There’s a building not far from my house that takes me back to December of 2004 each time I drive past. It’s not a good memory, but rather one that still gives me shivers eight and a half years later.
It’s the memory of a night I suddenly couldn’t remember what I was doing and freaked out as I tried to do my job.
We were close to finishing the first day of shooting for my short film, “We’re the Government — and You’re Not.” Even though I didn’t really know what I was doing, I was the writer and director, and I was sharing the producer duties. I honestly didn’t know until that day just how little I knew.
Even though the day had been a blur, things had generally gone well except for my car having a flat tire at the next-to-last shooting location of the day. (I rode around on the little “doughnut spare” all weekend because I didn’t have time to fix the tire.) I was waiting for one last prop to come in the mail. It was days late, but we thought it would be there. I ran to my house and it wasn’t there — and it was time to shoot the scene. I didn’t have a back-up plan.
Life has a brutal habit of forcing us to confront our own hypocrisy
We all live with a death sentence, but we act as if we’ll live forever
English teacher tells Wellesley grads: ‘You’re nothing special’ — not yet
Don’t be so quick to walk away; you might be close to success
What is your measure of success? For me, meaning keeps changing
Angry and bitter people often misunderstand one another
2-day-old baby reminds me that miracles still happen every day
Family seemed perfectly typical, but I felt envious of their lives
NOTEBOOK: If results confuse Paul’s aides, how competent are they?