Monday, May 10, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
TIC TAC
We already in May. The 7th, which is worse. I’m still preparing myself for this month’s double countdown: 10 days to leave the country, 20 days to turn 36. And what do you when it’s been 6 months since the immigration department has not given you any verdict, when you don’t have the right to work, and when the person whose VISA you depend on has already left? Not knowing if I'm coming or if I'm going … the story of my life.
It hurts to be canceling everything. (Again) DWP, SOCALGAS, TWC, NETFLIX, SPARKLETTS, BANK ACCOUNTS. Last week I canceled my therapy with the psychologist, my photography class, my guitar/ singing class, my membership of the gym and now my membership of the SCREEN ACTORS GUILD. So much for all that hard work I put into becoming eligible. Why did I waste my time here when I still had the time?
Because I took everything for granted. Don’t ever take anything for granted. To live 20 minutes away from the beach, to walk down the boulevard of broken dreams after watching a good movie, to study cinema at UCLA, acting at Ivanna Chubbuck’s studio, to connect with amazing people, to shoot shorts, to be accepted into festivals, to win writing mentorships, to land national commercials and feel the Californian sun on my skin on a daily basis.
How could I take everything for granted? If I did really like it here, why didn’t I settle for a job? Hi! Can you give me a job I don’t like so that I can stay here? How dare I? Just know that I’ll end up liking it if that allows me to keep on living in your beautiful country. If you don’t understand, ask all the immigrants that do the dirty jobs you don’t want to do. 
Every day since 5 am, I see these guys waiting for a dirty job. Some get picked up, some go back home con las manos vacías...
I like to live here. I like this new loft. The view from the room I turned into an office. I’m such a spoiled privileged coward. I look through my window. Down there, people keep on walking with the insouciance of who belongs. And I am here, at the top of this beautiful creative space and feel as if I saw the world from underground. Why did I have to enjoy so much without really deserving it? No place for excuses. Pretexts, inferiority complexes, economic crisis, visa delays, what do I want to blame now? It hurts. Hurts cause I’m the only one responsible. For once that I thought I could grow roots, and I didn’t. However Oliver, my German ex-roommate with whom I shot my 3 shorts and who had to leave the country because his visa expired, did warn me. I can still hear him saying: “Do everything you can to be able stay. You have no idea how much I’ll miss the city of Los Angeles. Do everything you can possibly think of, before it’s too late”. And what did I do? I remained encapsulated in my housewife comfort bubble. Taking classes, acting, and writing as if what wrote would pay off at one point.
The cure for uncertainty is ACTION. I did not act, always doubting. I had faith on my husband’s enterprise and I put my future on his lawyer’s hands, instead of taking the reins of my destiny and seek for a job desperately. How old do I think I am, damn it. To waist time filling the walls with thoughts like: “Your intention is like a magnifying glass. Focus and you can burn through a piece of paper. Focus even more and you can cut through steel”. Me swimming in the limbo of literature and the adults working. I wonder if all non-mom housewives beat themselves up like I do. If all the unemployed actors that abound in this city self-flagellate like that. If all the good yet unknown writers that brainwashed themselves thinking that collecting NOes is good because it brings them closer to the YES, torture themselves like I do… Perhaps those who still have the energy (and the innocence) end up working in production offices that exploit them as if they were making them a favor. But still, I keep on scanning the job offers:
http://utajoblist.blogspot.com.
UNITED TALENT AGENCY job list
(where dreamers go to find assistant jobs)
Receptionist - Production Company
Receptionist needed for TV/Film production company in Studio City. Should be excellent communicator, organized and punctual. Professional appearance is of utmost importance. Ideal candidate will be impeccably groomed and dress in well-fitting, dark or subtly-printed, high-quality clothing (NO Forever 21, Gap, American Eagle), minimal accessories, expensive perfume, smudge-free loafers or dress shoes, matching upscale (NO knock-offs) handbag, and must stick to clean, classic hairstyles. BMI in the low teens a must.
Production Assistant - Indie Production Co.
Indie production company seeks PA for micro budget film. Duties include heavy phones, lunch runs and general office work. Ideal candidate is the son or daughter of high-powered director, movie executive or billionaire with access to large car collection, several "shoot-friendly" houses in the L.A. area, multiple credit cards with at least $10K limit. Serious chip on shoulder due to latchkey childhood preferred.
Office Assistant - Commercial Production Co.
Very busy Santa Monica commercial production company seeks office assistant to provide support to all departments. Must be excellent multi-tasker and experienced call-roller/errand-runner. Please send resume and salary requirements. No resumes will be accepted without a specific salary requirement, so do not write "Open for discussion." Also, the lower number of a salary range will always be used. We will choose the best candidate based solely on the lowest initial bid, as this job is not all that integral to the success of the company.
It’s better to laugh. Then I looked for jobs in the Language field. As my friend Catherine’s lawyer said: “you can only find a job that can potentially sponsor you in the field of your highest studies”. And I studied my whole life but my Masters is a LLCE (Languages, Literature and Foreign Civilizations), a-ha, from the Sorbonne and everything. So I speak 5 languages, I red a lot and studied lots of History and my theses owed me the French "Mention Honorifique" from the jury.
SO WHAT? I’m not a pedagogue!
Doesn’t matter. Don’t give up. Key words: French/ Spanish. I find this amazing job offer from a community college in downtown that is seeking for a French and Spanish native speaker to Tutor both languages, and I still haven’t finished reading, but I’m already tagging the 2 magical words to it: green card. So I quickly download the application page and start filling it, when suddenly 4 lines jump and scratch my face, snap my sweet little tag.
EXPERIENCE SUMMARY Abbreviate related experience in the table below for quick reference by staff.
TEACHING SPECIALIZATION
Please list topics in the teaching area in which you have taught
CREDENTIALS
List below valid acceptable California teaching credentials you hold, and include a legible photocopy of each credential listed.
LICENSES AND CERTIFICATES
Are you authorized to work in the United States? Yes No
And what do I put? No.
Fuck. Part of me wants to believe that it would be an incredible honor to be able to teach, but the other says it’s an enormous responsibility and that I would be turning my back to my first vocation which is Cinema. Fucking cinema bug. Why did it had to get me? I would be teaching Languages through films: Students! Take a blank page. Surprise Exam! (Like in the sadistic Lycée) write down the words of these two movie scenes and translate them. NOW!
(No, I think I could actually be a fun teacher. A softy but fun.)
Speaking of cinema, last Saturday when I attended the Producer’s panel of the Film Festival “Hola Mexico”, I connected with the producer of one of the most important production companies in Mexico. At the end of his speech, I planted myself in front of him and without any foreplay I just sold myself like a bitch. Well, myself AND my project. He was impressed and with a genuine smile,- I felt it genuine but my judgment on people’s smiles are often overrated-, what was I telling? Oh yeah, and he said: “Sounds interesting, send it to me”. And me: “Where?”, and he: “Give me your card, I’ll send you an e-mail”. It’s going to be a week now, and still no genuine e-mail...
Enter the soundtrack from Pink Floyd's POLES APART:
“Why did we tell you then
You were always the golden GIRL
And that you'd never lose that light in your eyes”… Well guess what? I lost it. You shouldn't have told me that, people!!!High expectations, unbearable responsibility, too much weight over my shoulders:
Free falling.
TIC TAC. TIC TAC. TIC TAC.
My husband is already back in Paris. I won’t go back there. He won’t go to Mexico. I have 10 days to leave the USA. I threw a goodbye party. I realized I have true good friends here. Each one of them is another reason to come back. But here I am heading back to my country. What awaits me is not encouraging at all.(my genius but unemployed brother, the house falling apart, no car, violence, insecurity)... But I’ll make the best out of it, and hopefully I’ll resource myself. Sometimes is necessary to remind you who you really are when you are in your element. Maybe over there the predictions of my Chinese horoscope that says that this it it’s going to be my year are going to be fulfilled, cause this year is the year of the Tiger. And I’m a Tiger. (At least, for the Chinese ;-)
Should I head China instead?
What?
Monday, April 19, 2010
Yes, yes, I’m still here!
Thank you for asking. Ok, so here is what happened: I was supposed to leave the USA on the first week of February, but since the US Citizenship & Immigration Department has not adjudicated any answer for my husband’s VISA and his status is “pending”, so am I.
Only this status is killing me, because:
- I’m not allowed to work
- I’m not allowed to return if I get out of the country
- And since February I don’t even know what officially my status is.
To summarize: I came to the USA in 2006 with a F1 VISA as a French student (not as Mexican) to study film at UCLA, and I completed my 2 certificates in 2008. I got a EAC (Employment Authorization Card) for one year. In 2008, instead of concentrating on finding a steady job, I shot 3 shorts, did internships and got myself an agent. I landed some national commercials. My big error was not finding a full time job and convince them to sponsor me. I tried, but all I got were internship offers (which is often the case in the entertainment field)
I was kind of tranquil since I knew my husband obtained an L1-A VISA (entrepreneur) so I would just become dependent, meaning I would get an L2. With an L-2, I had the right to file for another EAC, only I got it until 6 months later. So meanwhile I got the permission to work, I kept on developing my script, correcting my novel, and taking acting and writing classes. When I finally got my EAC, I applied to several private language Institutes as a tutor, but during the crisis, teachers were getting fired, not hired.
Well, too bad for me. In September 2009, my husband went back to France to renew his VISA, but he was notified until December that his renewal was denied. His lawyer, - who is based in Boston and specializes in companies branching-, told him that he could come back to the USA as a visitor while she would make appeal . Meanwhile my hubby prepared a whole other business plan for a new L1-A petition. So, I spent September, October, November, December and January alone. He came back in February for Valentine’s day.
And my status what? Well, here is the tricky part: For the USCI, my L2 expired in September even if we got the denial in December! So our lawyer filled for a 6 months extension B-2, meaning I would stay in the USA in good faith until the petition for the new L2 was resolved. Only since September, we have not received any sign from the USCI nor for my B-2 nor his L2.
I reached out to other immigration lawyers and just one of them answered. He just told me that I could have looked for a job as a Mexican. I said: “first of all I didn’t know, and second, how would I dare going to job interviews if I’m not allowed to work?" He answered: “like everybody, once they like you, you tell them they would need to sponsor you”.
HA! And me thinking that I had better chances as a Frenchy. Now, we should have an answer by next week since our lawyer filed our case in “priority expedite”. The only thing I know for sure now, is that my husband has to leave the country on May the 5th. What about me? I still don't know. I'm here but I'm really gone...
So, yes, I’m here, but I’m in a “pending”, “foggy” “floating” situation.
I’m kind of a ghost.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Oscar nominee films I've seen
Avatar
An education
Broken embraces
Julie & Julia
District 9
Inglorious Basterds
Nine
Precious
Up in the air
Up
Crazy heart
The blind side
Want to see:
The Hurt locker
Food inc
El secreto de sus ojos
La teta asustada
Outraged that wasn't nominated:
It's complicated
Friday, January 29, 2010
Mosca Muerta
Soy patética. Si seré ridícula. Tener que soplarme semejantes numeritos con el único objetivo de volver a cruzarme con él. Pero ya lo decidí. Esta vez no se me escapa. Le tengo que hablar. Llevo mes y medio acariciando la esperanza, elucubrando desesperadas estrategias de seducción en medio de aparatos de musculación, pesas y caminadoras. Quién me manda a obsesionarme con ese lamido escurridizo. Me bastó verle una sola vez para quedar prendada. Nunca pensé que un huesudo me pudiera quitar el sueño. No sé si fue su andar desgarbado, su peinado a la cachetada, o si fue su mirada huidiza, desorientada. Tal vez fueron sus largos shorts caídos a media nalga. O la argolla que pendía de su nariz. Quizá lo que selló mi perdición fue su tatuaje de Shaggy. Si le gustan las caricaturas, especialmente Scooby Doo, es que definitivamente tenemos mucho en común. Puede que me haya sentido atraída por un fenómeno de identificación. A leguas se veía que él tampoco encontraba su lugar en éste circo de torturas gimnásticas. Me pregunto qué diablos hacía alguien como él en gimnasio. Lo más probable es que se hubiera ganado un pase en los cereales, tal y como me sucedió a mí. Lo cierto es que aquella memorable tarde en que lo observé deambular por primera vez en el gimnasio, no pude sino observarlo con disimulo. Su rutina me permitió babear un rato contemplando sus ojos turquesa cuando miraba desalentadamente las pesas en el suelo, sus manos grandes asiendo con fuerza la barra y las venas abultadas de su cuello en tensión bajo el peso de lo que, calculo, bien podría haber sido el peso de mis huesitos. Me acuerdo que cuando soltó la pesa y con ella todo el aire contenido en sus sufridos pulmones, su mirada aterrizó distraídamente en la mía y no supe qué hacer. Sabía que tenía que corresponderle con algo más que unos ojos exorbitados y una quijada desencajada, pero este cuerpo mío no respondió. De pronto, me saludó con una ondeada de mano que me cortó las piernas y sin saber muy bien porqué, me di la media vuelta y corrí a esconderme detrás de un aparato. Desde entonces sueño con reparar mi cobardía, sueño con encontrármelo y decirle de lo más naturalmente, "hey!, hola!, otra vez por aquí? si? hola me llamo Morgana y tú?"...
Insisto en seguir viniendo, aunque odie este lugar porque sueño con consumar éste amor más allá del ámbito de la imaginación. Aunque hace tanto que no lo veo que me pregunto si realmente existió o si solo fue un espejismo. Si supiera lo que he tenido que aguantar con tal de volver a verlo, carajo. Y es que hacer ejercicio es para mí un verdadero calvario. Generalmente en cuanto llego, sondeo el lugar y si mi única motivación encarnada en la persona de Shaggy no está, me subo a la primera bicicleta que encuentro, entro en transe hipnótico y pedaleo pensando en que cada caloría perdida se premiará con un beso suyo.
El otro día, para matar el tiempo y aligerar mi dolorosa estancia, me divertí subdividiendo en categorías a toda la fauna que frecuenta este lugar. Están los que vienen a lucirse y los que vienen a echarse un taco de ojo. A estas dos grandes categorías se vienen a añadir otras diez. Cinco entre el género femenino, cinco entre el género masculino.
Las mujercitas, por ejemplo, somos todo un show. Están las atletas adictas al ejercicio, que se la viven día y noche transpirando como si fuera una misión mística. Están las gordas víctimas de la celulitis, que dejan jirones de vida en los aparatos de entrenamiento aeróbico. Están las desgraciadas cachondas que desfilan como pavorreales (pecho inflado y trasero parado) que nomás vienen a humillar con su irreprochable genética y a recargar autoestima midiendo su poder de seducción en los termómetros masculinos. También están las seudo intelectuales de look de "matadas" tan estudiado como el de las anteriores, solo que añaden a su personaje, un toque de inaccesibilidad parapetándose detrás de un libro y de unos lentes para dejar bien en claro, que no son completamente superficiales. Y, por último, están las divertidas rucas, que se las dan de jovencitas, que caminan como tales, se miran en todos los espejos como tales, intentan seguirles el ritmo a tales, pero al final, andan arrastrando el pellejo con la lengua de fuera y nadie las volteó a ver como a tales.
Yo me sitúo en una categoría bastante folclórica. Digamos que gozo del estatus de mosca muerta. Navego con bandera de “yo no fui, yo ni quería, al fin que ya me voy” con mis combinaciones de desgraciada cachonda, mi actitud de seudo intelectual, mi rutina para gordas y mis resultados de ruca. Solo yo sé por qué lo hago, o mejor dicho, por quien lo hago. Aunque los efectos no siempre sean los deseados.
Los fulanos se confunden, ¡y con justa razón! Pero debo confesar que a veces resulta divertido y que gracias a eso pude clasificarlos también. Están los robustos (por no decir mantecosos) físico-culturistas inflados a base de esteroides, que siempre están al acecho de miradas de reconocimiento. Los "inflados" saludan con libertad enojosa y aliento de ayuno forzado, se permiten dar consejos acerca de las ejecuciones y, así nomás, sin que nadie se los solicite, le cuentan a una las series. Por otra parte, están los perritos jadeantes. Les llamo así porque se dedican a pasear por el recinto, ansiosos y tembleques (como perros excitados meneando cola), con el único afán de desvestir con mirada rabiosa a cuanta hembra se cruce con ellos. Esos ladran, pero no muerden. También descubrí a la especie antagónica: los exhibicionistas de la onda que buscan llamar la atención a toda costa y se saludan de un extremo al otro del triste lugar, impregnando el ambiente de un generoso olor a sobaco. Ésta fascinante categoría se distingue por divulgar alto y claro sus crujientes aventuras como diciendo, “!mira qué popular soy!” colocándose principalmente cerca de las caminadoras, escaladoras, bicicletas y demás instrumentos de tortura aeróbica, es decir cerca de la zona femenina. Si bien es cierto que sólo consiguen ahuyentar hasta a la más tolerante, cabe mencionar que ejercen un considerable poder de atracción hacia la especie de su mismo sexo. ¡Cómo abundan los gays en estos lugares! A los especímenes de ésta categoría, no les gusta alternar los aparatos en los que se posan sus apretados y bien ejercitados traseros. Les choca y les repatea que los vean correr, sudar o despeinarse. Nunca pierden el estilo y les irrita no ser la flor más bella del ejido; de hecho, apresuran el paso para no tener que estar en el mismo perímetro que las mujeres, y se van dibujando una mueca elocuente cuando una osa verse en el mismo espejo que ellos. Pero sin duda, la quinta categoría es, la más divertida. Secretamente los identifico como nerds. Éstos inocentes palomos, no pueden evitar que se les vayan los ojitos y se ponen tiesos cuando una pasa al lado de ellos para cambiar de aparato. (Más de una vez he cachado a alguno de estos representantes sufriendo una violenta y repentina erección, sorprendidos por un simple gemido femenino que se escapa y se escucha por ahí tras un esfuerzo halterofílico.)
Y en medio de toda esta exuberante fauna apareció Shaggy. El flaco de oro de mis desvelos que sigue sin venir... Por favor, que venga esta vez. Tiene que venir, tiene que venir. De otra manera de nada habrá servido estrenar ombligo perforado y atuendo de facilota. Sé que se me ve el nacimiento de las nalgas. Lo sé. Y por lo visto, aquel nerd, también. Ya van varias veces que lo sorprendo mirándome y nomás se hace el loco dizque limpiando sus lentes. Aunque, viéndolo bien, puede que tenga sus ventajas. Lo podría utilizar como conejillo de indias, solo para comprobar si funciona mi disfraz de pecadora.
Ahí voy. Si me sigue hasta el área privada y aislada de abdominales, lo provocaré hasta la indecencia. Aquí viene. No hay nadie más que los dos. Se pone en el aparato de abductores que queda justo enfrente de donde me recosté. El pobre se quiere lucir sobrecargando el peso, pero la yugular está a punto de estallarle. Lo miro como quien no quiere la cosa entre serie y serie y lo noto vacilar ante el penoso dilema de rectificar su optimista estimación de peso o de aguantarse como los machos. Le sonrío y cambio de postura para trabajar los abdominales bajos. Subo ambas piernas flexionándolas hasta el pecho, ofreciéndole el espectáculo sugestivo que se transparenta a través del delgado algodón sudado de mi body. No oigo el rechinar de su aparato. Ya se le ha pasado el tiempo reglamentario entre serie y serie. Me reincorporo y lo cacho boquiabierto, patiabierto, todiabierto mirándome exactamente donde me imaginaba. Se da cuenta que me doy cuenta. Bajo mi mirada fingiendo un terrible bochorno y fatalmente cae a la altura de su entrepierna. El pobre cierra los muslos de sopetón. Sospecho que mi plan está funcionando y retomo la serie con más brío.
Seis, y soplo, siete, resoplo, ocho, jadeo, nueve, suspiro, diez, suelto un leve quejido, once, mi amigo sigue sin mover un dedo, doce, escruto sus reacciones y el sonso se atraganta con el agua, trece, lo acuchillo con ojos ladinos, catorce, cierro los ojos para que pueda observarme sin miedos, quince, siento la mirada hambrienta de cuatro ojos clavados en mi piel, dieciséis, me incorporo apretujando los párpados con fuerza y mi gemido roza el orgasmo, diecisiete, soy una maldita y me siento más observada que nunca, dieciocho, decido abrir los ojos a media asta y alucino la imagen de Shaggy en el espejo, creo que es por la falta de oxígeno, diecinueve, -¡ES SHAGGY!- el nerd jala su servilleta hacia su vientre, mi resuello se torna en vergonzoso chillido, el estómago se me sube a la cara, la sangre se va de los miembros, mi corazón estalla sin ruido.
-¡Perdón, no sabía, los dejo! -lanza Shaggy ruborizado antes de darse la media vuelta y salir disparado, dejándome aquí, fosilizada, con un ¡“Espera”! silenciado atravesándome el esqueleto.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
When imagination flows...
I am having such a blast writing my TV series! The novel was about self discovery through sexuality and transgression, the movie was about self affirmation through art and specifically through photography, and now the two of them came together in such an explosive mixture!
Now M. expresses all that fire that runs in her veins through singing, E is now the old me, the daydreamer writer who works in a movie complex and has several identities in the web! And the mom is the attractive authority figure that inspires respect and snatches ahhhh, sights from the younger hot doctors! Yeah Mama! How to forget!
I could bring back all the 21 characters from my novel, all of them and many more, and make a sexy tragic comedy filled with musical spontaneous performances. Man this is so much fun! No sleep, coffee and cigarettes, wine and cheese, singing and dancing to the rhythm of masterpieces! Writing writing writing, crafting crafting crafting while everyone sleeps. I'm fluid dynamite. I'm reviving the frenetic orchestrator that was screaming from my guts! Hello the good old me! It's so good to be a creative lunatic all over again! Only it gets better...
Shit I can't write in English... What a frustration... I go back to work. I already gave birth to the treatment and 8 episodes. All that in 3 days. I love this city... Don't want to leave!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Immigration status... pending...
This is where I belong.
I don't want to leave.
City of Angels...
Don't want to say goodbye.
Not now, not like that.
Please, rescue me!
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