfriend in a short film?)

7:22pmSarah

Salut Andre. Qu'est-ce que ca veut dire exactemment? :) (Translation: Hi Andre. What does that mean exactly?)

7:22pm Andre

lollll

7:25pm Andre

Un de mes amis doit finaliser un scénario de court métrage... Et je vais avoir une copine dans le film... Es-tu comédienne un peu... Peut-être que ça t'intéresse simplement pas !! (Translation: One of my friends is finalizing a script for a short film... And I'm going to have a girlfriend in the film...Are you a bit of an actress...Maybe that interests you a little!!)

7:26pmSarah

Oui, je suis comedienne "un peu". (Translation: Yes, I'm an actress "a little.") (Internal note: Am I? Since when?)

7:26pm Andre

loll

Est-ce que ça peut t'intéresser (Translation: Might this interest you?)

7:28pmSarah

Tu sais que je n'ai pas d'accent quebecois...c'est plutot francais/americain... mais si ca ne te derange pas...oui, peut-etre, apres avoir lu le scenario... tu me flattes. (Translation: You know I don't have a Quebec accent...it's more French/American...but if that wouldn't bother you...yes, maybe, after having read the script...You flatter me.)

7:29pm Andre

ok je te reviens la-dessus... Je crois qu'il y a cependant une scène intime... Anyway je te ferai lire. Tu me diras si ça t'intéresse!! je t'ai trouvé très naturelle, charmante et jolie. bonne soirée !! x (Translation: OK I'll get back to you about it later...I think, however, there is an intimate scene...Anyway I'll let you read it. You'll tell me if it interests you. I found you very natural, charming, and pretty. Have a nice evening. x)

7:31pmSarah

Merci beaucoup. :) (Translation: Thanks a lot.) (Internal note: Remember how I look right now? I am laughing out loud in super, extreme embarrassment and humility...I am SO not whatever he thinks I am...this cannot possibly be happening...blush, blush, blush...)

***
I PROMISE you I will never in my life do an "intimate" scene beyond anything I'd feel comfortable having my parents watch. And my Granddad. And you. I don't even know if I'll do this at all. Contrary to what my must-have-been-possessed fingers typed, I am not an actress, even "a little." I work at the phone company.

Emergency Preparedness

If you ever have excess water in your neighborhood, call me. I spent the first part of the morning carrying 50 HEAVY sandbags and large metal bars down three flights of stairs, loading them into the back of a rented truck (with stairs I had to climb to get in), running back up the three flights of stairs for the next batch, and and then unloading all this stuff at its final destination. The sandbags' original purpose was to hold down film equipment (in the wind, etc.). Their final purpose, however, was to render my arms totally useless tonight. I'm sure they'll feel just great tomorrow. On the bright side, it was more great exercise!

As I walked up my final block to work this morning, I saw that, much to my surprise, Mathieu Drouin (director) was sitting in the back of the aforementioned rental truck. I didn't expect to see him today, so it was a nice surprise (he's one of the people I've gotten to know most well so far). He, cool Francois, nice Francois, and I loaded up the truck with all the equipment, then Mathieu, cool Francois, and I spent the day taking things back to where they belong -- mostly with me sitting on the floor of the front seat of the truck, sandwiched between things. Surprisingly, I still find this fun...even when this is the work I'm doing. Upon our departure, I think Mathieu asked me to get together on Friday...but I'm not 100% sure, thanks to Quebec French. I wonder if I'm supposed to show up somewhere. I probably should have clarified.

Nice Francois didn't really need me for anything this afternoon, so I spent the balance of the day shopping. Tough job I have. I bought only one sweater, so it wasn't too dangerous.

Here are some pictures of last week's activities. For some strange reason, the one of me as the body double in the spandex dress didn't make it into my album. Must be a computer glitch. But here I am just before the wind really starts to blow through my hair...

Things I Like

I like lots of things about being here. Here's a small sample of things that either amuse me or endear me to the area and/or people:

• They have 1$ and 2$ coins. A 1$ coin is called a loonie and a 2$ coin is called a toonie.
• Upon meeting someone new, it's customary to say the French equivalent of "I'm enchanted to meet you." It's so romantic.
• Whether getting together with a good friend or meeting someone for the first time, the greeting and departure both include giving the other party a kiss on each cheek. After the kisses, hugging is optional if you really like the person. (Exception: men just shake hands.)
  
• Everybody's so darn nice. Two people (who weren't together) ran up to me on the street today to tell me that a piece of paper was about to fall out of my back pocket. Last night, while I was waiting at a crosswalk, a woman came over to tell me how the sequence of the lights at this relatively confusing intersection worked so I'll know when it's safe to cross. I was just waiting for a "walk" sign...not too hard...but how thoughtful of her to inform me.
• Montreal is very environmentally friendly. Last week, there was a "car-free" day downtown. No cars allowed. Period. Everyone has to walk, catch a bus, or take the subway. Moreover, no one here drives big cars. Smart cars, hybrids, and bikes are everywhere.
  

Alliteration

After playing pockets with Paskal, Paskal proposes poutine. But it was 3 a.m. local time, and too late for me to start the "next" event of the night. So I left the premises.

It started out as a somewhat disappointing evening. It was pouring rain, and when I got to the bar where the party was to be held (an hour and a half fashionably late), there was still hardly anyone there...except for a small group of guys who I really didn't get to know last week (aside from Billy, who I like quite a lot). Small talk ensued, and it was made more difficult by my continued quasi-frustration with the Quebec accent, and further exacerbated by being in a noisy and dark bar where even English conversations could pose a challenge. Fortunately, sweet and thoughtful Nicholas saw that they had board games, so he grabbed one that's for ages 3 and up and brought it over. Hallelujah: I can confidently converse at the level required for this game!

More people start arriving shortly thereafter. Conversation temporarily gets harder, because now alcohol is involved for everyone there, and it doesn't help my ability to speak or comprehend all this quick banter. (I'm still a lightweight, you know.) Happily, however, I recognize an old friend of mine in the corner: a fooseball table.

Granted, I think the last time I played fooseball was in Jeremy's fraternity house basement, but I figure games are my only hope of having a social "in" for the night. Luckily for me, others are interested in playing, so we hit the table. I won five games straight before voluntarily relinquishing my place at the table -- woo hoo! Take that, French boys! I didn't know I still had it in me. Fortunately, they enjoy the competition, as do I. One thing leads to another, there's a new challenge at the pockets board, and I'm promptly put in my place by Paskal, who wants poutine. I give him a rain check and walk home happily; still in the pouring rain, but happy, nonetheless.

Hair to be imprinted in cement at Hollywood's Chinese Theater

Tonight, we had the (sob, whimper) final screening of the movies we've been shooting this week. I can confirm the following, both good and bad:

• I look positively ridiculous as a cop. The role is totally implausible, especially with my completely girly ponytail swinging out the back of my police hat. If I had any audible lines, they'd undoubtedly be, "Like, hi! Do you want to join my police sorority? [Giggle.]" Plus, I look just as tired in the extreme close-up as I feared I would. Ouch. Good thing it's a very short scene, so the pain ends quickly.
• I did okay as the tourist with the Scooby van and as the body double. Despite my lines being dubbed out, I can tell both are me (especially the tourist); you'll probably be able to tell, too. Nothing to write home about, though.
  
• I sang "Flexfill" on key, even without the practice take! Yay! There's only a second of me singing, but does count as me singing on film.
• My acting highlight is the "girl in bar" turned hair-in-the-wind/jeans person. I keep deleting the comments I'm adding about this one, so suffice it to say that I'm definitely recognizable in this one, for better or for worse.

After the screening, we had a little party back at the lab. I finally have a partial picture of Francois # 2 (cool Francois) to show you, as he appeared around 2 a.m. today. Here he is with Caroline, the director with whom I worked most closely.

We have a final farewell party tomorrow night at La Quincaillerie, at which point I will bid adieu to some of the models, actors, and directors (again: sob, whimper); however, I'm happy to say that I've made some friends who live in town and are already suggesting I move here. Very nice people, these Canadians.

More Cowbell

Self-fulfilling prophesy: if I joke around about a movie of me singing (see previous blog posting), it's bound to happen. And it did. While it wasn't anything even remotely Springsteensian, I had to sing the same word ("Flexfill") over and over again from the bottom all the way up to the tippy top of the scale (past my range, thank you very much), directly to the camera. Plus, much to my surprise once again, I didn't get the option of a "practice take." If this ends up looking half as uncomfortable as it felt, it is not going to be pretty. Are there no practice takes, anywhere, ever for me? It was so ridiculous, I couldn't look the camera in the eye.

Speaking of looking things/people in the eye, that is what I'll no longer be able to do to you. Moving on to my second movie role of the day (big day!), I was first cast as an extra for the aforementioned "girl in a bar" scene. (Incidentally, the bar where we filmed is called "Yer Mad." The name amused me.) Despite starting as an extra, I kept moving up the movie food chain throughout the day, and eventually, I'm hearing the director tell me to turn my back to the camera and move around "like this is a sexy jeans commercial." Much to my dismay, he zooms in on my, um, back pockets. Excuse me very much? Does he not realize I'm more likely to emulate Gilda Radner's SNL "Jewess Jeans" skit than look even remotely seductive? Next, they decide they want wind to be blowing through my hair. (This is unbelievable. I'm still blushing.) Due to limited time and resources, however, they're unable to produce a fan; yet someone, somehow, obtains a high-powered leaf blower. This changes the entire direction of the film, and they re-write the ending on the spot. I was convinced that the incredible force of the artificial wind was going to blow my contact lenses right out, and I'll probably have what I'll call "skydiver face." Is that sexy?

I am going to go and find some sand, and promptly bury my head in it. They'll get a better view of my back pockets that way, anyway.

The difficult choices in life

Today, I was offered two choices:

1. Continuing kitchen duty, or
2. Assisting on another movie set with five male models/actors who were required to remove much of their clothing for the shot. Karl, Albert, Olivier, Philippe, and Frank.
   

For my straight male friends who are reading this and don't want to picture the latter option, of course I stayed in the kitchen. Yep, chopping vegetables. That's what I did. Chop, chop, chop; ouch, potato shoulder. I'm sorry for even mentioning option #2; I never even considered it for a single second.

After I finished, um, "chopping vegetables," I made subtitles for a very, very funny film. I'm excited for you guys to see this one. Moreover, the subtitle-making process was interesting.

Later tonight, we had another screening of the films made within the last 48 hours. Turns out the lead role I passed up yesterday involved a big ol' kissing scene with Christian Baril (see the previous models link I attached). Again, my apologies to my straight male friends who are reading this. Chop, chop -- vegetables everywhere.

I am going to be in another movie tomorrow. No kissing scene. I think my official title is "girl at the bar" or something like that. I'll find out when I get there.

This temporary lifestyle of mine is so incredibly surreal. I miss having a paycheck, but have I mentioned that I'm not really missing the AT&T gig for the moment?

Take 2

Exactly three and a half hours after I hit the hay last night, my cell phone rang and woke me up out of a dead sleep. It was Caroline, the director of the movie I worked on yesterday. In my complete grogginess, I agreed to get back up and rush back to work to do "something," but in my complete mental fog and with her Quebec French, which is still hard for me to understand, I wasn't exactly sure what I was rushing back to work for at that crazy-early hour.

Much to my surprise when I arrived, I learned that the Australian actress (her name is Kate Renwick, by the way)-- anyway, she was running late for work, and I needed to be her body double in a scene being filmed from across a street, with an actress named Jade. I'm handed the wardrobe, and it's, um...a body-hugging, long sleeved white shirt under a black spandex dress with a huge red belt, black leggings, and gray Converse sneakers. Excuse me?!?! Where are the wardrobe police? Thank goodness Canada's cold and even the prostitutes have to bundle up. Fortunately, as a body double, my face is supposed to remain hidden, and the camera was always far away. I'm not going to want to own up to this.

Speaking of police, this brings me to my second movie role of the day. I was also asked to play a rough-looking lady cop. Again, that's totally me, huh? With having had only 3-ish hours of sleep and my make-up being all gone, "rough-looking" was incredibly easy to pull off. Even worse, one shot is an extreme close-up. Not good. Sorry, friends, but no one will be receiving copies of my acting debut.

I got to keep my police ball cap as a souvenir, and I wore it back to the studio. When I got there, one of the models/actors whose work I've been admiring from afar (Karl Farah-Lajoie) was wearing a police outfit, so my police hat was a nice segue to conversation. All's well that ends well, right?

I think I'm just going to arrest myself and call it a night.

And the Oscar goes to...

definitely not me! Well, my friends, the good news is that I made it into a movie!! For sure and for certain! But I'm still laughing at how it all went down--the entire day, in fact. (Incidentally, I had to turn down a lead role in another film because I'd already committed to this one...bummer...)

Bob from Wisconsin and I (by the way, everyone thinks he's my dad)--anyway, we go to the location where our movie is being filmed. He's in it, too. Not to give away too much, but we play the tourists who happen upon a bad mafia guy who's been knocked unconscious. The director tells us we'll do a practice scene before the real one. This is good, because I find the situation highly amusing. First of all, the car we're supposed to be using as tourists is a total Scooby van. No kidding -- it's a green 1970s VW bus. (Did you know they actually have sleeping quarters in the back? I didn't.) Anyway, I am supposed to jump out of the van and run over to the unconscious guy, act all concerned, and tell Bob to call 911, yadda yadda. What actually happens is that 1) I'm cold (it's Canada, after all), so I have a great big coat on over the cute top I picked out especially for the filming occasion, 2) I'm still laughing about the vehicle being a Scooby van, and 3) My foot misses the step as I'm exiting the van and this, of course, makes everything funnier for me. Now, I'm supposed to be all serious about this unconscious guy, but I have the giggles. Moreover, because this isn't the real scene, I'm saying things about the seemingly dead guy like, "He doesn't look so good, does he, Bob?" Thank goodness it's the practice shot, right?

In the meantime, some passerby doesn't realize we're shooting a MOVIE, sees that there's a knife, someone on the ground, and someone else looking like a hostage, and he calls the real 911. The real Montreal police show up within minutes, and proceed to question us all about why we're there--and to Bob and me, what we're doing in the country. Bob has his passport with him, but I don't. Fortunately, I have a nice, handsome policeman who's receptive to my very best puppy dog eyes. (Someone should have been filming then!!) Caroline, the director of the movie, tells me to show the cops the pictures I've taken with my borrowed tourist camera (prop) as evidence of what we've been doing. Ignorantly, I wonder, "why would the cops be interested in the pictures I've taken?" and "isn't all the film equipment around us evidence enough?" It turns out Carolyn had her cameraman keep filming with the real cops there, and she was going to use this scene in her movie, since it looked like Bob and I were giving the cops tips on the bad guy. OH! Whoops. Instead, I'm standing there kind of laughing, trying to figure out how to use the camera. As it pertains to my reaction to Carolyn's request, can we say "not credible" for the movie scene, since I'm smiling the whole time I'm supposedly talking about something grizzly I've just witnessed? Long story short, because we had to deal with the real Montreal police, we've now lost daylight, and our "practice scene" where I tumble out of the Scooby van is the one we have to go with. No time to re-shoot it, thanks to Mr. Sunshine cutting off any opportunity for me to do this right. I am sooooo embarrassed. Are you jealous of my glamorous life as an actress? Yep, thought so.

Seventh consecutive 14-hour day: GIVE ME MORE!

I told the chef I make bad coffee. That helped me circumvent what could have been another full day of kitchen duty. Honestly, since I don't drink it, I can't honestly say I know whether I make a good cup, right? So, I feign stupidity (you put scoops of coffee grounds where? directly in the cups?) -- and voila -- I'm off the hook.

I spent the first part of the day translating a script from French to English so the aforementioned Australian actress understands what her role is. That was fun, and since it's an action film about the mafia, I got to learn all sorts of expressions that the mafia "Boss" might say if he were French. These are not expressions I would repeat to my mother.

After that, as I'd hoped would happen, I tagged along with director Mathieu Drouin, an incredibly nice girl named Diya from France who's taken me under her wing, a guy from France named Didier (who also goes by the name Ray Mandrake, interestingly), and an actor named Idunno Buthe'skindofcute to shoot part of his film. The premise of the film is very interesting--it's questionably a dream sequence. I even got to offer a little creative input at Mathieu's request, since I said something that intrigued him. (Loved that.) Aside from that, I got to carry his equipment and help out with the shoot. It was all incredibly fun.

The evening ended with a nice shoulder rub from Patrick, otherwise known as He Who Brings Me Grapes. (Nothing romantic here--he's just one of the nicest people on the planet.)

'Tis a very good sign when, even with a schedule like this, I'm bummed about having to leave at the end of the night, and excited to head back the next morning.

Optional reading (yes, the rest is mandatory--there's going to be a test).
A couple of quick words about safety in Montreal. It's supposedly the safest big city in North America. As evidence of this, I was asked long after dark tonight to walk to the metro station, take the metro by myself (haven't done that before, so call me "lost"), get some groceries for another shoot tomorrow, walk past umpteen homeless people on my way back with armloads of groceries...and the only thing that happens is that a homeless person comes over to help me open a door. Last night, I walked home around midnight (it's about a 30-minute brisk walk from the office), and I didn't feel in the least bit uncomfortable. Everyone here agrees this is an extremely safe city, and I've polled a number of women who say they'd walk anywhere, anytime, by themselves.

Cinderelly sees fairy godmother in distance; attempts to flag her down

I started the day with what I call "potato shoulder." It's what happens after you peel previously said excessive number of potatoes and you wash said excessive number of dishes, and you wake up at 3 a.m. in excessive pain, then realize how ridiculous the source of that pain is. Small repetitive motion, my friends. Avoid it.

So, after a night of trying desperately to get comfortable, I went to work this morning (yes, Saturday) with significantly less sleep than I needed. Fortunately, I discovered the cure for potato shoulder: chef Marie-Louise asks me to cut 10 trillion carrots into very precise pieces. I call this remedy "hair of the potato."

Once I moved up in the culinary food chain (ha - get it? totally funny) to the tomato round, I said to myself, "To heck with this. I'm done with vegetables." I left a tomato half-cut on the table, and left the building (after, of course, verifying that Marie-Louise could take it from there because it would be unlike me to walk out unexcused). I attended the shooting of a film for a Chilean director named Andrea Bravo, instead. My job there was "to be very, very quiet." An upgrade!

Tonight, however, things changed for the much, much, much better. It was the night of the first Big Screening, for the short films that have been completed in the last 24 hours. After conversations at this event, I've confirmed that I'm going to assist another director tomorrow. I'm very interested in working with him for a number of reasons. His name is Mathieu Drouin (note: different Mathieu from language-lesson Mathieu; that's Mathieu Kas.) I'm actually going to assist this Mathieu with his film, which likely involves permission to make some noise.

And on Monday, I am going to be in a movie, darnit.

Cinderelly: Before the Gown

I call today "acting class." There wasn't much use for me elsewhere, so I spent the majority of the day assisting the professional chef they've hired to prepare all our meals.

Chopping 40 onions prepared me for the sad scenes where I'll need to cry on cue. (This was an extremely painful experience.) Peeling 70 potatoes prepared me for my role as the cook in an upcoming army movie, and it undoubtedly improved the muscle tone in my left arm for my future role as a mountain climber. Making 85 tuna/pickle/something else sandwiches prepared me for having to make my "icky face"in whatever movie that's going to be. Sweeping the floors was undoubtedly practice for a movie about, um...dancing! Last but not least, doing dishes for 116 people -- twice -- made my hands silky soft, which will add to my credibility in future love scenes (ooh la la). See? It's all good. Oh, and I now know how to make an incredible dinner, and I'll be able to say that a professional chef named Marie-Louise taught me how to prepare it.

By the way, one of the directors who approached me last night about being in his film ended up going with the Australian girl, instead. Turns out her part actually did involve a love scene, so I don't mind not making my film debut that way. ("Mom and Dad, I, um, made a movie, but you'll need to cover your eyes...") Besides, my hands weren't silky soft yet. Lastly, let's face it -- you all know me -- I blush way too easily.

I'm supposed to be at another movie screening tonight, but I'm wiped out from three consecutive 14-hour days plus "acting class" today. Besides, I need my beauty rest for the movie I'm supposedly going to be in tomorrow. Bob (the director from Wisconsin) and I will likely collaborate on a film. Yay! It pays to be a Badger.

One of the other filmmakers approached me today to say, "I hope you don't mind, but I named the main character in my movie after you." I'm very flattered! Unless, of course, his main character is a crazy (dare I say) bee-yatch, in which case I don't appreciate it at all, and our similarities will end with the name. But for now, I really do. From my potato-peeling stance at the time, I asked him if he needed me to play myself in his film, but alas, he already hired someone else to portray my name.

I finally have some pictures of Montreal with the really awful disposable camera I used last weekend. I'm not in any of them because the model was also the photographer. Next time, I'll get more ambitious about asking random strangers to take my picture.

As an aside, for those of you who have asked for pictures of the models/actors, here you go. This is a small sample (not everyone is on this site), but I've met Christian, Charles-Olivier, Benoit, and Antoine.

"Dallas! Dallas!"

I heard someone yelling this from quite a distance behind me, and suddenly it dawned on me that this woman was calling me. Apparently I shall henceforth be known as "Dallas" by Quebec natives who have forgotten my other name.

As long as I'm starting with a Texas theme, I think you'll enjoy this little scenario that happened at the Saint-Sulpice bar where we had a meeting this evening. And just because I'm now in the film industry (ha), here's the way the scene transpired. Enter stage left -- a nice girl named Lawrence who speaks English poorly, but gets credit for trying.

Lawrence: "Which one of the United States is yours before you come in Montreal?" (Amusing language barrier - I didn't know I owned a state.)
Me: "Texas."
Lawrence: But you are not fat?
Me: No, I am not fat. It is a miracle.
Lawrence: Yes, you are a miracle. (I don't correct her grammar here; instead, I decide to take it as a compliment.)

A little while later, I walked past Lawrence, who was talking to someone else. She doesn't see me there, but I overhear her say, "She's from Texas, but she's not fat." Later still, someone came late to the party/meeting. I saw him come in, and he definitely did not stop and talk to Lawrence before approaching me. After getting himself a drink, he came over to me and said, "I hear you are from Texas, but you are not fat."

"Hello, my name is Dallas, and I am not fat."

Moving on...I noticed a lonely looking person in the corner. He was easily 30 years the senior of anyone else in the room, but friendly looking like somebody's lost father, so I decided to say bonjour. Turns out his name is Bob and he's from New Berlin, Wisconsin. He works at Northwestern Mutual, and Kristy, he knows your dad. Of 116 people at this event, he's the only other American, and we've got far fewer than six degrees of separation.

There is a small chance that I might be in a movie. Two directors mentioned the possibility to me, but I don't know if either one was serious, or if it was the open bar talking (I'm guessing the latter). Guess I'll find out. In the meantime, I attended a seminar today on movie lighting, so at the very least, maybe I can help out with that.

The coolest people in the world...

...are you, my dear friends, who are humoring me by reading this silly little blog. Thank you. The other coolest people in the world are the people who are at this film festival -- and particularly Francois # 2, who is undoubtedly the Coolest Person on the Planet, hands down (although I'll likely die of second-hand smoke inhalation after hanging around his coolness for the next two months). In any case, all 116 of these coolest people descended on Montreal today. Tonight, we went to the Cinematheque Quebecois after another day of furniture, film equipment, and watermelon moving. Yes, you read that right -- I had to carry a whole bunch of watermelons up several flights of stairs at breakneck speed. Nice visual, isn't it? I'm going to have giant muscles after this if my arms don't fall off first.

I spent much of the evening talking with a director from Sydney, Australia. Amusingly, I had trouble understanding her English. I can't catch a language break around these parts. Later, I chatted up another director from Trois Rivieres, which is north of Montreal but south of Quebec city. Her name is Caroline and I think we might become friends -- which is exciting, since I have none here. Later, in a highly entertaining exchange, I spoke with Mathieu, a very nice guy from Paris. I spoke exclusively in French and he spoke exclusively in English. It was confusing to change languages sentence by sentence, but we agreed we'd continue our mutual language lessons. He's 28, but says people tell him he looks younger when he "cuts his face." I suggested he try an alternate expression: "shaves his beard." (He's probably blogging to his French friends about my mistakes, too.) I spent the remainder of the evening telling select models/actors what a great job they'd all done in the short films we watched this evening.

If this seems scattered, it's likely because I've consumed only a beer and two cookies in the last 14-or-so hours. We do all of this again tomorrow, but with some film making instead of watermelon moving. Not sure what my role will be in the movies -- could be anything from actress to costume assistant to gopher. In the meantime, I'm off to make a midnight dinner!

Stagefright

Today, Francois # 1 had me join him at Cinémathèque Québécoise, the trendy theater/bar combo where we're hosting a welcome party and showing a film tomorrow night. We went into the big movie theater with the beautiful, plush, red velvet seats to test the sound on the microphone. Classy place. My job is to stand in the back of the theater and tell him whether the volume of the microphone is too loud/too quiet/just right. There are other people in the room with us. French Quebecois people. Francois decides he wants to hear the sound from the back of the room, so he says, "Sarah, can you come up here and keep talking into the microphone until I tell you to stop?" Mind you, this is all in French -- and suddenly, I have a French audience while I'm on stage with a microphone. ("Please, Lord, let me conjugate correctly.") I say the first thing that comes to mind: "Voulez-vous que je chante quelque chose?" That means, "Do you want me to sing something?" Unexpectedly (for me), the audience's answer is "OUI!" Ummmm....great! Note to self: think before speaking, in any language. Not only have I been volunteered to talk incessantly to native speakers of a language that is not my own, but I've now offered to sing to them. Fine plan I had, don't you think? Much to my dismay (and fortunately for them), I could not think of a single song other than my college sorority song: "First, you take a Pi Phi and then you compare the way she wears her clothes and the way she does her hair..." I had the good sense to refrain from singing it, but I wonder why it -- and nothing else -- popped into my head. In hindsight, I should have done my girl version of Bruce Springsteen's I'm on Fire. The minute I got home tonight, I started belting it out...pretty well, if I do say so, myself. Apparently it just needed time to "cook." If they ask me again, I'm totally doing that song. You know, next time I'm on stage in a theater full of French people and I'm asked to be the entertainment.

Other than that, we spent the day moving furniture up a fire escape to a vacant 3rd floor apartment that will serve as the editing studio/beer drinking venue/creative brainstorming space for the filmmakers over the next week and a half. Surgeon General's Warning: Moving excessively heavy furniture up three flights on a rusty, skinny, rickety fire escape does not contribute to one's longevity. Here's a picture of Francois #1 crawling back under a sofa that got stuck and would not make it between floors 2 and 3.

Swinging with Hookahs

"Nous avons une fete pour le microcinema! Est-ce que je peux mettre une affiche dans votre w.c.?" It sounds so much more romantic in French, but it translates to, "We're having a party for microcinema! Can I put a poster in your bathroom?"

While spending the day in restrooms around the city may not sound like a good time, it provided me with a wonderful opportunity to check out an impressive number of bars and restaurants for us to visit when* you're in town, without my having to commit to a meal in a single place today. When* you visit, I'm pretty sure we're going to go to "Juliette et Chocolat" (I guess that's what happens to Juliet after Romeo checks out). We're also going to a tapas bar where you don't sit on chairs -- you sit/swing on swings! FUN! (Perhaps it would be hard to eat while swinging, though? No worries -- I don't like tapas much, anyway -- I just want to go to a place that has playground equipment instead of grown-up seating, in an otherwise very, very dark and super cool basement-y bar. We'll just have a drink there.) Depending how adventurous we feel, we might wander up the street to the hookah bar. Seriously -- they have at least four hookahs per table, and you sit on pillows on the floor. This is legal here. (Not just the sitting on the floor part -- that's legal in most countries, including the US...I meant the hookah part.) Of course, we won't try the hookahs, right? We'll just look? Take a lookah at the hookah?
Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore...

* = this is your official invitation

Violent Crime and Savage Rice

This morning when I got up and looked outside my porch window, I saw that the area was blocked off by police lines, and there were tons of cops around my place. I'm at a strange angle from up here, though, so I couldn't see any detail beyond that. Because it looked very ominous, I decided it would be a good idea to stay inside until whatever horrific thing was happening, passed.
So, I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And then I got bored. So, I decided to risk my life to go outside and get some fresh air--despite the police, and probably a (gasp!) crazed, violent murderer still lurking outside.
There was no murder -- it was something much more frightening. There were hundreds -- perhaps thousands of people running through the streets...all clearly trying to escape something terrible. Turns out the locals call it "the Montreal Marathon." Oh. Apparently I was afraid of...runners. (For the record, you would have stayed inside, too, if your place were blocked off by police lines.)

It's a rainy day here, so I kept my exploring relatively local. I found another great street, though, with tons of restaurants and shops. I wandered through an outdoor French market and was amused by their packaging of "Savage Rice." (We call it wild rice in the States.) The best news is that I finally found...(insert angelic music here)...Canadian maple syrup! They sell it in cans, kinda like Campbell's soup. (You can also get it in cute little maple leaf glass containers, but it's about 10$ more that way.) I proudly and enthusiastically brought my maple syrup home, only to discover that the apartment lacks a can opener.

8 Mile: Not Just for Eminem Anymore

It's also about two miles short of the distance I walked today. I left the apartment around noon, and decided that since it was such a perfect day outside, I'd walk towards Mount Royal -- a mountain that's a few miles from here. The view from the top is supposed to be amazing. Upon approaching the mountain, however, I realized that it's a mountain (who knew?), and I didn't really feel like climbing it. Here's a picture of what I would have seen if I'd gone all the way up. Maybe tomorrow...

Instead, I wandered the (somewhat) flatter city. I started with the shops of Rue Saint-Denis, where I found a fantastic bookstore. Then, I walked back towards Centre-Ville (downtown), through Chinatown (I wasn't expecting a Chinatown!), and eventually to Vieux Montreal, which is the old city. Old Montreal dates back to 1642 and is supposedly the most European-looking area in all of North America. It's all cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carriages, open-air restaurants, and beautiful churches. I decided it would be worth 5$ (we put the dollar sign after the number here in Canada) to pay the fee to go inside the Notre Dame Basilica. It was worth every Canadian penny. It was just as pretty as Notre Dame in Paris (no relation -- different Dames, I guess...or not :) ). I will definitely be spending more time in the old city.

By the way, have you looked into coming to visit me yet? That would be wonderful. I already have lots to show you!

In what is clearly a Canadian grocery store joke, I cannot find the maple syrup.

C'mon, this is Caaaaanada! They have to have maple syrup, don't they?

I spent my first Friday at this job inserting into a Word doc hundreds of pictures of potential places for movie scenes. Aside from that, Francois #1, Francois #2, Patrick (? - not 100% sure what his name is, but he brought me grapes today), and I went out to a Chinese restaurant called "Wok et Soupe" for lunch. In an effort to corrupt my new international friends, I taught them the fortune cookie game. They loved it and totally cracked up at their fortunes.

They taught me that when something bad happens -- like maybe you burn your mouth on really hot food -- you exclaim, "Tabernacle!" After they taught me this word, however, they told me never to use it because it is a very bad word. Sometimes they try to show off their English, which involves making the wiggly version of the Hawaiian "hang loose" hand symbol, but saying (with a strong French accent), "Thumbs up!" I wonder where they learned that...they are very entertaining.

I would do this for free! Oh, wait - I AM doing this for free.

Today's big task involved putting labels on pictures of male models/actors. (I was going for a 1 - 10 rating scale for the labels, but learned I have to use their names, instead.) When I pictured my regular job vs. this one, I just started giggling. Francois #1 said this task was important so that I can meet all the models and call them by name when they're in town next week. Good luck getting me back to my regular job after this...

After I was done labeling the men, I made a DVD of several of our short films, including choosing which picture to display for each "chapter." That was a pretty interesting thing to learn how to do.

I only had my camera phone with me today, but decided I'd take a picture of one thing that caught my eye between the office and my apartment. Sorry to say, this is what caught my eye -- it's nestled into a nook of an otherwise very pretty building that looks a little like a castle. I'll take more pictures soon...

Francois Revealed

Big day here! Not only did I find a grocery store that sells beautiful French food, but they also carry "Le Ben & Jerry's" et les Cheerios. So, I can eat. This is good.

In other news, today I met my two main coworkers, both named Francois. I'm even more pleased to report that neither Francois was nekkid, which settles the "what kind of film company is this" joke. Finally, I'm glad to inform you that neither Francois even remotely resembles the people who's pictures I'd found online...and this is very, very good.

Francois #1, Francois #2, and I spent much of the day scouting locations for a big party we're having in a couple of weeks to wrap up the film festival. My vote is for the Saint-Sulpice: http://www.lesaintsulpice.ca/, but we're not sure if it will hold the 130-or-so people we're expecting. More "research" tomorrow. I like this kind of research.

United in-flight "Sky Mall" magazine offering Indiana Jones Leather Bull Whip for $199

Hi Andy! Since you're the only one following my blog so far, I'll address this directly to you. :) How are you doing?

Note the title of today's entry...I thought you'd be as excited about it as I am. Er, um, never mind. What is Sky Mall thinking?

Anyway, I made it safely to Montreal. Here are the highlights so far:

• First flight from Dallas to Washington DC was uneventful, despite being pretty bumpy with Hurricane Whoever along the coast. I even got my 40-pound carry-on bag into the overhead bin without knocking anyone down, and that was an accomplishment. (I normally wouldn't bother you with this level of detail, but it comes up again in my next bullet.)
  
• On my second flight from DC to Montreal, I realized I was going to have a little more trouble hefting my bag into the overhead bin, since I was also trying to carry a jacket, bottled water, two magazines, and a pizza from Cosi. Oh, and I was wearing new shoes that are "taller" than I'm used to, so my balance wasn't good to begin with. I decided to try to put one foot up on the armrest in front of me and kind of bounce the way-too-heavy bag onto my knee, then proceed to hoist it upwards from there. Great idea, wasn't it? I quickly realized what a terrible plan that was. The big guy behind me ended up catching my bag in mid-air as I pushed off the armrest with my foot, and I landed directly in the lap of the elderly lady in seat 9B. Everyone in the aisle cracked up, and all I could do was extricate myself from said elderly lady's lap and exclaim, "Wow, that was exciting!" It was fun for the whole family.
  
• I, of course, was seated in 9A, so there was no avoiding the (very forgiving and friendly) elderly lady after that. She ended up being a Montreal native, and when she learned that I'm here to work on my French, she proceeded to speak to me in French for the rest of the flight. I understood some, but not all, of it (the dialect is REALLY different). Long story short - anytime she touched my arm, which was pretty often, I said, "Oui" and nodded knowingly. This was a pattern: Undecipherable French blather --> arm touch --> "Oui." Repeat. She was probably saying, "I am going to eat your right arm," and I was enthusiastically agreeing. Beats me.
• Three people volunteered to get my bag out of the overhead bin when we landed.
  

When I landed in Montreal and got into my cab, there was a great big rainbow over the city, and the city looked positively golden with the way the sunlight was shining on the buildings. Everyone has been incredibly friendly -- including a cab driver originally from Iran who gave me his name and number if I need "anything at all" while I'm here. And, the apartment is perfect for me. I think I'm really going to like it here. I start work tomorrow and find out if my "film career" is what we think it's going to be...

Canada for less than $3/day

...for lack of a better first title. Despite my inclination to refrain from blogging, several of my friends have encouraged me to do it...so here I go. I will do my best NOT to make my entries "Dear Diary" types, and keep them about things that might actually be of interest to people. Blog, blog, blog...watch Sarah blog. Not very exciting yet, is it?

This is a pretty incredible website if you want to check out Montreal: http://www.tourisme-montreal.org/ -- do the two-minute tour!