This is an ever-evolving story of a girl writer and her two greatest loves, the movies and travel. As she hikes the trenches of Hollywood, you're brought along for the ride.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Friday, March 20, 2015

Monday, March 16, 2015

Long Live Books--The Physical Word On A Printed Page Kind!

Monday, March 9, 2015

Finding Vivian Maier: Add To The Doc List Of Must Sees

Through a friend, I recently became aware of this documentary about photographer Vivian Maier.  It looks completely fascinating-- the woman, her photographs, the story behind it all.  Can't wait to see it for myself.


Saturday, March 7, 2015

It's Maddening How Little Time I Have To Function (In The Real World)

I've been absent, but I'm very much still here.  I'm currently working on a TV show and have been for the last several months.  The thing about working in TV (and film) is that it leaves little time for much else.  Luckily, I don't have children.  If I did, I don't have any idea of when I'd see them.  Hell, my cats barely recognize me.  Sometimes when I leave in the morning, I wish I could just tell the cats to help themselves to the leftovers in the fridge.  But I know that's absurd.  There are no leftovers in the fridge. Oh, and they're cats.  That poses a problem.

It's maddening how little time I have.  I don't even have the time to scroll through my Netflix queue.  Because that's what we all do, isn't it?  Just scroll, add shit to the list, scroll some more, watch a few minutes of something, delete it.  Add five more movies to the queue.  Scroll some more.  Check Facebook.  Re-tweet something that somebody else said.  All of that takes time.  That I do not have right now.

I barely saw any of the Oscar nominated films this year.  It's sad how detached I felt from the whole thing.  The last movie I saw in the theater was Chris Rock's Top Five.  I really want to see Still Alice, but I haven't gotten around to it.  I've seen thirty minutes  of Birdman and then I realized I'd rather be sleeping in a quiet room with no one shouting at me.  Because sleep is a precious thing and I get so little of it as it is.  And I just... I'll be honest.  I didn't like Birdman.

Every year, I've religiously watched the Academy Awards from start to finish.  I skip all the pre-shows and the red carpet and all of that.  I tune in for the show and the show alone to get inspired by creative professionals at the top of their game.  Even though I know it's political.  And most of the Academy members are old white men.  So they say.   But working in the entertainment business is what I've chosen for my career path.  It's what I'm passionate about, what I've loved since before I can remember.  But for the first time ever, I was only mildly interested in the Academy Awards.  Part of my apathy was due to the host, Neil Patrick Harris, whom I found to be trying way too hard to be funny.  Which means I found him to be completely unfunny in a painfully awkward way.  The other reason I felt so detached was because I wasn't nearly as informed about this year's nominees as I usually am and that made me feel a slight twinge of guilt.  Because if there's anyone who should be informed about film and television, it's somebody like me who works in the business.

The complete irony is that working in this business has left me with little time to indulge in the entertainment that inspired me to choose this career path in the first place, especially lately.  But I still love films and I love TV and that will never change.  But for now, my life is the TV show I'm currently working on.  I have very little personal time.  And it's funny how certain things that have become part of my job seem ridiculous to anyone else.  If there's one thing that demonstrates this more than anything else, it's this:  On my laptop right now is a Post-It note to remind me to pay a fictional character's monthly rent for her real apartment.  The apartment exists, the girl does not.  Not in real life.   And now, not only do I have to remember to pay my own rent, but I have to make sure that we pay the apartment rent for someone who does not actually exist, except in a writer's mind.

Copyright © 2015 by KLiedle