5
From very, very far away, like the tremor of the subway running down Fourth Avenue four stories below her apartment, Anna sensed it. The box, the bags, the responsibility the things inside them imposed upon her, had begun to feel oppressive. Her enthusiasm was already waning. And, realizing this, Anna felt three things at once. The first was an overpowering urge to do nothing, to sit at her computer and surf and surf and surf until she ended up somewhere truly well and gone. Somewhere deep in the eighteenth century, learning about religious motifs in Sorbian military garb or laser-guided excavation techniques used to unearth Pygmy artifacts. The second was to go back to J&R, endure their enhanced interrogation techniques, return the camera, return the mics, and put Aunt Clara’s money back in the bank. And last, of course, was to beat back the weak-willed default of quitting. To at least try to try.
Anna got up and busied herself with the apartment, which was something. She watered the ten-dollar plants from IKEA and shook the crumbs from the fleece blanket covering the couch. She swept the crumbs off the floor, then swept the other parts of the floor that didn’t require moving any furniture. And as she moved her little pile of dirt around the table legs, then around the apartment, Anna considered the Middle Way. This was her thing lately—taking China as an example. She had learned about it while reading an article on Chinese economic reform. The philosophy, as far as Anna understood it, was based on precepts of Buddhism and the idea of “paradoxical integration,” which posited that two completely opposite-seeming states might, in fact, be interdependent. And even though Anna was not in any way endorsing China, which Mediabistro often pointed out was evilly suppressing bloggers, this idea resonated with her on many levels. She considered her own life and decided maybe embracing limitless potential—like being a good drunk—required first building tolerance. Not everyone could be Obama, she reminded herself. Come to think of it, not everyone could even be Gilman. She couldn’t instantly vault to these heights, would instead have to shuffle toward her goals, crab-like. Maybe this is what Leslie meant by Process and Learning?
And it suddenly occurred to Anna that she could solve this problem, the problem of the camera in the box, and what to do now, the same way she had solved so many other problems: on craigslist. Craigslist! Where Anna had found a rare Fiesta teapot in Burnt Caramel and Brie. Where she hadn’t found Ray from Arizona (she preferred OkCupid for that kind of thing) but where she had admittedly, on her horniest days, scrolled through the “casual encounters” section and given herself over to the (surprisingly compelling) fantasy of an anonymous fuck in the back of a Chase ATM lobby. Now that she considered craigslist, it all seemed so obvious. Wouldn’t there be filmmakers there, looking for other filmmakers? Of course the filmmakers will be there, Anna thought. Everyone’s there.
Once Anna was on craigslist, things fell into place. Immediately, she sized up her options and realized there were a number of ways to go. She could start with “tv/film/video” under “jobs” or she could start with “talent” under “gigs.” The pragmatist in her knew it was probably better to dip a toe in the water with a “gig,” but Anna couldn’t help thinking that money wouldn’t hurt. That—hello?—she didn’t have a job. Alternatively, she could get the lay of the land in the “film” section under “discussion forums.” Follow some threads, get a sense for the lingo, and come off sounding more like a pro. Then again, meh? Why waste her time in some pointless forum for loser filmmaker wannabes? Who had time for that stuff, anyway? Anna clicked into the jobs sections and felt that familiar high. The ads fanned down the page in a long, reassuring list.
Right away she got distracted by something that shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. “Pretty Girls Needed for Thursday Foot Fetish Event.” OK, she had to click on that one. Just out of curiosity. “We are looking for very attractive girls with pretty feet,” the ad said, “to have their feet massaged and kissed at our weekly foot fetish events.” Anna looked down at her feet. She slipped off a shoe and, without even thinking about it, began considering her biggish veins. Crap, she thought, jamming her shoe back on. What did that ad even have to do with film? This was how the hours flew by like panicked zebras on the African savanna, how craigslist sucked you in. Then again, these ads were unbelievable. “Tap-Dancing Vagina Needed for Vaudeville Comedy Show”? Shouldn’t someone in Craig’s vast empire be screening these things, weeding out the total nut jobs? Jesus, Brie would love this. And wouldn’t it be funny if she just started texting Brandon these subject lines without any explanation? Anna got up and nuked some frozen spanakopita triangles, which she spent some time arranging on a plate around a crescent of sour cream. She poured herself a glass of Tropicana, and suddenly, as she was putting the carton back in the refrigerator, it struck her that she was doing it again.
OK, when I sit back down, Anna told herself, I will stay on topic. I will only click on entries that relate to film. I will start a separate Word file. I will contact at least five people today. She thought about actually writing these instructions down for herself on a Post-it note. Better yet, she could form an Intention Statement. But even with the helpful list of “continuous action verbs” that Leslie had e-mailed her, Anna somehow balked at forming an Intention Statement without Leslie there.
Once she redoubled her efforts, the obvious problem confronting her was that most of these ads requested that people have very specific skills. People who could “disseminate encoding protocols,” had a “basic understanding of UNIX,” and knew their way around an “MPEG-2 Transport Stream.” What Anna had to offer was a bit more vague. Not many people, admittedly, were looking for an unemployed woman with an AVCCAM in a box who happened to be conversant in the nuances of real estate tax law. But then Anna stumbled on an ad for a “producing partner” that required no professional experience, only a “passion for cinema.” She wrote that one down. And when she extended her search back a few weeks, she found some other possibilities. “Indie Filmmaker Seeks Non-Union Crew.” “Assistant for Film Distribution Company.” “Film Intern—Production/Postproduction.” (Who knows, maybe Brie had the right idea about internships?) She had promised herself five contacts, true, but come to think of it, four was good enough. Anna actually felt kind of invigorated. Not quite ready to tackle the AVCCAM box, perhaps, but ready to at least start unpacking the microphones. She was just about to close the craigslist tab when she saw it:
ARE YOU A REAL PERSON?
Anna had to admit, that was a good one. And hadn’t she admirably resisted clicking on that other funny ad, the one with the subject line “Do you eat chalk?” She deserved a freebie, so she clicked.
As you live life, you film it. Your mind’s eye is a camera. Your life experience is your demo reel. You are full of patience and open to everything. You are any sex or several. You are any ethnicity. You are 19 or 99. Above all else, YOU ARE NOT AFRAID.
You are a creative partner whom I can trust and build a lasting professional relationship with.
I know Craig’s List is an unlikely place to seek communion. You don’t belong here and neither do I.
(Unfortunately, due to the nature of this operation, there is no pay. With that in mind, please only serious inquiries.)
There was no phone number or website listed, just an automatically generated e-mail address: Reply To: [email protected].
OK, Anna thought as