Honest Living

While I love love love my new job at Point Park and teaching film style video production again is like a dream come true, I'm still stuck in that nebulous adjunct zone of low pay and underemployment. I'm not complaining though, I am and always have been aware that when I moved here this job would be a continuation of my thus far life-time of part-time-facultyness and a grand segue into dissertation-writingness. I am deeply thankful for what I have and what it brings to my exploding resume. And of course, the complete and total satisfaction I get when the switch is on and I'm leading a class of potential future Oscar winners.

So, to supplement my meager and embarrassingly low income, I am embarking on a not-so-new set of skills and talents: babysitting! Growing up, I took care of my little sisters. Then I watched my mom's friend Pam's kids and she was a baby factory, producing a new child every 1- 2 years. I paid for my much of my undergrad education from babysitting money. I've set up a profile with sittercity.com, paid for a background check (which I passed!) and I've met four families now through the site or word of mouth that I'll be working for starting tomorrow! It's an honest living that keeps me out of smoky bars slinging drinks to idiots until 2 am or a shitty retail job at Border's. I'm too old for both, and kids keep me real. They make me smile. They pull me out of my stressful life and their world becomes top priority for a few hopefully smooth hours. Then it's cash in hand and I'm free to resume my stress! So, even though this isn't part of my grand life's plan (PhD by 35, Pulitzer by 40, Oscar by 50), it certainly will do in terms of paying my always gone over cell phone bill. Kudos to a new career move and here's my card: Kristine Trever, Professional Babysitter.

First Day of School

I love teaching film and video production. Period. I f'n LOVE it. Especially the Intro courses, where there's limits and parameters and wide-eyed freshmen and sophomores who hang on to every word and actually listen to you.

I started my first day of teaching Production I at Point Park University in downtown Pittsburgh today and it was awesome. Working once again in a truly dedicated and equipped filmmaking program is a breath of fresh air. Not that I hated working over in Mass Comm/Broadcast Journalism at VCU, but it was like hanging out with the not as handsome cousin of my true love interest.

This is the reason I pursued this pesky terminal degree, this PhD, this (as my friend Sascha hilariously refers to it) Doctor of Nothing. For in the end, it's a full time faculty position in a film and media arts program that I want and desire. It is my goal, my career dream, as the protagonist of my own flawed life. It is my controlling idea, my driving force. The PhD and all the hoops to jump through are merely simpleton antagonists standing in the way, but not for long, of achieving these goals. Make no mistake, I haven't been in college for 14 years because I love research...I don't. I love cinema. I love cameras. I love story. I love sharing what I know with eager minds and open hearts.

Best part, the folks I work with are friendly, helpful and cheery! My co-Instructor (yes, I team teach the class plus we have a TA!) has been wonderful in showing me the ropes and making sure all the bases are covered. And, he's Hungarian! I know every school and program has it's quirks and undersides, but I'm optimistic as usual that this is going to be a really rewarding and perhaps long-term place for me. I feel comfortable and relaxed here, the atmosphere is serious but fun. Kind of like me!

And the building where the Cinema and Digital Arts program lives is absolutely stunning. There's no way, no matter how foul your mood is in the morning or how hungover or tired you might be, that you can't feel a sense of being surrounded by beauty when you walk into this place and simply feel good. The building used to be an old bank, so it's opulent, spacious, covered in columns and huge windows and marble. Ornate and detailed, there's even a vault converted into a little lounge in the basement. Working right downtown is fantastic too...as if I needed one more excuse to let myself get lost in the city.

Sometimes I want to cry because for the first time in years I am happy. I feel real happiness, peace and calm in my busy, hectic, crazy, silly life. Then I cut that out and laugh and smile because I did this, I made this happiness happen. No one did it for me. But for those of you that supported, helped or believed in me along the way, I thank you. This happy, smiling, crying, laughing teacher and almost doctor, thanks you.

This one's for Vaupel

Moving is exhausting and bruising. It's a self-abusive love affair with a strange place and known things. It's fun and painful, it's a new yet familiar relationship for me, yet this time it's mine. I'm covered in little black and blue kisses all over my knees and shins. I think even my pelvic bone is bruised. Tonight I tried to convert the "stink room" into an office space. This is a huge room, the one that came with the FREE 101 Dalmations border, the room where I keep the cat boxes, about 2/3 of my books, my records, my PC, and my unpaid bills. I measured for a new desk (Ikea?) and went through a million files and the last 90 % of the last 90% of the boxes. Only 2 boxes left in that room on purpose (the rest contain VHS tapes of my Woody Allen collection and there's a huge box of all my student's reels from years of teaching at WSU). I realize that I not only need a huge desk for editing and bill paying (I'm gonna do my writing in the dining room/kitchen/hallway -- on the butcher block paper I bought) but I need filing cabinets and an entirely updated filing system. Nothing's been touched since 2008. Boo.

Some of my best discoveries of moving have been the many facets of my incredible wardrobe -- the red and white polka dot chacha dress I've actually never worn in public and the many cute scarves and bracelets I own. I actually found two Pewabic tiles I thought lost since I left Detroit. Still wrapped in newspaper, they were at the bottom of the box with my taxes and Wilson's pet records.

But the best part about moving is going through the boxes of old letters. Mostly in floral print hat boxes that have withstood nearly a dozen years in my life and about half that amount in different moves in 3 different states. Un-noticed and overlooked, Purloined Letters of sorts, I dared not revisit these boxes while in the meat grinder relationship with Christian. What, I might remember I once had ambition and goals? Or that I was desired? Dare I not even look for then, during those moves, I would have crumbled. But today, I've been so fortunate, today I dare. I've even found a bunch of letters from friends and lovers tucked in photo albums and random paperbacks like Thomas Hardy's Return of the Native (found a good one in there!) What was I thinking when I placed that letter from her there? A fantastic amount of letters from Mike Field sending me back to our carefree days from ages 19 - 25 when we were amazing penpals, best friends and much, much smarter than we

are now!

The real treasure was finding the massive stack of love letters written to me by my ex-boyfriend and former fiance, Miguel. We met when I was 21 and working at Majestic Cafe. I had braces on my teeth and wore chunky heeled shoes, long black pencil shaped skirts and a lot of metal jewelry. My hair was short, choppy, multi-colored but often bleached blonde and I was in the throes of kicking a terrible stint with my nasty roommate and her always having bad influences around. I had dated a lot of the guys in who came in to the bar. What can I say? I was young, living on my own Detroit, getting my useless Film degree, making a shitload of money, and I was cute. Cute like a 12 year old.

Miguel came around towards the end of my run at this mostly negative time of my life. He also looked 12, and acted 12, but was only about 9 months younger than I. He persistenly asked me out, I consistently denied him with the adage "I'm sorry, I don't date patrons." But he was so HOT. So hot. Slim but muscular, built but wiry. Dark, short curly hair, eyes like a dragon. Piercing and powerful. After countless occasions, gifts and notes of his a

ffection left for me at the bar on my night's off, I finally gave in and called him. We went out the next night. We went out and we went all the way. All the way off and on for the next 3 years. "We knew all the answers and we shouted them like anthems!" That's how we lived.

Weeks later I quit Majestic and moved into a tiny studio in a converted house on Prentis, moving in next door to my new and forever since best friend Heather. We moved into our new places on the same day and pretty much haven't stopped talking to each other every single day since ('cept for those few nasty occasions I care not to revisit). I started waiting tables and day bartending at Cass Cafe, making 1/2 what I'd made just months before at the suckhole. No car, no telephone, shitty little hole in the wall apartment with a standup shower too small for even me, I pulled my GPA back up to 4.o and engaged in the best sex of my young and not-so- innocent life with this hot young man.

What I discovered in the treasure trove of his letters was a photograph that he took of me one day on break at the Cass Cafe. He must have surprised me while enjoying not only a

cigarette but perhaps even a plate of french fries!

So, here's the first installment of what might be many of the Letters from Miguel. Read for yourself the brilliant intent, extent and playfulness of his love for me. It matched mine. I make no excuses, I loved this idiot guy. Ten years ago, to the day, likely. Perhaps he's the root of the reason I am obsessed with love letters.

Harrowing adventures and A papers

After almost being plowed over by a renegade tow truck on Broad Street last night, leaping Crouching Tiger/Hidden dragon style to save my life, landing on my side on the concrete and rolling out of it without a scratch, with a burst of adrenaline powerful enough to get me back on my feet and try to to chase the tow truck (got the company name and license number)...I am so happy to be alive today and to right now officially begin Thanksgiving Break!

Sore and cranky all day, I kicked ass on some of the more daunting moving to Pittsburgh logistics, I got some packing done for my trip to Detroit and even finished all my homework before class tonight! Class was odd -- we were discussing humor and no one seemed very enthused except for myself, my classmate Tim and my incredible professor, Dr. Hodges. I don't like always being the one of only two people who engages in any kind of discussion. Halfway through class I'm burned out and I don't want to talk anymore even though I still have more to say. I'd love it if it were just a handful of us at a coffee shop.

Got my Son of Mr. Green Jeans paper back tonight...another A! Another fabulous, stressfully earned but wonderfully rewarding A! Comments this time included not only "brilliant analysis and structure" but "I'd like to send this to Moore." Holy shit! That scares me! Having my work on Moore's short story sent to him for rebuttal, refute, denial, condemnation? But what about praise, you say? There's that possibility too.

I do think I am decent academic writer because I like to play with my material. I try to have fun with even the most serious theories and opaque rhetorical demands. I write like I speak, I keep my tone upbeat, I joke, I kid, I get snarky. Sometimes I even understand what I'm writing about! Sometimes, I'm in love with my writing. Sometimes, my writing kills me.

For class tonight, we had to read a few excerpts from Robin Hemley's new book Do Over and a couple pieces from his fantastic series called Dispatches from Manila. Dr. Hodges even shared a piece of hers on roaches, and it was a really fun, thoughtful, deep and visceral read. They've inspired me. These A's inspire me. They remind me to push through the block, the worry, the stress, the anguish of a really sucky 2009 and click away on the keyboard or scribble my thoughts on any piece of paper I can find. They remind to write, just write. That's right.

Son of Mr. Green Jeans

After 2 weeks hanging with my dear friend, the gorgeous and talented Figg and the procrastination that comes far too naturally for me, I finally got around to writing my paper on - GASP - the day it was DUE! Now, this really is a first for me. No guff. Sometimes I'll wait until the weekend, or perhaps even the night before, but never on the day I'm supposed to hand it in, spell-checked, revised, edited, with sources and a clever title.

Struggling with last nights wine remnants and a fuzzy head, I trashed what I'd already written about Brad K. Youngkin's short story The Speed of Memory (of which my memory speed had slowed to a snails pace) and while in the most refreshing shower of my life I had the epiphany moment. Forget what I'd already written. It was only three sentences of crap anyway. Start fresh. Shower fresh.

I thought about structure, white space, demarcation. I thought about finding a hook, a gimmick. I thought about how I'm too emotionally close to Youngkin's story to do it justice. I mean, this story is fucking incredible. It's often too hard to write about the things you love. So, write about what you like, I guess.

And I really like Dinty W. Moore's Son of Mr. Green Jeans. His structure is unique. Alphabetical entries on fathers, fatherhood, being a son, perceptions of the perfect father, parents, animals, humans, traits, xenogenesis. Small bites, sections that all speak to an abstract notion of "father." Self-reflective, but not entirely memoir. Sometimes reads like journalism or like entries in a dictionary or encylopedia. Looks kind of like that too. So, I stole his structure. Made my own headers using the same ALL CAPS style. Same page breaks, demarcation and white space. Nonlinear. Threaded and woven. Analytical and of course, chock full of the anti-academic rhetorical wit I am wildly famous for.

And tonight I turned it in! I'm hoping it wins as much praise for its succinct use of style and prose as my first paper for the class, though I do feel it might be a little analytically thin. No matter, I rocked it out in about 4 hours with 2 hours to spare before class and I feel great about it.

Now...if I could just have these breaks in terms of writing my dissertation, editing my documentary, finding the love of my life...etc.

But this will all come to me when I move to Pittsburgh. Next month!

Waking up is hard to do

I thought I would wake up today with a great sense of relief and closure, but I pretty much feel the same as I've felt the last few weeks. Depressed. Tired. Lethargic. Sad.

Why today? Well, yesterday, Nov. 9th, is the day/date that one year ago Christian moved out of my house, ending the 5+ year relationship debacle we'd been mulling around in. So today really isn't just an arbitrary date I assigned to say "I am going to feel better today;" no, today marks the first day of the beginning of my first year of life without being sucked dry by him. However, the suckitude continued with the relationships I formed with 2 other notable characters in this drama. And if you know me, you know who they are and you know that they too, are somewhere in Gonesville.

So, why do I still feel so poopy? Lots of shit flying around, I guess. Instead of wallowing in it, I am going to slowly but surely clean this fucking mess up.

What does that entail? Starting small and with what I know I can accomplish today. For instance, getting my homework done and being prepared for my very awesome nonfiction class. Next, finishing up my little demo packet for Pittsburgh. Then, packing and getting prepared for my Wednesday trip. And boom, signing a lease that marks my new lease on life.

I'll return to RVA knowing that in less than 2 months I will not only be living alone in a new city, I will have made a decision by myself and for myself, with no nasty cling-ons to drag me down anymore, or ever again.

I guess I actually DO feel pretty good today! Hah!

Semester update

I've forgotten how to blog! It's been far too long. But these rusty digits are back in action as the transitions of my personal and professional life unfold before my very tired eyes.

I want to brag about this semester. Dr. B. is running a sweet solo show as the only prof for the usually team taught Newscasting/VCU InSight content producing and on-set anchoring class. When once it was 2 profs, plus an instructor for TV Studio Production PLUS the added bonus of yours truly as graduate teaching assistant, our team of 4 faculty/producers is down to just Dr. B and I. Promoted to Senior Editor and Instructor of the 466 Production class in January, it was me and Dr. B and Prof Lysak and it was tough then, though quality nonetheless. Now it's us, just me and Dr. B, the lonely two gunslingers in an always challenging terrain of software mishaps, crazy deadlines and learning curves. Next show tapes 11/18 and airs 11/20.

This semester is student-produced news gold! How they shine! It's a dream team in the newsroom and a super competent team in the studio, despite any green-ness or inexperience. Everyone seems to just work so well together. We completed our third show last week and it is quite likely the tightest, most polished show I've worked on in my 5 semesters at various positions on the VCU InSight team. I too am becoming a more efficient and thoughtful editor of the full show. I assemble all the packages, VO's, VO/SOT's, OSI's and all the on-set anchor materials and I put the show together. I make the graphics, lower thirds and cut the video for the VO's and VO/SOT's. It's a 28:00 show and takes me about 20 hours to cut together for air once all the computer crashes, editorial changes and snafu's are put to bed. And I have 48 hours from studio taping to the time it better be over at WCVW or I get surly emails from the station!

And my documentary class is blowing me away. Today was our first day devoted to post-production meetings in the large edit bay. The footage so far is excellent, though some of the interviews they've presented have some visual issues I think we can mostly fix in post. B-Roll and Actualities are stellar. There's four groups doing four very different pieces. There's a doc on graffiti and street artists in Richmond, one on the lifestyle and performances of Drag Queens, one on the controversial VCU Pep Band and the last is on social networking and the military. While the angles might need to be sharpened, I have no doubt from what I viewed tonight that their stories will develop into compelling and captivating narratives, complete with beautiful footage, visuals, graphics and sound. I'm so looking forward to next week to see how these pieces progress. Doc due date 12/08. And they're required to submit to festivals or some kind of competition. I'm hoping for a CTA.