Almost famous
So my birthday came and went. I am now 28. I'd been preparing myself for 28. Twenty-fucking-eight. It just sounds so odd because I feel like I'm 19. But I'm kind of over the whole, "woah, 28, shit, etc." It's just a number, no?
I celebrated with friends at the usual haunt, 'locks. I piggy-backed one of my movie promotions onto the celebration, a choice I regretted immediately because that meant I had to "work" and take pictures of people with our promo items. But thankfully, two of my extroverted friends took that task on happily.
The rest of the week went by in a blur, and then there was South by Southwest.
Oh.my.god.
Even though I went to college in the area, I'd never gone to SXSW. I KNOW! Hard to believe. But this time it was for work -- a movie junket -- in which I was to meet [unnamed studio]* peeps, movie stars, asshole publicists, and everyone in between.
My boss and I flew in in the afternoon, and met up with one of the studio peeps. We were staying at the Four Seasons, and had a lovely little lunch and an afternoon cocktail (or three). Silliness ensued, and continued into the night, while the rest of the studio peeps trickled in.
Dinner was amazing. We ate at the hotel restaurant, Trio, where I had fish, and we passed around community plates of vegetables. Surprise of the night: I like beets. Yellow ones, not red ones.
After dinner, everyone retired for the evening. As it was only about 10:30, I was still in party mode, so I called my best gay and slurred something into his voice mail about how I was in town and does he want to come to the Four Seasons and live it up Patsy and Edina-style (Ab Fab).
Alas, he did not call back and I had no one to encourage my bad decisions (read: more drinks), so I ambled over to the hotel bar, where I ordered juuuuuust one more pomegranate cosmo, a bottle of Fiji, ate wasabi peas, and watched the hotel piano player. I went promptly to bed, giddy about the celebrity sightings of the day: Bill Hader, Danny McBride, Ben Best, and Carla Gugino.
The next day, I met up with my team, which was now complete with about 10 studio peeps to do the run-through of what was going down that night: red carpet event, subsequent screening of the film, after-party. We'd ordered this gnarly party bus, which was a real trip because there was a pole at the back of it. I want to believe it wasn't meant for stippers, but, well, it looked like it. And there was a TV, which was playing Days of Our Lives at the time.
The red carpet was insane. There was a bit of a calm before the storm, when I just kind of hung around and watched as more and more press showed up. I was pleased to see some familiar Dallas faces amid the chaos, but that feeling subsided as the madness began...
My job was to take pictures to send to the studio. I guess to prove that we did what we said we were gonna do, which was rock the [unnamed film] SXSW junket. So I went back and forth on the red carpet taking pictures, until I was advised to go inside, as the two stars of the movie were about to come out and things were about to get a little crazy.
Screening of the film, yadda yadda, waiting around for the film to end, yadda yadda. My big faux pas of this part was asking the star of the film to stand up, not realizing who it was immediately, to make way for two random people I was escorting to their seats. It was one of those, "really, Tanya? REALLY?" moments.
The afterparty. It was my job to wrangle the stars and their guests and get them into their secret service-type SUVs from the theater, to the party. I was running on kind of an adrenaline high, and had a nice time chatting with the chauffeurs, who were totally professional and at the same time really down-to-earth.
The afterparty was surreal. The VIP section was for people with red wristbands ONLY -- everybody else had a different color wristband and was banished to the other parts of the venue. Every time I went out for a smoke, I was made increasingly aware that the journalists and other folks were not at all happy with their non-red wristbands. They all wanted to be in the red-wristband room, where the stars were.
Okay, I realize that a forbidden zone like the VIP room is only more interesting because you're not allowed to be there. But really, people, it's not that much more interesting. It's just another party room. I never got the glamorous sprinkly tinglies that one would imagine from a party with stars. No drunk starlets dancing on tables in mini dresses, or lascivious encounters in a dark corner. Just another bar with stars and directors and producers congratulating each other, and us, the studio hacks who were there to babysit and keep the lookie-loos and wannabes out.
Again, my job was to get the actors and director into their cars and off to the hotel. I must admit, it was a strange power to have -- telling famous people where to go, and, "oh, no, not THAT car! The director's wife has her purse in THAT one. Go in this one instead. Thaaaaaaanks." Upon arriving at the hotel, I was with a couple of the studio gals and there they were, the movie people, drunk and still celebrating at the hotel bar, inviting us to hang out with them.
Another strange moment. Do I accept the invitation to join these people at this late hour and spend the next 45 minutes uncomfortably observing these actors who have entertained me and made me laugh many times before now, or do I play professional, take the high road, so to speak, and go to bed, preserving these people in my mind just as I know them, eliminating all chances of their image being tarnished in my head, not to mention risking my professional integrity?
I chose the latter. It was 2:45 AM and I had to be up at 8 AM the next day. Plus, I still had to upload the pictures I'd taken and send them to the studio, so I was up until 3:30. I still think it was a wise decision, as I was tired enough the next day.
The last day was my favorite. Yes, I was running on near empty at this point, what with the hangover the day before, and lack of sleep, but it was totally funny in a sadistic way to see the same people from the night before with their coffees and glazed hungover eyes going through their press conference (which was hilarious, by the way -- I have to hand it to them for how brilliantly funny they all are), doing their jobs just as I was. After the press conference, my intern and I were in charge of (very quickly) tearing down the posters and easels, and on our way out to the infamous party bus, we were suddenly caught in the middle of fucking mayhem, with fans trying to get to the stars, arms wrapping around me to get a picture, just ooooooone picture of [unnamed beautiful actress]. It was almost too much to bear.
The party bus trip back to the hotel was another surreal moment. We all rode together, me, the studio people, and the stars. The director, who was totally sweet and down-to-earth, looked at me at one point and realized that we hadn't met, so he just candidly said, "Hi, I'm ____." So sweet. Later on in the day, he asked me if I had any gum, and I shared my Bubble Tape with him and told him it's okay for him to get his fingers in it cause I'm not afraid of cooties.
Interviews at the hotel, yadda yadda, things were winding down, and we were nearing the end of our adventure at SXSW. Although I wasn't blown away by the hotel, I was impressed with the quality of their coffee, of which I had copious amounts. Top notch, and dammit if I didn't get the name of the brand. Probably something generic like Community Coffee, but you know how things taste different in certain situations.
I took more pictures of the interviews, a job that was starting to wear on me because it was kind of paparrazi-ish, but all in the name of my job, no? We had a lot of down time, so I had a chance to bond with some of the LA studio gals, some of whom were really cool. My age, thin, stylish, secret-fan-girl-yet-professional-types.
And then it was over. I traveled with my boss, who is not generous when it comes to praise, but I'll toot my own horn here and say that she told me I did a great job. Fuck, who doesn't like hearing that? The whole thing went swimmingly and everyone was pleased.
Especially me.
*(Sorry for the secrecy and vagueness. You understand.)
I celebrated with friends at the usual haunt, 'locks. I piggy-backed one of my movie promotions onto the celebration, a choice I regretted immediately because that meant I had to "work" and take pictures of people with our promo items. But thankfully, two of my extroverted friends took that task on happily.
The rest of the week went by in a blur, and then there was South by Southwest.
Oh.my.god.
Even though I went to college in the area, I'd never gone to SXSW. I KNOW! Hard to believe. But this time it was for work -- a movie junket -- in which I was to meet [unnamed studio]* peeps, movie stars, asshole publicists, and everyone in between.
My boss and I flew in in the afternoon, and met up with one of the studio peeps. We were staying at the Four Seasons, and had a lovely little lunch and an afternoon cocktail (or three). Silliness ensued, and continued into the night, while the rest of the studio peeps trickled in.
Dinner was amazing. We ate at the hotel restaurant, Trio, where I had fish, and we passed around community plates of vegetables. Surprise of the night: I like beets. Yellow ones, not red ones.
After dinner, everyone retired for the evening. As it was only about 10:30, I was still in party mode, so I called my best gay and slurred something into his voice mail about how I was in town and does he want to come to the Four Seasons and live it up Patsy and Edina-style (Ab Fab).
Alas, he did not call back and I had no one to encourage my bad decisions (read: more drinks), so I ambled over to the hotel bar, where I ordered juuuuuust one more pomegranate cosmo, a bottle of Fiji, ate wasabi peas, and watched the hotel piano player. I went promptly to bed, giddy about the celebrity sightings of the day: Bill Hader, Danny McBride, Ben Best, and Carla Gugino.
The next day, I met up with my team, which was now complete with about 10 studio peeps to do the run-through of what was going down that night: red carpet event, subsequent screening of the film, after-party. We'd ordered this gnarly party bus, which was a real trip because there was a pole at the back of it. I want to believe it wasn't meant for stippers, but, well, it looked like it. And there was a TV, which was playing Days of Our Lives at the time.
The red carpet was insane. There was a bit of a calm before the storm, when I just kind of hung around and watched as more and more press showed up. I was pleased to see some familiar Dallas faces amid the chaos, but that feeling subsided as the madness began...
My job was to take pictures to send to the studio. I guess to prove that we did what we said we were gonna do, which was rock the [unnamed film] SXSW junket. So I went back and forth on the red carpet taking pictures, until I was advised to go inside, as the two stars of the movie were about to come out and things were about to get a little crazy.
Screening of the film, yadda yadda, waiting around for the film to end, yadda yadda. My big faux pas of this part was asking the star of the film to stand up, not realizing who it was immediately, to make way for two random people I was escorting to their seats. It was one of those, "really, Tanya? REALLY?" moments.
The afterparty. It was my job to wrangle the stars and their guests and get them into their secret service-type SUVs from the theater, to the party. I was running on kind of an adrenaline high, and had a nice time chatting with the chauffeurs, who were totally professional and at the same time really down-to-earth.
The afterparty was surreal. The VIP section was for people with red wristbands ONLY -- everybody else had a different color wristband and was banished to the other parts of the venue. Every time I went out for a smoke, I was made increasingly aware that the journalists and other folks were not at all happy with their non-red wristbands. They all wanted to be in the red-wristband room, where the stars were.
Okay, I realize that a forbidden zone like the VIP room is only more interesting because you're not allowed to be there. But really, people, it's not that much more interesting. It's just another party room. I never got the glamorous sprinkly tinglies that one would imagine from a party with stars. No drunk starlets dancing on tables in mini dresses, or lascivious encounters in a dark corner. Just another bar with stars and directors and producers congratulating each other, and us, the studio hacks who were there to babysit and keep the lookie-loos and wannabes out.
Again, my job was to get the actors and director into their cars and off to the hotel. I must admit, it was a strange power to have -- telling famous people where to go, and, "oh, no, not THAT car! The director's wife has her purse in THAT one. Go in this one instead. Thaaaaaaanks." Upon arriving at the hotel, I was with a couple of the studio gals and there they were, the movie people, drunk and still celebrating at the hotel bar, inviting us to hang out with them.
Another strange moment. Do I accept the invitation to join these people at this late hour and spend the next 45 minutes uncomfortably observing these actors who have entertained me and made me laugh many times before now, or do I play professional, take the high road, so to speak, and go to bed, preserving these people in my mind just as I know them, eliminating all chances of their image being tarnished in my head, not to mention risking my professional integrity?
I chose the latter. It was 2:45 AM and I had to be up at 8 AM the next day. Plus, I still had to upload the pictures I'd taken and send them to the studio, so I was up until 3:30. I still think it was a wise decision, as I was tired enough the next day.
The last day was my favorite. Yes, I was running on near empty at this point, what with the hangover the day before, and lack of sleep, but it was totally funny in a sadistic way to see the same people from the night before with their coffees and glazed hungover eyes going through their press conference (which was hilarious, by the way -- I have to hand it to them for how brilliantly funny they all are), doing their jobs just as I was. After the press conference, my intern and I were in charge of (very quickly) tearing down the posters and easels, and on our way out to the infamous party bus, we were suddenly caught in the middle of fucking mayhem, with fans trying to get to the stars, arms wrapping around me to get a picture, just ooooooone picture of [unnamed beautiful actress]. It was almost too much to bear.
The party bus trip back to the hotel was another surreal moment. We all rode together, me, the studio people, and the stars. The director, who was totally sweet and down-to-earth, looked at me at one point and realized that we hadn't met, so he just candidly said, "Hi, I'm ____." So sweet. Later on in the day, he asked me if I had any gum, and I shared my Bubble Tape with him and told him it's okay for him to get his fingers in it cause I'm not afraid of cooties.
Interviews at the hotel, yadda yadda, things were winding down, and we were nearing the end of our adventure at SXSW. Although I wasn't blown away by the hotel, I was impressed with the quality of their coffee, of which I had copious amounts. Top notch, and dammit if I didn't get the name of the brand. Probably something generic like Community Coffee, but you know how things taste different in certain situations.
I took more pictures of the interviews, a job that was starting to wear on me because it was kind of paparrazi-ish, but all in the name of my job, no? We had a lot of down time, so I had a chance to bond with some of the LA studio gals, some of whom were really cool. My age, thin, stylish, secret-fan-girl-yet-professional-types.
And then it was over. I traveled with my boss, who is not generous when it comes to praise, but I'll toot my own horn here and say that she told me I did a great job. Fuck, who doesn't like hearing that? The whole thing went swimmingly and everyone was pleased.
Especially me.
*(Sorry for the secrecy and vagueness. You understand.)
posted by deconstructionist at 8:50 PM
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