Results tagged “Dreamworks” from Rendered Speechless

Doesn't feel like it. In fact, this is the least birthday-like birthday I've ever had. I worked for 11 hours, had an egg salad sandwich and watched TV. But my neighbor was relatively quiet so I'm OK with it.

They do something kinda cool at DreamWorks on your birthday. You get two balloons, one blue and one white. You get a box of cookies and a card signed by Jeffrey Katzenberg. I found these at my desk when I came back from a class today. I gave away about half the cookies and brought the rest home.

I've been thinking all day, I'd almost rather be 40 than 39. There's something very final about having a 9 in your age, but a 0 makes it feel like you're starting over. I hope I remember that next year. My supervisor, Annmarie, said today that she's deeply scarred from having turned 40. She doesn't look her age either. Must be the light from the computer screen we stare at ten hours a day, freezes the aging process. It's not like any of us spend much time in the sun. Or even artificial light.

You're not imagining that the last four entries have disappeared. It's a new year. Let's just leave it at that.

I know this isn't the "California for Dummies" I promised but I just couldn't resist. (It will come, just not today.)

I've been at DreamWorks for a little over three weeks now, and let's face it, while it's nowhere near as bad as most, it is a corporation. That means you have your little corporate sheep moments here and there. You have your "Kickoff" meetings. You have your "Touch Bases." You have your Microsoft Outlook with your meetings and your calendar and your email and your to-dos all wrapped in that Dilbert inspired wrist-slitting, soul-smothering, oh-God-I-really-do-work-in-a-cubicle-please-euthanize-me user interface. Imagine my inner programmer's unbridled joy when I found out I would be working on a Linux box, probably one of the most stable, un-bloated operating systems in existence. And then imagine my utter dismay when I found out that someone had actually written a Microsoft emulator for Linux so that we could all run Outlook and therefore, "communicate effectively as a team." Let me tell you, it was a long, hard fall with a big rainbow-colored splat at the end.

A common activity between classes (since I have no homework) is to watch my Outlook calendar change before my eyes. The training department is in total control of my class schedule, and apparently in control of very little else, so they'll schedule me for two or three classes a day a week in advance and then randomly shift things around until it makes sense. If I look at my calendar at just the right time of day, I can see the little blue-outlined boxes move up, down, from this day to that, all without any interaction from me. It's like Microsoft TV. I can witness the near future of my life unfolding before my eyes like Windows releases--"OK, this is what we'll do. Oh wait, that's broken, let's do this. No, that's too annoying, let's go back. Wait, no one's coming to that class because it negates everything they learned in the last class--let's just take the last class and make it prettier and bigger and slower." And so on.

One day during my first week here, a class just disappeared from my schedule. Poof! Gone. I wondered if it had moved to another day, so I started searching. Next week? No. The next? Nope, not there either. The next? AHA!--but it was in conflict with a meeting I didn't know I had, enticingly titled "Touch Base (& Cookies!)." What the hell is a "Touch Base (& Cookies!)?" I asked myself. And why am I being bribed with cookies to attend? I envisioned some doe-eyed HR representative with five minutes experience standing at the head of a conference table with a big plate of cookies, wringing her hands with giddy anticipation as her drooling invitees filed in one by one and took their seats. No one knows the topic of the meeting; no one cares. There's cookies! And what's with the training department? Didn't they see that I already had a "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" scheduled? Excuse me BUT THERE'S COOKIES! Have they no shame?

Turns out the training department made a boo boo. When they called to inquire as to why I wasn't present in a class that apparently had not been rescheduled at all, they corrected their mistake and restored my calendar. Relief! My "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" could once again take it's rightful place on the afternoon of September 16 without having to share space with a how-to on production management software.

But the damage to my psyche had been done. As the weeks wore on and my calendar filled up farther and farther into the future, I kept going back to September 16 just to make sure everything was OK. Yep, "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" was still intact. As a matter of fact, while all my classes and kickoffs and cookieless touch bases swarmed my calendar like flies, "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" seemed to be the most stable meeting on my schedule.

The shameless bribe certainly served its purpose--apparently you can sell any product or idea just by giving away cookies. It wasn't long before I no longer needed Outlook to remind me of the "Touch Base (& Cookies!)." "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" was imprinted on my brain like phosphor burn on a thirty-year-old Pac Man screen--September 16, 4pm to 5pm.

I find myself in awe of this deceptively simple crowd-pleasing technique. Just imagine how many of life's little irritations could be made palatable if only cookies were a part of the package:

"ObamaCare (& Cookies!)"

"Saddam Has Weapons of Mass Destruction (& Cookies!)"

"April 15th (& Cookies!)"

"Your Vehicle Warranty is About to Expire (& Cookies!)"

"You Have One Month to Live (& Cookies!)"

"Your Father is Transitioning to a Woman (& Cookies!)"

"BEYONCE HAS THE BEST MUSIC VIDEO OF ALL TIME (& Cookies!)"

The trick is, the cookies have to be REALLY good. And they were. Just don't ask me what the meeting was about because I don't remember.

I've been getting that question a lot lately. I'm writing this at work if that tells you anything. I'm not actually sitting on my blog site typing it all into that nice little window it provides; instead, I'm writing it in my favorite Linux text editor Nedit, or as I like to refer to him, Ned. Ned and I are old friends. We go way back to my grad school days when I ran him on an SGI. We took a seven-year haitus as I moved to Windows (forcibly, at gunpoint) and Mac (willingly), but we're back together again and very happy. Very, very happy.

I'm starting my fourth week at DreamWorks and I'm still in training. This is not a surprise, as they told me I would have four weeks of training when they hired me. I sort of envisioned this full-day-of-classes-type schedule where I would be sitting in front of a computer while someone at the white board told me what to do and why I was doing it, and then gave me homework to fill the remainder of the day. Well... that's close. What's actually happening is that I'm spending anywhere from two to four hours a day in front of a computer while someone at the white board tells me how to use tools that I don't yet know why I'm using because I don't really know what my job is. And most of these classes have no homework, so it's mainly a laundry list of "here's what it does" and then "thanks for coming, bye." No practical application as of yet. I'm holding out hope though.

Ten hour days are mandatory here, so you get ten hours a week of guaranteed time-and-a-half overtime, which you need because they've used that to justify their very low hourly rate for TAs (technical assistants). So that leaves anywhere from six to eight hours of complete and utter boredom per day. I've written emails, I've stalked old boyfriends on Facebook (one of which is about sick of it I'm sure), I've watched training videos, I've even taken one shell scripting tutorial and tried to rewrite it in Python. But I stopped short of completing it because I haven't made it far enough in my Python classes yet to figure out how to finish it off. Maybe tomorrow after Studio Python I. Or maybe Thursday after II. Who knows.

The good news is, this is the week they start the film-specific training. That means I get to learn exactly the what and how of the tools we'll be using for the movie I'm going to be working on. I'm in the lighting department which is at the end of the pipeline, meaning we have the most responsibility and the power to render nearly-finished frames. As a department, we set the mood of the film. That's an awesome job. One that scares the crap out of me.

I still don't really know what a Lighting TA does around here. If I did, the classes I've been taking would make a hell of a lot more sense.

So while my inner overachiever is completely under-stimulated, I've been enjoying the amenities to their fullest potential. Well, except for the free breakfast. I've tried, really I have, but I just don't do mornings. And most days the breakfast isn't anything to write home about--donuts, bagels, fruit--I can get that after a night at the local Comfort Inn. But Wednesdays are IHOP days around here. That's when they cook eggs, waffles, bacon, etc. I live for Wednesdays. And yet I've only made it to one Wednesday breakfast before they shut down the entree line.

It was good too.

Most of the time I'll come in a little after 9, and there might be a bagel or a cake donut left. But usually I'll head over to the toaster and toss in an English muffin or some raisin bread, butter it Paula Deen style, grab a Coke and take it up to my desk. So I actually have been eating breakfast. This is a new thing for me. And here's the weird thing: I'm dropping the pounds like mad. For years now, drinking Coke has been a rare treat. Most of the time I just lived on Evian because I was avoiding caffeine. Then while I was still in Texas I discovered Mexican Coke (mmmm real sugar) so I started drinking them a little more but not much. Then I got here and found free Coke everywhere. There's a fountain in the cafeteria and a fountain in every break room on every floor. I caved.

Apparently the caffeine is killing my appetite to the point that I just don't eat as much as I used to. And I don't really snack between meals either. Plus, I get home so late at night I don't really want to cook so I just nibble on whatever I can find and then go work on the web site. I haven't actually cooked dinner in about three weeks. They warned me when I got here about the "DreamWorks 15" because of the free breakfast and lunch. It seems to be working in reverse for me.

My weight loss actually started when I moved, the result of sheer panic. I dropped two pounds the day the movers told me what day they were showing up. I leveled off for a few weeks after that but then about a month ago, about the time I got here and started going outside, it started dropping again. My jeans are falling off. I'm not really complaining because I've been wanting to see 135 again for about five years... the problem is, I don't have smaller jeans to replace them with, and no time to go get them. Not yet anyway. However, I just went downstairs to the Bake Off and sampled everything up for a vote. That should buy me another couple of days before I run into the Old Navy wearing the last thing that still stays on, which would be my underwear.

And that's another thing. They do stuff here. They're having a bake off downstairs in the cafeteria as I write this. I sampled caramel corn with bacon (that was so out of context I have yet to form a complete opinion on it), toffee with chocolate and saltine crackers (not so good), a nice chocolate cupcake, much better toffee with chocolate and yes, another Coke. They're also having a talent show here on October 1. I have no talent that can be exhibited on stage; however, I suggested to my cube-mate David that maybe next year we should get three people together, dress as Muppets and do "Manah-manah." He laughed, but deep down I think he only shares my sense of humor to the point that he'd like to see someone else do it.

About a week ago, someone transferred to the Glendale office. We gave them a nice champagne send-off in the middle of the afternoon. Then last Friday night, someone brought me a Mike's Hard Lemonade out of the blue. Do I like it here? Yeah, I do. I like it here.

We work in a building that shares property with a bunch of other companys' buildings. And in the center of it all is a gym. A free gym. A very nice gym with a large pool. I went to sign up a few weeks ago and they said I'd get an email--I haven't yet. I need to go over there. But it may be a moot point because I'm getting a bike next week and I'd almost rather go out on the trail around the bay than spend yet another hour at work (or near it) at the gym. I'm already here so much, the bike will be a treat, whereas the gym will be more like, "Damn, can't I go home yet?" Yeah, I think that's how that will turn out. It's nice to have the option though. Some of their ellipticals have TVs attached where you can set your own channel. As long as those are working, this will always be an option for me. Perhaps on a rainy day.

A rainy day is something you don't see here in the summer, or so I've been told. We actually had one yesterday. It was nice. But today the sun is back out, it's 70-something degrees, windy, and I took what has become a ritual walk to the water on my lunch hour. We're right on the bay here, and the paved paths that run through the property are also public access. So every day I spend about 15 minutes eating and another 15 walking down to the water, staring at it for a bit, and then walking back. I've been landlocked my entire life. I don't get tired of the water. Unfortunately for the last four days I've had 1pm classes that made it impossible to take my walk, but today I decided dammit I'm going down to the water if I have to run down there and run back. I walked fast, stood there for a minute and then walked fast back. It was worth it.

My need to go outside comes from years of living in Texas with mosquitoes, fire ants and heat, but it's heightened by the fact that I now work in almost total darkness. The lighting department is very dependent on color calibrated monitors and a lack of glare; therefore, the overhead lights are never on, the windows are covered and you get one desk lamp to aim at your respective cube wall. On my first day I got my desk lamp. Ironically, I needed a flashlight to see where to plug it in. Now I'm sort of used to it; I don't feel like I can see a computer screen anymore with the lights on. With my eyes already causing me some age-related problems lately, that's a bad sign.

And by the way, there are not only NO fire ants here, there are NO mosquitoes, NO waterbugs and very few spiders. I've seen three silverfish in my apartment and one brown spider in the month I've lived there. That's about as bad as it gets.

I like that work doesn't start until 9 here. Of course that means I don't leave before 7:30 every night, but the commute by then is about 15 minutes back to the apartment. Even in the morning it doesn't take me more than 20 minutes to get here. What I'm fighting with is the same thing I've fought my entire life, and that is actually going to bed at night. Night is when I wake up. And now that I'm working when I get home, I'm that much more awake when I should be going to bed. Saturday night I worked until 3am, which meant I slept until 1pm on Sunday. That was the end of any illusion I may have had of a normal schedule. I went to bed again last night at 3, probably didn't actually sleep until 4 and then the alarm went off at 8. That was physically painful. Hence the breakfast issue on Wednesdays. Painful.

Some things never change.

Well, back to work (or lack thereof). Stay tuned for an entry I've been planning for some time entitled, "California for Dummies."

Ta da! It's Part 4. And I do hope the number of installations required to tell this story does not surpass the current number of Shrek movies. Which means this better be the last because Shrek 4 is in production as we speak.

Ludlow, California, has a Dairy Queen. Actually, I think Ludlow IS a Dairy Queen. It's a good sized Dairy Queen surrounded by parking lot, with additional truck parking across the road, all of which is surrounded by dirt. And every bit of it was packed with cars. People, kids, pets were all going back and forth between the cars and the store. Groups of guys were hanging out near their pickup trucks, probably waiting for their women to come back from the bathroom. There were so many people milling around you could hardly get through the parking lot, which was packed full. I drove through it and parked in a relatively empty area on the dirt next to a truck pulling a boat. Within five minutes the entire dirt area was full too.

I stopped the car but didn't turn it off so I could keep the A/C on for the cat. It was 108. I told Deanna to go ahead and go in, use the bathroom and pick me up a Reese's Blizzard (Dad was paying) and then she could stay with the cat while I went. So she left. After a while Dad came to my window and told me that if I needed to use the bathroom, the line for that was longer than the food line and was almost out the door. But there was a row of port-a-potties right next to our dirt parking area. I needed to go, but not that bad. Never that bad.

Bali Ree came out about ten minutes later, Deanna soon after. Deanna said that after she finally saw the bathroom, she didn't trust the food so we were all skipping the Blizzards and going on to Barstow. And so we were off again. It was late afternoon and it was still a long way to Bakersfield, but once we got back on the highway we knew the worst was over. The traffic was still horrible, people were still racing each other, but I was beginning to understand why. It was a nightmarish place, hot, dry, barren, no exits off the highway (except this one) and seemingly, no end. No one wanted to be there. They were all trying to get the hell out of there as fast as they could.

Barstow was completely uninteresting but we did get gas and changed highways, getting off of I-40--for the first time--and onto 58. It was a weird transition--all of a sudden it was like we were driving past graffiti-covered crack houses. There were yucca plants everywhere and had been since Arizona. I wanted to see a giant cactus but I had already given up on that. I've only seen them once in my life and that was in 1998 just outside of El Paso. We weren't nearly that far south. Once we ran out of crack houses we found ourselves driving through Boron, complete with a 20 Mule Team Road. And then boring dirt again. We passed Edwards AFB, which was impressive, and then made it into the hills where the temperature started to drop. The sun had just gone behind the hills when we noticed the windmills.

LOTS of windmills. More windmills than you can possibly imagine. Windmills to the left, windmills to the right, windmills on every ridge, on every hill, as far as the eye could see. Windmills everywhere! No wonder it was cooling off, there were fans blowing on us from every direction. And with the sun going down it was truly surreal--Deanna got out her camera and started shooting pictures.

"To the left!" I would yell, and she would stick the camera in front of my face to get a shot out my window. "To the right! Behind! No, look in front!" I think she took about 80 pictures before we got away from them.

80 pictures I'm still waiting for her to send me. But I digress.

The sun was almost completely down as we came out of the hills. The temperature started to rise again. It went from the 70s back into the 90s. It felt like home. I wasn't happy about that.

We found our motel in Bakersfield around 9, a Sleep Inn. It took pets. I had called from Gallup to make sure. We were all tired and Dad and Bali Ree were not getting along too well. Dad thought she had driven like a bat out of hell all day and he was sick of it. Then they got to their room, started unloading and then changed rooms because something smelled. So they had to take all the boxes Dad had already unloaded and move them to the other room, which coincidentally adjoined ours. Our room, however, was lovely. We brought in the cat after stuffing pillows in all the holes she could hide in and just like last time, she went straight underneath the bed skirt and stayed put.

We unloaded the cars for what seemed like an eternity. Bali Ree was tired and decided to take a shower and go to bed. Dad had said that he wanted to eat and he wasn't going to bed without eating. So Deanna and I were looking forward to food. We went outside to help Dad with the last of the boxes and Deanna asked him who was going to drive.

"Dinner... is that all you can think about right now?" he asked her.

We looked at each other. "We're just going on the last thing we heard," I said.

He softened. "I know."

We helped him carry in the last of the boxes and then he went to his room and shut the door. Deanna and I sat on our respective beds and wondered aloud if this dinner thing was going to happen. Because we were starving, and we could go by ourselves, but if Dad wanted to go we didn't want to just leave, and the way things were going we didn't want to go knock on his door. So we sat there and looked at a flyer for Rusty's Pizza while the cat found her courage and started exploring the tops of various pieces of furniture.

We sat, and we sat. And we wondered, and our stomachs growled and we tried not to fall asleep. I discussed the possibility of updating my blog because we finally had an internet connection. Deanna wanted to do something on her laptop as well. Maybe after dinner, we thought. And then Dad knocked on our door.

We were all too tired to be creative about where to eat. Rusty's was open late, so that's where we went. And I have to say that was some damn good pizza, and I even got to play a couple of games of Galaga while we waited for it.

After dinner we came back to the room and opened the door. No cat, no surprise. I looked under the bed skirt. No cat. I looked under another bed skirt. No cat. I felt around all the bed skirts, looked in the closet, under the desk, behind the TV--Deanna looked behind our bedside table, in the bathroom and under the air conditioner. NO CAT. We thought back to when we left the room. No, she couldn't have come out then without our knowing about it. Did someone come in while we were gone and she ran out? Where could she be by now if that happened? AND WHO THE HELL CAME INTO OUR ROOM? I was about to panic when Deanna finally pulled back the curtain and there she sat on the windowsill. That poor cat hadn't looked out a window for over a week. So there she sat, facing the back of a building and a stumpy palm tree, looking over her shoulder at us like we had just interrupted her favorite TV show. We closed the curtain and let her stay put.

I took a shower while Deanna worked on her laptop. Then she was to take a shower after me. When I got out she was face down on her computer, sound asleep. So I got in bed and wrote Part 1. Man that was a long time ago.

The next day was to be easy. It was roughly half a day to the Bay Area so for once, we didn't have to rush. We got out at about 9am and since the apartment office didn't close until 7, we knew we would get there in plenty of time to get the keys. So we took our time through orchard country and a lot of farm land. You ever wonder where they grow stuff? North of Bakersfield on 99. You know what they grow there? Everything. Nuts, flowers, grapes, tomatoes, onions, you name it. It was a rather slow drive through the orchards, slow enough I guess that the cat got brave enough to walk out of her carrier. Deanna was thrilled, she was coming to sit in her lap. Oh wait, no she wasn't. She climbed into her lap, then out of her lap, onto the floor under Deanna's feet and then flattened herself out like a pancake and squeezed in right underneath the seat. I could barely even get my hand under there when I lost a french fry. We were never getting her out now.

We got on the radio and told Dad what had happened. Then we pulled over at a gas station and opened up Deanna's door. Dad got down on the ground and looked under the seat and talked to her for a bit. She didn't budge. He felt around where she was. Actually she was pretty smart--there was a dip in the car floor underneath the seat and she was curled up in it like some kind of cat-shaped nest. Dad decided it was probably a pretty safe place for her to be, so we left her there and went on our way.

We traveled through farmland for what seemed like forever. We saw barren patches next to lush orchards. The barren patches had signs that said "Congress created dust bowl." Not sure what that was about. Deanna took some pictures. We also saw multiple tomato trucks and onion trucks on the highway. They were like rock haulers full of vegetables. By the time we stopped for lunch I was craving something with marinara sauce. What we got were hamburgers, but that worked about as well.

As I was setting up shade in the car for the cat, who probably wasn't going to come out from under the seat anyway, my cell phone rang. It was my driver from the moving company.

"Just wanted to confirm tomorrow at 8am in Foster City."

"I'll be there!"

"Great. Now I need to ask you something. I'm looking at the bill here, and I know this is supposed to be split out somehow between you and DreamWorks, and I don't know exactly how... but what it looks like is that your move went about $3000 over the estimate."

"What??? How could it possibly go over that much? Was it weight?" I was about to throw up.

"No, actually the weight came in under the estimate. It could be packing though."

"How? Certainly not $3000 worth of boxes." Seriously. Don't even.

"Well... yeah, it could be packing. But like I said, I'm not sure what they're doing here, so you may want to call your CSR and double check with them."

"You bet I will! Thanks for the heads up." And I hung up. Then I got really, really pissed. I decided I would go in and get some food, eat really quickly and then go back out to the car and make a phone call or two. But while I was in line and just about to order, they called me. I asked if they could call back in five minutes--their number came in as "Unknown"--she said sure, no problem. So five minutes passes and no call. I decided to wait outside where it's more quiet, especially since we didn't have the food yet. Ten minutes, no call. Fifteen. I went back inside and sat down with the family, who were already eating. I inhaled what I could but it wasn't much since I had lost my appetite. Then I went back outside. I was going to talk to them before I got on the road again. So I dug out my laptop from behind Deanna's seat. This required removing a backpack from the floor, which I did with great difficulty since the seat was folded down for boxes. But once I got the backpack out, what do you think I saw? Cat. Just lying there on her side, her feet straight out in front of her like the car floor was some sort of chaise lounge. She was perfectly within reach from the back of the seat. I filed that little piece of information away for later and dug the computer out of my bag so I could get my CSR's phone number out of my email.

I called. Heidi was on the phone so they put me on hold. Then they said she would call me back. When she finally did she was just calling to see if everything was a go for tomorrow.

"Well, Rick called and said that the move ended up costing like $8000. What happened?"

"Who's Rick?"

Ok, right, they don't necessarily know who the driver is. "He's the driver. He says he's looking at the bill and the total was over $8000."

"Oh no, that's not right. What he's seeing is the total before the DreamWorks discount. Actually we only underestimated by about $188."

Now THAT was impressive. I thanked her, took a big sigh of relief and got my appetite back. But we had to get on the road again. Oh well.

We continued on 99 until we got to 152 and then cut over to San Jose. We went through a lot of brown hills. It was scary. The road was steep and winding, and there was a guy in a camper pulling a boat on a trailer and he could not keep it steady in the wind. He kept passing us and then slowing down, and passing and slowing down. I kept thinking we were going to get hit by that fishtailing boat and get knocked into the reservoir. Bali Ree was way ahead again on some kind of personal driving challenge while I was hanging on for dear life, trying to keep the car on the road and a boat off my ass. Dad called us on the radio and Deanna had to respond. I wasn't taking one finger off that steering wheel.

"Well, hang in there," he said. "We'll see you at the bottom."

Yeah, hopefully not the fast way. Because you know what? California is weird about guardrails. They don't know where to put them. You'll be looking 200 feet straight down and there won't be a guardrail in sight. Then on the next stretch of road you might roll off into a shallow ditch and they have barriers everywhere. There's no logic to it.

Needless to say, we survived. After that it was a winding road among fresh fruit stands and then San Jose, where we would get on 101 and go to our final destination. Finally, I was about to no longer be homeless.

We arrived at the apartment office around 3pm, got out of the car and stretched. It was sunny and 80 degrees with a cool, refreshing breeze from the west. I faced the sun, closed my eyes and let the wind blow through my hair. My first words? "Bite me, Texas."

All I ask is that people tell me the truth the first time. Not later when I ask why their story has changed, but the first time. Just tell me, I can take it. I'm a big girl. I know I'm embarking on the brokest part of my life so far. Don't pull the band-aid off slowly for God's sake.

Dreamworks gave me a relocation assistance contact. They take you out for the day, show you around, and show you 6 to 10 places in your price range. I'm going to Redwood City next week and I have an appointment on Thursday. And when I first talked to them, they said that based on my income I could go up to probably $1800 a month for rent. They asked what I wanted, and I said a 2 bedroom because I have a desk that's necessary for the second job. I asked if I was crazy. She didn't say I was crazy. Actually what she said was, "Never say never."

Today I heard from the actual person who will be showing me around. He said, "So you're looking for a one bedroom?" Uh, no... that made me nervous. So I sent an email to the lady I talked to last week, the head honcho from what I can tell. And she writes back and says, a two bedroom really isn't realistic for your price range. Ok, so why couldn't they tell me that in the first place? It's not like I didn't ask.

These people are sucking up $600 of my relocation allowance. And I'm not keeping the Web site as a second job so I can pay more rent, I'm doing it because I committed to finishing the project and then being on hand to maintain it afterwards. This second job is a done deal. California will suck up half of it in taxes but what can you do. I can't do the job at all if I don't have room for the equipment, and they can't run their business without this site.

So I have this flashback to when I first moved to College Station. My mom and I went to a place that did apartment and rental house hunting. It looked like a real estate office. We went in, met a man, sat down across from him at his desk. He asked what we wanted to pay and we told him.

So then he says, "How tall are you?"

Uh, about five-eight.

"Well, that might work..." He paused while he studied me. Then, "I have a short house."

A what?

We get in our car and follow him to a neighborhood of small, run-down houses, very much a poor college student neighborhood. We go into this blue house. I look up, and the ceiling is about an inch from my head. If I hadn't been looking, I would have hit my head on the light fixture.

But wait, there's more. Grass was growing on the windowsills. The place smelled like a murder might have been committed there and the embalming took place in the kitchen. Which, by the way, had a much higher ceiling than the living room. The further into the house you went, the higher the ceiling got. This prize location would cost me $475 a month.

It was such a scam it wasn't even funny. Although my mom and I did laugh all the way out of town. A short house. I'd never heard of such a thing. But he knew what he was doing. Show them a piece of shit for more than it's worth, and then they'll pay anything to live anywhere else. Well, it worked, but we didn't go through him. I got a 2 bedroom apartment for $800 without his help.

I'm not going to spend $600 of a $3000 moving allowance only to be shown another short house. At least the scam artist in College Station was free. This is making me nauseous. Time for a miracle I guess.

I've been planning to write this entry on this night for a long time. Of course I had no idea what kind of day this would turn out to be.

First the good news. I'm keeping my word; I'm finally going to finish what I started. Dreamworks gave me a phone interview a few weeks ago and it went really well. In fact, it was the most enjoyable interview I've had so far. And yet they decided to offer the two remaining positions to the first two candidates. But the recruiter told me not to worry. "Oh, you're so in it's not even funny," she said. The verdict was that if one of the guys they offered it to turned it down, I was in now. If not, then I was in for the next round. Either way, I was in.

Turns out, one of their candidates "didn't work out." I'm in now. I'M MOVING TO CALIFORNIA. I officially start at Dreamworks as a lighting TA (technical assistant) on August 24.

I've deliberately kept this quiet for a couple of reasons. One was that I didn't want to divulge too much during the interview process, more for professional reasons than superstitious ones. The other, and most important reason, was that there are certain people in my life who deserve to hear this news from me personally, not by reading it on a blog. I wanted to make sure everyone found out the way they deserved to find out before I made it public. Today I had lunch with my friends at BWC who helped me get here by printing multiple rounds of resumes and demo reel labels. I felt I owed it to them to at least tell them in person and maybe buy some food for the poor guy who got stuck doing all the printing. And only then, I decided, would I feel comfortable putting it in the blog.

There is still a group of friends who don't know. If any of my A-Phi sisters are reading this, please keep this under your hat -- the big announcement is scheduled for camp and Heather and I have a plan. You know who you are. Pretend you didn't read this :-)

Once I got over the initial panic of extreme stress and change, I was elated. It felt right for the first time since this process started almost exactly a year ago (in fact, my offer came on Wednesday, June 17, and my last day at BWC was Wednesday, June 18 of last year). I got up this morning knowing that as soon as I told my friends at BWC, I could write the blog entry and finally put it out there. And then I read the news that Farrah Fawcett had died.

Not a surprise of course, and to be honest it wasn't something that affected me all that much. I was pretty young when Charlie's Angels was at its peak; in fact, too young to be interested. But everyone knew who Farrah was, including me. In fact, when I was in the third grade we did a play about dental hygiene, and I was assigned the part of Fred Fluoride. I didn't want to be called Fred for obvious reasons so my teacher told me that if I could come up with a girl's name that started with F, I could use that instead. I thought and I thought. For some reason, names like Felicia and Fran never came to mind. I was blank. And then suddenly it hit me: Farrah Fluoride. A star was born.

My friends and I were discussing her death in the car on the way to lunch. After Ed McMahon's death earlier in the week, and given the rule of threes, it stood to reason that Walter Cronkite would be next. Reports had recently surfaced that he was "gravely ill." It made sense.

As it turns out, we were having that conversation at almost the exact moment when Michael Jackson collapsed from cardiac arrest.

It's truly amazing that I got as much work done today as I did. I haven't watched so much media coverage since 9/11. It seems unfair that Farrah's death was almost immediately overshadowed, and then seemingly ignored for lack of shock value compared to the death of Michael Jackson. I certainly never saw it coming. And at the same time, it was entirely fitting that it took over the airwaves. My parents' generation, the Baby Boomers, had Elvis and John Lennon. My generation, Generation X, had Michael Jackson. His career was at its peak when we were just discovering music for the first time. Anyone who didn't have MTV before Thriller certainly had it afterward. There was never a time in our lives when Michael Jackson wasn't famous. And his death really upsets me. I don't particularly mourn the man he had become in the last ten years or so, but I mourn the man he was when he was at his best. I mourn the loss of the possibility, no matter how slight, that he could regain that kind of popularity and respect, create something brilliant and go out on top. He didn't, and there are no more chances. And no princes awaiting his throne. The pop music monarchy has been replaced by mediocrity, its innovation suffocated by the indifference of mass production. No one will ever touch him; no one will ever forget him.

Life goes on. In a few days the shock will wear off and the excitement will return, and I'll be at the beginning of my own brand new life. Unless of course Walter Cronkite dies.

I just went to see Up. Holy crap. Say what you will about Pixar's elitist attitude toward its competition (not to mention potential employees who have the audacity to try to submit their reels at SIGGRAPH), but they really are the best storytellers in the business. I don't know how they come up with this stuff. Their latest work is absolutely NEVER predictable. Not once in the entire movie. I was glued the entire time and remain in a stupor over it even at this moment.

What I mean by "elitist attitude" is this: I read an article on CNN.com the other day about the movie, and for some reason this article had to make a thinly veiled dig at Dreamworks. Get this: "And though there are occasional pop-cultural references, such as those favored by Pixar's competition, in general the humor is organic to the story."

Ok, so what's your point? It's true that too many pop cultural references can kill a story's ability to become timeless, and that was a complaint I had about Shrek (besides the fact that he seemed too light on his feet). But did they really need to say that? Is their success not enough as it is? And by the way, WHO CARES? Shrek was a great movie whether it was filled with pop-cultural references or not. In fact, audiences loved that about it. Maybe that's what bugs Pixar so much, the fact that Dreamworks regularly gives them a run for their money using a different formula. But Dreamworks' success can in no way be Pixar's failure, so I don't see why such a thing even needed to be said. Surely the article's author didn't come up with that on his own. There had to be some sort of influence there. How rude.

But would I take a job from Pixar if offered? HELLS YEAH... maybe. There might be a personality issue there that's worth a little more research. Dreamworks? HELLS YEAH DEFINITELY. I've heard nothing but good things about their work environment and how they treat their employees. Frankly, some of my friends at Pixar seem a bit beaten down these days.

Anyway, that has nothing to do with the title of this entry. What this movie did was seal the deal for me. I'm outta here. I don't know when, I don't know how, but I'm outta here. It's time to finish what I started.

I just had the best movie credits experience ever. I've always had friends in the credits, but this was different. There are always those credits at the very beginning of the list, the elite few who basically run the show before you get to the big long list of everyone. And for the first time, I knew someone in that group. In fact, I know TWO PEOPLE in that group: John Halstead (Sets Supervisor) and Gary Bruins (Effects Supervisor). My friends have finally made it into management. In fact, Gary was in MY CLASS.

That's what seals it for me. It's time to make this happen. I'm outta here. Maybe Dreamworks is my in. It might even be where I stay. Maybe in August, maybe later, it doesn't matter. Timing is everything and when it happens, it will be perfect. I know it sounds like a cliche but it's always worked for me so shut up.

Now I have a web site to finish.

I called Dreamworks. They called back almost immediately. Turns out they're hiring a couple of lighting TAs in August and I'm officially a backup candidate for an interview. They were interviewing three people for two positions and they've already passed on one of them so the recruiter I talked to asked for an updated resume for the review on Monday. Then she'll get back to me.

I know in a situation like this, it's probably a bad idea to get my hopes up. Those other two people could be exactly what they're looking for and that's that. But I found it interesting that the recruiter told me there was a note on my resume from the last time I talked to them, which said, "Find out how much programming she's done." Holy crap, how much time do you have?

This has been an odd week. First, I actually leave the house and go see a movie, which I really enjoy. Then I go into some kind of funk for two days, complete with headaches right between my eyes. Then I realize that I've let my fear of change squelch my dreams again, so I decide I'm mad at myself. I go find my contact info for Dreamworks and call them. I feel better. In fact, I feel A LOT better just from making the call. And I might even get an interview out of it, which will tell me what I really need to know - whether I really want this. And when I find out, hopefully it will be based on real information and not what my imagination creates out of its own fear of change.

It's amazing how many excuses you can come up with to not do something when you're afraid.

Oh yeah, here's the cool part. It's not at Dreamworks in LA. It's at Dreamworks in Redwood City, as in 45 MINUTES FROM SAN FRANCISCO.

I'm excited about my life again! And boy has this lit a fire under my butt to get this web site done. Not that I needed another fire under me, but it helps to have something to look forward to, even if you don't know if you really have it to look forward to or not. I'm going to look forward to it until they tell me not to. So there.

I left my last entry with a question: What the hell do I want anyway? And I'm not writing again tonight because I think I suddenly have an answer. Actually, I have a lot more questions.

Somewhere along the way I started to give up on this dream again. I don't know what it was, the trouble of making it come true, the culture shock of giving up a really comfortable lifestyle for the chance to have no money and nowhere to park, the question of what to do with my piano in the meantime... in any case, I've been heading for a different life over the past few months than the life I was heading for this time last year. And that was fine, until this weekend.

Last night I wrote about Monsters vs Aliens. And all at once the life I was trying to achieve - owning a house, getting a steady programming job in Nebraska or Colorado, doing my own work on the side - suddenly it was beyond dull. I hated it. I felt like I was settling again, giving up on myself.

I don't know what this means. Maybe it's good that I'm too busy right now to make any real plans. Or maybe things keep NOT working out because I'm not looking in the right direction to begin with. I started to think, why did seeing that movie put me in such a funk? I actually felt angry today. I wasn't angry at my friends in the business or the industry for being so hard to get into, I think I was angry at myself. And angry at all the people whose lives would be made easier if I just stayed close to home. Believe me, there's a lot of family in that category.

They would be supportive though, no matter what I do. If it's what I really want to do, and if it made me happy, they would be supportive. They're not the problem. I'm the problem.

All this time I've been thinking, when I die I want to be able to say, I did that. I tried that, I worked on that movie, I was there. And all this time I've been thinking, that's not enough to actually do it, as big a move as it is, for so little money and security. Wanting to be able to say I did it just isn't a good enough reason to do something that huge. But what if it is?

A couple of months ago I was called by a recruiter at Dreamworks, and I pretty much blew that off. I was already committed on my current project, I didn't know when it was going to end, and I didn't want to get pigeonholed into doing one little task over and over and over again as a career. But I wrote down her name and number anyway. And I still have it. I was pretty sure I was going to blow that off for good but for some reason, I kept it. And now it's sitting right next to me in front of my clock radio. That means something. I guess something inside me isn't ready to give up yet.

I guess the idea wouldn't be nearly so cool if it wasn't so hard to achieve. I never was one to do anything the easy way. But I really want to keep the piano. I hope I can keep the piano. I really do.

It never fails: Once you finally give up on something, suddenly it taps you on the shoulder and demands your attention. While I was in Denver last weekend a recruiter from Dreamworks called. She called the old cell phone which the ex-boyfriend hadn't canceled yet. I guess that was lucky. We finally caught up with each other this week and I have to say, while it was nice to be considered, I wasn't exactly thrilled with what I heard.

It's a better deal than Sony because they hire people for about 2 to 2 1/2 years at a time. That's still a contract and it still has an end. I don't like that.

It's in Los Angeles. I don't like that either. Actually the fact that it's in California at all isn't its biggest selling point right now. It doesn't matter how bad their economy gets, I'll still have to sell more than half my stuff before I can afford to live there.

But ultimately it came down to timing. I have committed the next 12 weeks to my current employer and Dreamworks is bringing people in over the next three to four weeks.

Oh well.

But even if it were a permanent, well-paid position, there's something that's been bugging me about this industry ever since I went to SIGGRAPH and started to see how it really works. Dreamworks is recruiting for a lighting TA position, which is good because it's not a night shift render wrangler. It's a step above and it has a clear career path. The problem is the career path itself, actually ANY career path in the industry these days. It has become so incredibly specialized that it no longer has a soul. A person can spend 96 hours watching an animated curtain open and close until it looks just right. Because that's what that animator does--animate fabric. A lighter can light the same scene a hundred times until it looks right. And then the next thing she does is light another scene. And another, and another. It's become an assembly line, monotonous and exhausting. And I have a problem with that.

I discovered when I was in the Viz Lab that above all things, I'm an artist. An artist loves the process as much as the result, often the ENTIRE process, not just one little piece of it. An artist has a voice--her work has something specific and meaningful to say, and she lives to make her point, if only to herself. And an artist has to say it no matter what. It's a compulsion, maybe even a mandate from the universe that she should send her thoughts and beliefs into the world. Now take that artist and tell her that her job is to dip the number 2 sable brush into the cerulean blue paint and hand it to someone else. And when she's done with that, dip another number 2 sable brush into the cerulean blue paint and hand that to someone else. And so on and so on and so on. Before you know it, that artist's spirit has been crushed by a detailed job description, her voice silenced by boredom and exhaustion. She ceases to be an artist anymore.

That can't be me.

I don't want to go make something red or blue, I have entire ideas that need to be realized. I don't know when they will be realized, probably not in the next 12 weeks because I'm on a ridiculous project schedule until then. But after that, when I start to have a life after five, I'm going to set a few things in motion. I wish I didn't have to wait, but the good news is that the house is finally clean, half my leaves are bagged up and I have a job for the next 12 weeks. As long as I can eat and pay the rent, I can wait. What happens after that remains to be seen. I'm not worried though. Things are finally working in my life and I don't see that changing any time soon.

So screw California. I want to buy a house. And I won't be giving my keys to some untrustworthy boyfriend this time, only to have them withheld later out of spite. But that's another story.