The Magic

The following is from an email to some friends asking how my first day at Disney went.  Since I consider anyone who reads this blog a friend, I thought I would pass along.

...Spent my first full day in Orlando at the Animal Kingdom park.  I wanted to catch Andrew in his show, but I had to kill some time on my own.  The wait for Expedition: Everest was only 15 minutes, so I figured I may as well kick the day off on a roller coaster, because that's what normal 35 year old women do.  I sat with a Japanese tourist who spoke 5 words of English. Naturally, I  struck up a conversation. I was my regular Chatty Patty self "Oh!  I love Tokyohhhhhhhhhh!!!" The picture of my new best Japanese friend and I screaming all the way down was almost worth the $25 they were selling it for.  

After the ride of a lifetime, I made it just in time for a bird show called Flights of Wonder. The Bird Lady picked me out of the audience for a little trick she did with a GIGANTIC African crow thing.  (I assume she sensed my theater background.) She asked me to stand with my arm out straight holding a dollar bill. She then released the GIGANTIC African crow thing to retrieve the dollar bill. She joked about wishing I had a 20- and we all laughed and laughed- then the GIGANTIC African crow thing brought my dollar back.  I was happy about that because I had just spent $7.50 at the gift shop on a bottle of water and Goofy shaped mints.  I didn't have much left to spare.

Once the bird show was wrapped and I gave everyone their notes, I mosey'd over to "Harambe" -Animal Kingdom's authentic African village, where you can purchase an authentic African drum and an authentic African pulled pork sandwich.  On the main street, there were some dancers/musicians from Mozambique who had recently relocated to Harambe for work at Disney.  They offered to teach me a traditional dance so I could perform with them. I was drained from my work at the bird show, but as an African-American woman I thought it was important that I get back to my Harambe roots. So I performed for a sold-out crowd of Dads wearing Miami Dolphins shirts and their daughters, dressed as Belle and Mulan.  

This all happened within four hours, and I made sure to post each thing on Facebook and tag Andrew in every update. He loved me and hated me at the same time.  

What else?  I made Andrew take me to Mary Blair's mural at The Contemporary again, and loved it so much... again.  We scored some free tickets to Universal and  the Wonderful Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I had my first butter beer, which was definitely my last. So sweet that I'm pretty sure I contracted an instant case of diabetes.  All of this sightseeing required a lot of driving, so we listened to Book of Mormon nonstop and I made sure to belt like the professional actress, animal expert, African dancer that I am.  

So... the usual.

Here's some video of me dancing in Harambe.

Businesslady

I've been working so hard I can't think straight.  I even wore a businesslady dress this week.

Yesterday, I was so lost in thought obsessing over a production calendar that I blew by my subway stop by at least two. Don't worry..I had my businesslady shoes in my bag and could run to the other platform in my flip flops.

I need a freaking break.

Unfortunately, my visit with Andrew this weekend doesn't count.  I got this text from him while I was hustling to a mix session.

"Sarah! I'm so mad!  I tried the pumpkin spice latte and it was f'ing disgusting!"
"Dick! Everyone knows you're supposed to ask for half the pumps. That is your own fault!"
"YOU'RE A DICK!"

Andrew and I obviously have a lot of business to catch up on.
No rest for the weary. 

Burgled

I'm not posting super frequently these days... which I'm fine with, really.  But I didn't really feel like I could let the events of last Thursday night go without mention.

In the last week of a sublet, the apartment I was renting was broken into. I came home to find the door wide open, apartment completely ransacked, all of my eletronics stolen, and steak knives scattered all over the place. Since it didn't smell like they cooked dinner, we have to assume they had the knives in case anyone came home early. Namely me. 

This is still a very new and raw thing for me, so I have to tread lightly here.  I feel less angry than I do hurt. Like this was a personal attack on me.  There are also waves of embarrassment, fear, loneliness, and relief that I never had to find out what the steak knives were for. I'm still working through all of those things and I would imagine that's gonna take a minute.  

However,  I really wanted to take the time to add to the library of advice if you should (god forbid) find yourself a victim of a similar crime and are doing some research.  Even if this hasn't happened to you, I am convinced my advice is just as valuable as renters insurance.  Here goes..

Make really good friends.
Be a good friend.

I may not have had insurance, but I had Ami who waited up until I finally arrived at her apartment at 4 am because there was no way I could sleep at home. And she researched car service numbers because my phone was dying. Then when I booked a car she came downstairs to pay for it because I forgot cash.  And before I got in the cab she reminded me to bring my charger so my phone wouldn't die.

On a fully charged phone the next morning, my older sister picked me up and moved me out in the middle of prepping for depositions and her 7 year old's birthday party.  I spent the car ride home calling detectives about police reports and Macmall for a new computer. Unable to let a moment of comedy pass by, my sister directed every single one of my calls into my other ear.  "Good, Sarah. Good!  Now less professional, and more sexy! Command their attention!"  With every, "Shut UP, idiot!" I hissed, I became more and more grateful that my brothers and sisters are also my best friends.

Once I had nailed my sexy, yet professional phone voice, I was able to call friends who responded immediately and just as appropriately.  Some were sensitive and open telling me their own robbery stories, of which there are far FAR too many in New York City.  Others like Danielle were both kind and funny, "I hope you're doing ok, but I thought you would want to see this" and attached a link to an embroidered Khal Drogo...my imaginary boyfriend from Game of Thrones.

And when I got my new computer less than 24 hours later- thanks to another tech'y friend who researched exactly what I needed when I requested a brief description that I could take to a store and say, "get me that!"-I found emails from new friends at my current gig which I completely ghosted from for two days. Not only did they hold the ship together, they found the time to email someone they have only known for a month to make sure I was ok.

Last but not least, I would like to thank Rachel Zoe.

After no sleep all night and telephone calls to clean up this mess all day, I finally crashed at my sister's place and watched a Rachel Zoe Project marathon.  If you have never seen the reality show about this LA stylist to the stars, she pretty much starts every single scene with a Starbucks in hand announcing to her assistants, "This... is a disaster."  Of course, it never is because sensitive assistant Brad cries and disgruntled Taylor gets furious and fixes everything.  It always, always works out and Anne Hathaway gets the gown she needs for the oscars just in time.

I couldn't skip the burglary here, because I would never skip Australia here... or the Cook Islands or The Cookie Games.  There are ups and downs, and that's how it goes.  Just be sure to spend a little time investing in some good friends. They'll help you take care of everything.

This sucks. Bad.
But it is not a disaster.

Move Learn Eat

These are some short films STA Australia commissioned...and I love them.

Fucking go somewhere.
Anywhere.
Don't delay.  

The Secret Life of Sarah Jackson

I've been working my face off since I got back, but this week I started a new gig which will require the full-on NYC subway commute. It's a great opportunity, super interesting, and runs for four months so I won't have to hustle for a minute. Buuuuut...

"But what?", my sister said.
"I don't know..I'm going to have to go into the city everyday and ride the subway."
"...F--k you! This is real life!"

I don't know.  Is it really real life?

I get that writing from home can't happen everyday.  And there has been something nice about getting a work station set up away from where I live and watch Game of Thrones on an endless loop. However, I refuse to accept that the subway ride is my real life, because if that were the case I would have ended it years ago. Instead, I've spent my entire professional adult New Yorker life learning how to block out the stressful commute with iPod and Kindle.  Or if I forget to charge any of these distractions, good old fashioned daydreaming Walter Mitty style works just fine.

It's when the daydreams outnumber your favorite playlist that you are probably having a nervous breakdown...or at least super depressed. If I had sold the rights to my regular daydreams before I made my decision to leave NYC, they would have been adapted into a movie called "Anywhere But Here, starring Thandie Newtown". The closer to the nervous breakdown I got, the more vivid my "anywhere, but here" mental pictures became. I didn't know what I wanted anymore, except that it had to be totally opposite.  Looking back on my pictures of the Cook Islands now, I realize that The Anywhere was there.

Now that I've actually been there and heaps of other places- snorkeled in Aitutaki, ate ice cream with local Raro kids, hiked with a Polynesian medicine man, the usual- I don't want to kill myself on the subway.  Don't get me wrong, I am still above my body for every single miserable stop.  But now I can call up real-live memories to get me through. No more vague wishes and prayers to break me out of Manhattan jail. 

When I'm in businesslady mode, I am very particular about what kind of notebook I carry from meeting to edit session.  It needs a hardcover so I don't need a desk, wall, or back to lean on.  It has to be lined because I have the handwriting of a serial killer and my penmanship needs all the help it can get.  And it's just gotta feel..right, man.  I described my needs to the excellent assistant on our project and today he drove by my workspace to bestow upon me the notebook of my dreams.

"Oh my god. Yes!  This is exactly what I needed. Thank you!!"

After he walked a little too far away for me to be talking to him still, again...

"Yes..thank you!  Perfect!!"

Now that I've lived the daydream, it seems I have a better appreciation for the small surprises of my regular life.  Since I can't live in both worlds at the same time, it's always nice to visit. And when I'm missing one of those worlds terribly..

Well, that's what daydreams on the shitty awful subway are for.