This week I started a filmmaking class at Austin Film Works. It seemed the right thing to do. I have a miniDV camera, I’ve taken a course on film editing and bought the software, I’ve learned a bunch of movie-making jargon, bought a screenwriting package, come up with an idea for a short film and exhausted Amazon’s supply of books on filmmaking, editing and writing. In short, I’ve done everything except actually create something.
So I just ordered my ‘Yoga Kills’ t-shirt from my fave British t-shirt shop Toby Pimlico. Sadly they aren’t yet stocking any ‘Golf Blows’ 3-button nylon shirts but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. It’s not so much golf that I have a problem with, everyone has the right to make a tit of themselves, it’s more the attitude towards golf that bothers me.
To my mother, the passport office and the HSBC bank, with whom I had an account 3 years ago and have never quite gotten around to canceling, I am Margaret H Gallant. To everyone else I’m Maggie Gallant, or in extreme cases Margaret Gallant. Doesn’t sound so bad does it? I didn’t think so, till I moved here and found that having no middle initial made me something of a loser.
I’m standing in line at Starbucks (which I hate admitting to because as an Austinite I’m supposed to support the independent coffee houses, but they’re too far away and frankly kinda scary). So there’s a bit of a line in front and behind me and only one person taking orders. Finally the guy ahead of me gets to the counter and I hear the overly chirpy voice ask him what she can get him. And his reply? “Oh, I don’t know, what do you recommend?”
Hello? … yes … it’s me mum, Maggie, yes you called me … I am still in bed … no I haven’t wasted the best part of the day, it’s only 4 in the morning here … yes the time difference is 6 hours, in the OTHER direction …..