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.
Voting Rights Act oversight rules should reflect today, not the past
Calm and perspective needed for Boston, not accusations and games
In the great new culture war over Thanksgiving shopping, I’m neutral
Without things to look forward to, the human heart gets ready to die
Without real human connection, we’re just living in a simulation
Pursuing conscious life is harder than sleepwalking through a life
Is anyone surprised at gridlock of congressional ‘super committee’?
Grow veggies in your own yard? ‘You’re heading to jail, you criminal’
Few things satisfy like giving thoughtful gifts to those we love