When I lived in Manhattan, I made an acquaintance also not originally from there. He said that every time he returned to New York after a visit home he’d get down and kiss the airport ground, happy, ecstatic even to be back. Being from an equally cool but different state than New York, I didn’t feel the need to genuflect to the Empire State gods. But this trip, though, I almost did. I arrived in New York with my side kick exhausted (always) and in a funk. Was it the last holds of winter or the ever-constant difficulties of daily life? Who knows; don’t care. But, thanks to a voucher from a previous bad flight, I ditched the daily drudgery and stress to be somewhere awesome, do interesting things, and dare I say, be cool and interesting myself. Ok, maybe the last bit is a stretch. Whether doing or being, everything was surely going to be choked full of “did I ever tell you about...” and “I remember when,,,” First stop: to settle in with my friend and host. Meeting in New York eons ago, it’s been years since we’ve been able to catch up in person. Despite the time that’s passed, it was like none had passed at all. We sipped coffee – of bean and of mushroom, and remembered times from before. En route to our first touristy destination, I tried to teach the kid some tricks for navigating Manhattan: “I always get turned around on the west side, so when you don’t know where you’re going, don’t just stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Move to the side and orient yourself. You’ll get yelled at and probably run over if you stop the flow of traffic.” Approaching our destination, we were greeted by the sight and smell of street vendor carts. “Breathe that in, Kid. Do you want a pretzel, a dirty water dog? I want egg and cheese on a roll and coffee, definitely NOT sweet and light!”
“Dirty water dog? Ewww?! I just wanna slice.” Now, I’m not one to judge. Who am I kidding? I see or hear someone or something and an opinion shoots through my mind; I make a judgment. For some among us, this trait is called being decisive and knowing what they want. For others, it’s deemed as being judgmental. Tomayto – tomahto. But, having an (informed) opinion is just the skill needed to join the legion of script readers for the Austin Film Festival. What luck! I joined the reading ranks late in the 2023 season, when over 11,000 scripts were submitted. It’s a new year with a new festival on the books, so I’m all in from the start for the 2024 reading season.
What does being a script reader entail? Other than reading and evaluating a script for its strength and weaknesses in a variety of categories such as plot, structure, and character to help reduce the field of contenders? I’m not at liberty to say. I’m also not permitted to read in my own category. Damn. And I can’t read the work of friends or acquaintances, so there’s no need to try to woo me with sweet talk and bribes. Double damn! Who am I to judge? Sure, I’m sure we’ve all run across plenty of randos on the street who think that we’re all entitled to their opinions. But really, what makes any one person’s opinion better than someone else’s? Education, experience, diplomacy, perhaps. And while I have plenty of strong views, when it comes to people’s creative works, I often don’t express them. That would be mean. The winter holidays are done. The New Year has come and gone. School is back in and about to be out of session, again. Resolutions are surely still in full swing – congrats to Dry January and Veganuary participants! The groundhog did not see his shadow. And now, it’s almost another New Year, the Lunar New Year. This means it can’t be avoided any longer. If not already done, thank you cards must be completed and sent! “Aw, Mom, do I have to?”
Even if my tot isn’t moaning about it, I’m thinking it. My kid mostly doesn’t mind, but at the same time, like most kids, would rather abstain from the ‘thank you’ ritual. But, the hesitancy to complete the perfunctory thank you stems from more than a kid not wanting to do a task or chore. Over the course of his childhood, we’ve noticed that no one else sends thank yous. NO. ONE. EVER. In our experience. Start to New Year: January whenever 2024 Are you awake? Upright? Scrubbing off the greasy, sticky residue of 2023? Yeah? Me, too. Nonetheless, Happy New Year!
I have never been one to make resolutions. I have, though, been known to occasionally take stock in the day-to-day existence to see what tweaks I might want to make. Sometimes, I do this near my birthday, during a season change, while waiting for an appointment, or, say, on Dec. 31 of any given year. And, I did so on the turn of this particular new year. You know what I discovered in my deep reflection? Not much – nothing’s really changed. 2004, 2024 - I’d still like to work towards or improve on the same things I always do. Maybe I’ll add a soupçon of other supporting interests, but yeah, same old same old here for another turn around the sun. An Ode to Lost Things, Nov. 29, 2022 Here in the U.S., we just celebrated Thanksgiving, the day when we are supposed to share our bounty and declare all the things that we are thankful for. This time of the year is not the time to be whining about what’s been lost, you know, stuff. We’re even supposed to free ourselves of stuff. While my Lost Things are just stuff, they are essential stuff. And, I would be ever so thankful if my stuff made its way back to me. It’d be a glorious Christmas or Hanukkah or other winter holiday miracle! The memories of the lost stuff have stuck with me. Some items have only been gone a year or two, some decades. But I want them all back no matter how long they’ve been away. If you happen to have my stuff, it is not yours. Those pieces are my property and were not given away freely. You are in possession of stolen goods. In thinking about all this stuff, I got to wondering why I was even thinking about the stuff in the first place. Are our worldly possessions more than stuff? Some mementos are. Some of the stuff whose loss I’ve felt the longest and feel the worst about are related to family. The items spark sentimental feelings, of course. But what is sentiment? Proof that those who bestowed us with the special items existed? And by owning the items, we too exist? And, if we don’t exist in a physical and meaningful way, later in turn able to leave something behind, do we or should we exist at all? And worse than this existential flogging is that in addition to my tragic feelings, my grandmother thought I didn’t like and got rid of these items. Oh, how did I love thee? Let me recount the ways, the ways that you were lost that is. FAMILY ARTICLE ONE The first item to join the land of loss was my grandmother’s old camera. It was from the 40’s I believe. She had noticed that I liked dabbling with my camera so she shared her old one with me. I had so much fun looking into the viewfinder hood on top and pushing the button on the side. I felt like I really worked to get the picture more than with the modern point-and-click. I felt like a budding photographer. The loss of that item feels like the loss of that interest or hobby; like it was taken away before it could develop. {Oooh, a pun!} Hurt. So. Bad. She gave it to me for a birthday. I loved it! At the time, rose gold wasn’t all the rage, so it was also unique. FAMILY ARTICLE TWO Even worse to lose, though, was a piece of jewelry; my grandmother’s rose gold lock baby bracelet. How CANADA Keeps Trying to Keep Me in its Borders, but Won't Admit it Wants Me. Much of the U.S is on pins and needles watching the post-insurrection mid-term elections. Will tight and contentious races go the way we want? Will bleakness yield to hope? Is Georgia on my mind? Ab-so-peachin’-lutely. But you know who, or what seems to be thinking about me? Not California. Not New York. Germany could give a rat's ass. But in case things here go tits up, it seems that one locale is opening its arms to welcome me, offering me an escape. Or, maybe just the opportunity to contact one of its specialists and fill out an evaluation to see if I’m worthy… O, Canada. To date, you’ve played coy. You’re always there, quietly on the fringes, saying “no,” yet showing “yes.” It’s a new era now, Canada. Don’t play games. Just come out and say it. You know you want me, baby (Canada). My family has ‘dabbled’ in Canada. One of my great-grandmothers was born there. Her husband, my great-grandfather (was) moved there as a child. My grandfather was born there but wasn’t considered a Canadian or British citizen, simply a British subject. Gee, thanks for the warm embrace of inclusion, Canada. Despite not fully welcoming my family into the Canadian fold, growing up in northwestern Washington, my mom recalls believing that O’ Canada was her national anthem. Her neck of the woods tuned in more Canadian than U.S. television channels, and the stations back then signed off at night with color bars and “O, Canada”. Time hop a couple of generations and maybe Canada is changing its tune about my family. One summer during my early high school years, my mother wanted to show her Australian friend where she grew up, and from there, visit Canada. This was, ah hem, a while ago, before we needed passports or had Real IDs to cross our northern border. My prior visits to Canada had never been an issue, so no worries. Right? As per usual, we rode the Coho from Washington to Victoria, B.C., Canada. We visited the Butchart Gardens, hit the James Bay Tea Room because the Impress was too touristy, and shopped for Rogers’ Chocolates and Murchies tea – yet sadly, not a Mountie in sight. And, after a day on Canadian soil, it was time to board the ferry back to Washington. It was a sunny day and the winds whipped off the waters onto the ferry’s deck. Upon docking, all us passengers then mooed our way to customs to be cleared to enter the U.S. I knew the drill. I also knew that the border guards drilling me always got tripped up on the point that I was born in a different state than I grew up in. And, as expected, the border guard grilled me on where I was born, where I’m from, and then proceeded to get a bit flustered that those are two different states. Then the real fun kicked in.
Sending the Little One Solo into the Wild Blue Yonder Thinking of sending a minor on a plane trip unaccompanied? Just. Don’t. Do. It. Ok, most of us contemplating this anxiety-induced event aren’t doing so willing. There’s likely some external force pushing the issue, and the ripped-out hair and impending debt that comes with it. So, for those who have to suck it up and book those tickets, here’s what you might expect. What is an unaccompanied minor? It’s pretty straightforward – a child at least five – 11, 12, 14, 16, or 17-years-old, depending on the airline, who is traveling without an accompanying adult. Why is the child unaccompanied? It doesn’t really matter, at least not to the airlines, but for the curious, it could be court-ordered visitation, visiting friends or relatives when the parent(s) can’t join the minor; or trips, camps, or other enrichment adventures. What services do airlines provide the unaccompanied minor? They help the children find their seats, escort them to gates for connecting flights, and make sure they connect with the appropriate receiving adult. Logistics: The key term to remember here is “direct flights”. In an article I read on The Points Guy on the topic of unaccompanied minors, the author mentioned she wouldn’t send her (older) minor on a flight plan with connections. I get that, but I don’t have that option. I also had no clue how much has changed since the “good ole days” in the way of airline limitations, booking and flight restrictions, and added costs prior to the 12-plus-hour search-and-book session I underwent for my minor. I recently moved from an airport hub city to another airport hub city. No problem: My flight path is clear. The person on the receiving end moved to a non-hub town. This means that there are fewer flights between the two locations, none are direct, some only have one flight for a particular leg of the itinerary per day, and all flights are costly. Airlines: Considering how many air carriers exist, when looking for flights, it felt like only a handful accepted unaccompanied minors. For my purposes, I looked at American, Alaska, Delta, United, JetBlue, and Southwest. Yes, you will note the lack of budget airlines on this list. They don't take unaccompanied minors.
Booking: I used Google and popular flight search websites like Kayak, Expedia, Skiplagged, and the airlines’ direct websites for an initial search to get an idea of what to expect in the way of day, time, and price options. JetBlue and Southwest ended up not having flights to the destination. Alaska would have routed my minor through Seattle, which overshot the destination by a couple of states. Booking a flight for an unaccompanied minor requires calling the airline reservation line and includes the long holds that typically come with calling an 800-number. Flight Plans/Routes: I found a flight on United that was quite pricey, but still cheaper than Delta or American. Through the exchange with the agent, I learned about one of the major complexities of booking flights for unaccompanied minors in contemporary times: solo or last flight legs. Because my little is flying alone, he can’t be on the only flight of any leg of the itinerary. He also can’t be on the last flight of the day for any part of the flight plan. The United ticket I thought I’d scored was now gone because it was the only one of the day on that route. Damn! Jockeying back and forth with Delta and American, I ran into similar issues – a cheaper leg of a flight, but it was the only one through that connector city, so I couldn’t book it. My minor would have to be routed through a different airport. Then the same circumstances were true when speaking with American, so back to Delta, then back to American. After hours of flight permutations, date changes, and general number crunching, I ended up with a lower ticket price on American, so went with that. When booking a second unaccompanied-minor flight, I tried United again. I discovered from the agent that United only takes unaccompanied minors for direct flights, something that wasn’t mentioned to me in my first go-around. Therefore, I will never be able to book with United Airlines for this flight plan. Costs:
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AuthorGreat transitioner & media operative seeking a position as a script coordinator, writers' room assistant, or staff writer with a TV drama. I'm also open to related jobs with networks and production companies. Landing an agent would be awesome. Archives
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