I fully intended to blog about Tuesday's Boardwalk stint on Tuesday when I got home, but there was Glee to consider, and after that, I was basically sound asleep...still shivering.
How on earth they survived in the '20s in their thin coats is completely beyond me. We weren't on the actual Boardwalk set...according to the crew, they're still trying to dig it out from the snow. They dragged us out to the far end of Staten Island, to an old beach community. It was an odd shoot, in that we had a LOT of time in holding...usually on Boardwalk you get dressed, haired and made up and go straight to the set, hastily trying to cram the last bits of breakfast into your face. This time we stayed in holding for quite some time. This was, as it turned out, merciful. The people who were called were a bunch of guys to be rum runners, and me and one of my familiar cohorts from last season, Marissa, and two guys. Our job, unlike the rum runners, who were indoors (for which I will never forgive them), was to be neighbors in this community taking a winter walk on the beach.
Yeah. There was a howling damn bitter wind out there, and the entire area was a mixture of unmelted snow, ice, and mud. The sand was sand, mostly un-snow covered, but of course, it was damp. And to get from the location bus to holding, and from holding to set and the warming house, was mud and mud and more mud. Unless you were trying to navigate the ice patches with those thin-soled vintage shoes. It took me HOURS to thaw out. And while walking down to the water was reasonably okay, coming back was a misery because the wind was right in our faces. Thank God it was meant to be an establishing long shot, because believe me...nobody in their right mind wants to see me larger than life and twice as natural with my eyes running and my nose dribbling down my face. Elegant as shit.
Meanwhile, the apartment is in a state of suspended animation while I try to get somebody...ANYBODY...to put together the damn bookcases. This is driving me absolutely crazy because I can't very well unpack books because I have nowhere to put them. I have one option left, which, please God, will work...my pal Pete, who lives upstate (one of Sarah's friends). Having (along with the rest of the immediate world) lived with me at one point, he can usually be guilted into helping "Mom." Well, it's not that bad...I am, after all, going to feed the child. And he has a car. So if I play my cards right, I can get bookcases and at least some of everybody else's stuff OUT OF HERE.
And Carolyn, the problem with the hair is that I have totally lost the patience necessary to screw around with it. Also, since I'm no longer 14, the interest in doing so. These days, my prime interest is keeping it out of my face. I would kill for a neat wash and wear cut like yours, but I've got to keep it long...at least until Boardwalk stops. Growl.
And Jane, please keep letting me know how you're doing. I worry about you...it's such a huge life change for you, even though it looks to me like you're handling it like a real champ.