Ahoy! - Long Beach, CA

The California sun was just peaking over the horizon as we exited towards the sun washed, white port town, watching the dried trees as they slowly seeped past us. This early in the morning no one was going to be good for talking, the two girls in my car have had about three hours of sleep in the past couple days… I didn’t sleep at all last night to prepare for this day that has been a long time coming. After having spent an entire week at Universal Studios, calling venders, getting permits finished and locked, getting the crew set and scheduling the entire shoot we were just about as ready as we could be to get this thing done.

            Nothing can prepare you for the monstrosity that floats in the Port of Los Angeles. As you turn into the parking lot entrance it seems less like a ship and more like a metal building that just sits close to the water. You have to pretty much drive the length of the ship to get around the gate to the gangplanks that lead up to the deck. Greg was there, waiting seemingly patient for us, arms crossed, mustache twisted up in a smile as he recognized who we were. I croaked out a smile and greeted him with as much pleasantry as I could muster at five in the morning.

“Morning, Greg, we the first ones here?” I yelled as he came over and leaned into the passenger’s window.

“Yup. Go ahead and unload right here.”

            I pulled to the side and parked. You see pictures and have it described to you but nothing is quite as imposing as the USS Iowa at the break of dawn. The great metal ship invisibly sways in the water with an eerie creaking sound that should make you feel like you are stepping into a horror movie. The metal groans are in a way soothing on this intense day, maybe because it is making a sound you would like to make while everything runs through your head at once. Greg sits on his chair, his overalls hiked up to show his worn out converse and high top white socks, the billows coming out of the corner of his mouth indicate the end of his cigarette. As we unpack and set up craft outside the boat, people start to show up – I feel almost like they are a part of a ship’s crew, showing up to set sail on the Caribbean.

            I pull out my folder that has every single check in paper and organization tool that I would need for the next hour or so while everyone gets settled into what they came to do for the day. As the vans showed up next and started to unload equipment, Greg walked over and cleared his throat. Everyone who heard stopped and we all gathered around.

            “This here is an old ship, ladies and gentlemen…” and so began the briefing. This ship had survived the Pearl Harbor attack and was something of a wonder. Greg walked us through the normal ship safety rules such as no running, go slowly down the ladders, there are low ceilings to watch out for, don’t mess with anything etc. they even told us to not lick the walls because there was still asbestos within the walls.

            Walking up the gangplank felt like stepping into another time, into another era for a moment. When you reach the deck the first thing you notice is a sailor dipping his love, kissing her urgently like he hasn’t seen her in twenty years. The statues open up a world on the ship that sets the tone of your mindset as you wander through. Greg, smiling the whole way, took us down a steep ladder/stair to take us to the first location, located a few levels down into the ship. Walking down they alleyways, which all looked the same, you realized very quickly that you had to pay close attention or you would get lost.

We passed all the model rooms that were set up behind a glass divider, giving the appearance that it had just been left by a sailor or was used frequently. We passed through the chain that blocked the rest of the ship off from the tour guides – no matter how old I get I still get a rush from being able to get to a place where you aren’t supposed to go. The ship stayed pretty much the same but all the rooms were a lot less lived in and seemed in a way sadder, like it hadn’t had company in a while and was begging to have contact with the outside world.

Grabbing the ropes as we all fumbled down the steep ladders to get farther into the belly of the ship, stepping over the ledges and ducking below the ceiling’s center track so that we could all keep with Greg who flew down the ladders too fast to be anywhere near safe. We got into the boiler room, which was where the ship was basically powered. Massive metal barrels with all sorts of gauges and knobs to control whatever was inside them. The floor was a grate where below laid a deep mess of pipes and wires that seemed to be able to wrap around the entire ship if laid end to end. The room was lit but it had a dark essence to it. While Greg talked about the room, everyone was sinking into the ship’s atmosphere, we all knew that this vessel was a live and just as much a part of the crew as any of us were.

After setting up our production room and getting our day started, which always takes a good amount of time, we were able to start getting acquainted with not backing down the steep ladder stairs but to actually get down them pretty fast facing forward and barely using the rails. Production office was set up in their ship library that was just a room that had shelves bolted to the floor; it looked like it had not been touched since the 70s. We had one desk and a couple tables but we were happy to just have a good enough space for admin, makeup, costumes and cast holding. For the next three days this was home.

On break I was able to walk through the museum a bit, seeing the different things that had happened to the ship, which was active until recently. There were torpedo shells and uniforms, paraphernalia, documents, telegrams, everything you could think of that would happen on a ship during Pearl Harbor era. As I was rounding the corner I almost ran into a man with his family.

“Sorry, I just know my way around too well I guess.” He laughed and his family stood there just smiling in support.

“Oh, you’ve visited before?” I said just before I saw that he had a USS Iowa Veteran t-shirt on.

“This was my ship.” He said pointing at the emblem right above his heart. I suddenly felt as though I was trespassing on his home, he started talking about what group he was in and how long it had been since had been on the ship. “Is there a way that I could go see my old bunk?” he asked, just at that point the ship manager overheard and came over.

“I’ll take you there myself.” He said introducing himself and leading the family up the ladder again while they talked about service. As they walked away I was hit with a wave of reverence for what was done on this boat and that there were real people who experienced war and life in extreme measures. Stepping onto the boat you look at it almost as if it was a replica or something that happened a long time ago but being able to see someone who was my father’s age coming back for the first time and seeing this vessel as home was a reality check.

When you travel to the USS Iowa there are so many things that you need to keep in mind, such as “Watch your step” and “Don’t lick the walls” but most importantly you need to remember above all – this is a ship, a vessel that served our country, a place where people lived for months and years at sea. It was a place that people shared meals and fought hard. Every one of them had to learn how to walk down the ladder stairs and duck their heads so that they didn’t knock themselves out on the ceiling track. They all had something deeper in common, they had patriotism, they had pride in their country and they did anything they could and worked the hardest that they could to make her proud. The ship didn’t feel lonely as I had thought so before, it felt restless, it felt like its job was not over – and it isn’t. This ship stands as a memorial to what true sacrifice is; it is awakening to experience and is something that people should experience at least once in their lifetime.

Minion Wonderland - Universal Studios

Making that first turn to get to the gate is a bit nerve racking, they say you are on the list but they give you “the number” just in case. Having it already dialed up, we approach the security guard’s gate.

“Hi, how are you today.” Always start with the niceties; maybe they will treat you like they know you.

“Can I have your licenses?” We hurriedly scramble in our purses and produce the legalities. It feels like an eternity while he inputs them into the system to find our names.

“Where are you ladies going?” he leans menacingly out the window, I pause a second trying to remember.

“The bungalows.” Whitney replies, I smile like I was expecting it. He frowns and nods his head in approval; I felt my face start to turn red.

“Here are your passes, just go straight through and take a right down….” He kept talking as I grabbed the brightly colored passes and stared at them for a few moments. My name was on those passes. I finally have made it into a real studio.

“Thank you!” Whitney sings as she nudges me to go forward. I thank the guard as well and lurch into wonderland. The first time driving onto Universal Backlot is one of the coolest experiences a person can ever have. It doesn’t matter if you are just working at one of the detached bungalows or if you are a part of the staff, you get this feeling that “I have made it”. When you see the massive movie posters that light up each boring grey wall of the stages you realize that this is more than just advertisements… these posters are trophies, they are showing off what has been accomplished on this lot. You could get wonderfully lost back there which is probably why it is so hard to get in initially; people say it is one of the hardest studios to get into in Hollywood, thank goodness we didn’t have an issue.

            When a tram full of tourists from all over the world drives past you and takes your picture you know that the feeling you felt at the initial entrance was completely logical – you are a super star for all they know and you definitely feel like one. Driving through the lot, you pass people drinking their coffees and making notes on their binders while trying to hold up a conversation with the three people next to them. You see people driving around on their golf carts, not really looking at you because you are just another guy but you try to take another look to see if you recognize them. There are grip trucks everywhere that are unloading and loading, makeup trailers, PA’s running around with coffee and updated budget sheets to put in production binders…it is all chaotic and wonderful at the same time. We pass the Illumination Entertainment studio with all the happy minion statues out front like they just popped out of the movie - I feel like I am not in a real place, this is fake, right? We drive past the Backlot Café, which is the one place on the entire Backlot campus to get food for the everyday studio workers; I have a feeling I will be spending quite a bit of time here.

            We round the corner past the big Ted statue to get to the road that leads to the Bungalows where we will be spending every single day for the next week and a half. We pass the DreamWorks studio with the little fishing boy sitting on the moon to welcome you into the gate. For the first time I really was able to ponder what that meant for me as a child, watching that logo come up on the screen as I committed to memory some of my favorite movies that they created. This studio is a place of creativity and creation; it is a place where people can come from all over the world and make something that is from their imagination, when you are making something that you know will touch others it is like you are sitting on the moon as a child again. Someone once told me that when you imagine things you are using the same brain activity that you use when you experience real life and sometimes even more so. To create a reality such as a movie you have to have an imaginary mentality and to be on this lot is such a privilege – to be surrounded by so many people that I will never meet that have created some of the greatest movie masterpieces of our generation is an unparalleled feeling. I couldn’t wait to get to work.

            The Bungalows, which are nothing more than grey wood paneled work trailers, are not beautiful to look at aesthetically, but they were honestly the most exquisite buildings I had ever seen; this was where we would be living and sometimes sleeping constantly while preparing for the upcoming shoot. This was our office.

            Universal Studios is a fantastic place filled, like said above, with magic and imagination that comes alive. There are so many sets that you can see when you take a tram ride through the studio. What most people do not know is that a lot of movie sets are not actually in “Philadelphia” or “Canada”, but rather in a sound stage or set that has been used over and over again by different productions. The set for “Back to the Future” and “ How I Met Your Mother” are one in the same.  A lot of different New York or big city productions sets are filmed at Universal Studios, when you are able to go there to take the tour you will get a lively tour guide to tell you all the different movies and TV shows that have been filmed on the lot. Quite a few reality and game shows are filmed on location there and have their own sound stage such as “The Voice”.

            Universal City Walk is the section of Universal Studios that everyone who visits California needs to go to at least once. It is the big outdoor shopping center that is introduced by the Universal Studios Globe fountain at the entrance. The City Walk has restaurants and sweets shops, a movie theater, pretty much everything you could ever want as a tourist. There are live performers that come and grace you with their music at the big courtyard in the middle and there is usually a group that does a flash mob at one point. The best part about City Walk is that you do not have to pay (except parking) to walk around and enjoy a casual dinner and drink while people watching and sniffing around at the different shops.

            Los Angeles is filled with so many different options to shop, star watch, gawk at and experience, Universal Studios is one of the iconic places that you have visit when you come to the City of Angels. After walking on the star’s footprints at the Chinase Grauman Theater, braving the traffic and getting the worst sunburn of your life at Venice beach, ending the day at City Walk will wrap up the experience of a California day. 

He looks like a Gyro - St Louis

 The big Greek Church hides behind the trees as you turn the corner of the frontage road leading into the wealthier neighborhoods in St Louis. I-270 is on your right and lush, green manicured lawns to a few businesses, churches and country clubs on your left; at nine in the evening you kind of feel like you are a burglar who is up to no good. The church, set back from the road, is introduced by a huge canvas sign “St Louis Greek Festival” with the deflated big billowing stick man that undulates in the wind during the day, beaconing you to get “A taste of Greece – without the airfare.” I turn into the massive parking lot which as you get deeper into the property shows the actual massiveness of the church. Peaking out from behind the building, I see the white tents that are set up every year. This year is bigger than last, I can tell there are more tables and a bigger outdoor stage for the musicians who play Greek music all day long. A police officer whose face is lit up by his laptop keeps watch in his car and follows me with his eyes as I park my car against the bushes that boarder the church lot. As I get out and walk towards the rear of the church the officer gets out and greets me,

            “Evening.” He says, less gruff than I expect him to be.

            “Good evening, I’m here to see Peter?” I say questioningly, there hasn’t been a security guard before.

            “Right, you’re good. Go ahead on in.” he smiled and waved at me as I continued on. The tents stretched all the way down to the back lot; at the end there was a huge section of grills that light up each morning and feed thousands of people kabobs and other Mediterranean delicacies. I smiled when I saw a small table that had rickety old white chairs surrounding it, bending in the legs and dirty from years of use - this is where the old Greek men sit around drinking their Mythos beer and talking about all the pretty girls that walk by. In a strange sweet way that was one of my favorite places to take my break when I worked here years ago, they loved it almost as much as I did.

            I rounded the corner and climbed the seven steps it took to get to the back door of the kitchen. The mats with holes in them were draped along the railing and wet suds were dripping off of them, onto the sidewalk that was riddled with empty boxes, cigarette butts and metal chairs that were way past their life expectancy. I always wonder if I ran things if I could make it better, but I know that if I changed anything at all it would throw the essence of the place into a nightmarish cluster of crap; Greek people are too set in their ways, and that is how I like it. I knocked on the dirty white door and then tried the knob.

            Stepping into the Assumption Greek Church kitchen is like stepping into a home, it is here where all the love and family come together and fill people’s spirits with a taste of their real, first home. The huge line of ladles, whisks and spoons all hung in vast amounts over the preparation table that had been newly washed (for the fifth time today no doubt). The great gas stoves that sat up against the wall next to the door was black with soot and seemed as if it was hurrying up to sleep for a few hours before the whole thing would start up again. The ovens with the red handles were empty and ready for the next onslaught of pasticcio and spanakopita to be thrown in.

             “Peter?” I yell, stepping lightly on the newly mopped kitchen floor. There were two white tables next to the dishwasher on the far wall that were laid side by side with buckets of olives underneath and the cart with the big white tubs that would hold mass amounts of Romaine lettuce during the day. This was where they made the amazing Greek Salads in assembly line, topped with feta, olives, pepperoncini’s, onions and the secret salad dressing. This is where I spent most of my time when I worked, this was where I would banter with Andy and the old Greek women as they came in and out, critiquing how I was putting the salad together, snorting “good” in a heavy accent as they quickly hustled out again.

             “Hey!” Peter walked in and gave me a big hug, “You made it!”

             “Barely! I got stopped by that policeman out there.” I laughed as he grabbed my shoulders and led me past the kitchen utensils and prep tables to the big dining hall where Gabby was mopping the huge floor. Peter hopped up on the drinks counter and we chatted a bit about how the festival was going and how things were flowing. He was one of the kitchen lead/managers now and had been for a while; being a Greek Orthodox man himself he was always involved in whatever was going on that was Greek in St Louis.

             “How’s Andy doing?” I asked, leaning against the counter. Peter got up and grabbed the unarmed mop that was lying on the ground.

             “He’s alright, tired as usual.” Andy was the head chef in the kitchen, a tall Greek man who had a beer belly and smoked about a pack and a half of cigarettes a day. He had a gravely voice that thundered out across the kitchen and always sounded angry, though it was just his way of getting things done. Even when the kids did screw up he got mad but it was never lived very long, he always had a tender heart, he loved the group of kids that work for him; every year he asks them to come to Mykonos, an island in Greece where he plans on retiring, sometime in the future.             

             “Yea, you just get to the island by boat and when you show up, the locals come down to the docs and take you back to their places for cheep, they will keep you like you are family because to them you are for the next couple days. You can stay there and they will feed you for a few dollars. It’s like nothing you have ever seen in your life. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.” He always makes me crave to travel there. Whenever anyone would speak of Greece from that church it was always as if they were going to return there soon which made it more alive than you could imagine. Every time you started a day at the Greek Church you knew that you were going to be taken to another country just by being around the people, listening to them talk and look forward to going back. The men that sit around the white tables at the grills outside have the best stories, but only if they like you. They would talk about every time you went into the ocean there was going to be some new fish swimming along side you as you snorkeled around the islands, you would find a rare shell along the beach or you would meet a beautiful native that would sweep you away to a romantic spot where you would watch the sunrise peaking over their shoulder.  

            The Greek Festival is not just something you attend; it is an annual event that you live at for the day. You eat the best Greek food in town, then shop around at their Agora where various venders from around St Louis come and set up just like a Greek market, then you eat some more, meet some Greek people and become best friends, then you eat some more. They have every type of Greek food you could imagine from Gyros to Dolmades to Baklava – pair that up with Mythos and you have the perfect day.

            I grabbed a towel and the half-empty bottle of cleaner and began to scrub down the buffet serving tables as they finished up mopping. The pictures of the different Greek cities were spaced out on the wall around the massive dining hall – Mykonos, Athens, Santorini, etc. It was almost like you got a tour of Greece without having to go there. I could almost hear the room echoing with loud voices, calling out to each other and yelling at their children to stop running, the ladies calling for treys to be refilled and gyros to be brought in from the grills. The long line for the register reaches out way past the door to the outside, and on a good day will go all the way to the end of the church and wrap around. 

            “Alright we’re finished, you almost ready to go?” I asked as Peter threw the mops back into the bucket and shifted his attention to checking to make sure all was well before locking up. Gabby glided behind the large curtain on the stage to turn off the music and pack things up.

            “Yea, just one more thing.” He grabbed a to-go box from the counter and disappeared into the kitchen. I sat on the counter again, staring at the large baker’s racks filled with baklava and other sweet Greek treats that were sure to be dripping with honey and cloves. “Here.” He appeared again next to me and handed me the box, I didn’t have to open it to know that there was olives, feta and pita inside - he remembered. Family never forgets.

Hi, I'm Samantha! - Lawrence

           “No, it’s Samantha Halvino. H-A-L-V-I-N-O” I said, putting an emphasis on the last letter, pretending to be annoyed as the sweet lady sitting behind the fold out table tenderly perused through the list of names that were right in front of her. My heart was pounding, they were asking my friend for her student ID and I didn't know what I would say if they asked. I kept looking away and folding my arms - all an act, mostly because I saw the patrolman standing at the front door making sure that there wasn’t any mischief happening that night. Little did he know that mischief was right under his nose. And I was terrified.

            “Ah, there you are, Samantha.” She smiled up at me and I half smiled back, holding out the $10.00 I owed her.

            “It says here you are pre-paid?” She looked at me quizzically. Uh oh…

            “Oh, really? Mom must have sent it in.” I glanced at my friend who was having problems herself, as her name hadn’t been found yet. I felt my face start to turn red as I began to realize what I was going to be doing if I took the ticket. The lady narrowed her eyes. “Hey, uh… my friends are coming soon how much later are you letting people in?” I asked, trying to be cool but feeling like they were going to catch on any moment; honestly they couldn't be THAT stupid. I held my breath and shot a small glance at the officer standing by the door, HE WAS STARING RIGHT AT ME. What did they do, have some kind of signal? Did she press a button under the table? 

            “We are closing down in about 45 minutes, sweetheart, tell them to hurry on up.” she looked down and checked Samantha's name off. I smiled at her and huddled next to my friend who was finally getting things figured out after showing her student ID. They found her name and I let out a silent sigh as she went through the rest of her formalities.

            “Ready, Samantha?” she smiled up at me as more kids flooded in and pushed us towards the entrance. We pushed through to get stand in line for the coat check, I reached into my pocket to grab a couple bucks, my hands were starting to shake a little.

            “Samantha??” a woman’s voice called from behind, I felt a hand grab my shoulder.

           Driving through Kansas is always a bit of a commitment, though pretty it can be very tedious - traveling between endless fields of corn, barley, hay and oats. This time of year isn’t so bad, the rainy season just ended and so everything was still green, the hills weren’t as dusty as usual and the trees were still full. I grew up on these roads, dad had to travel for work and we homeschooled so we could travel with him. We would count the hawks that perched on the fences that lined the roads, play the alphabet game with road signs and license plates and count the mile markers to our destination. Understandably we never did our homework, or would do it for ten minutes at a time because there was just too much to do while riding in the car, too much to complain about.

            It’s a sin to play anything but country as you travel west in Kansas and honestly nothing else fits as you leave the big cities, seeing the horses and fields and barns. It is a simple state, not a lot happening compared to even the countryside in California, but there is a lot of life lived behind the scenes. Fruit stand signs dot the exits and almost every stop has a trucker’s lodge and nasty, old fast food. It’s actually a very calming drive because you have time to think, you cannot do anything but focus on what is running through your mind and that was a bit of a relief. The farther you get into the state the more dusty and as some people would call it "hick" you get, though it isn't so much that as it is just a simpler way of living. You make do with what you have and you store up what you don't know you will need in the future, everyone says "hello" and you talk to them as if you have known them for years. 

            I finally made it to my destination and had barely enough time to change at my friend's house before jumping back into the car with my friend in tow. Downtown Lawrence, as you could expect, seems to not have changed in 30 years. Everything has an old town feel on the outside of the buildings, with false fronts and modern western-style decor. It is a college town so the people that walk around are typically of the younger variety so it has this upbeat, country, hipster, vintage flavor when you drive through Main Street which would be strange except that it's just how Kansas works.

            “This reminds me of home.” I smiled at Anna as she sat nervously on the seat next to me. She was the last friend of mine that was graduating from high school, she was all set for college in the fall at Kansas State and I couldn’t be more proud of her. We grew up together in small town about four hours east of here, surrounded by farm country and people who had been around for at least four generations. Everyone’s family lived just across town where you could get to them in five minutes (even during “rush hour”). She looked up at me and slightly smiled before staring back down at her lap. “Remember the old farm right outside of our neighborhood? The one with the red and white striped silo that everyone saw when they came into town?” I said trying to get her mind off of things.

            “Yea.” She laughed a little, “And Whittaker Park right down the street.”

            “Where we climbed up on that huge cement gate structure thing?”

            “And the teeter-totters that no one should have played on?”

            We were laughing as we pulled into the school parking lot.

            “Keep driving through here, you can park next to the field, no one will park back here.” She said as we broke away from the massive line of cars.

            “Find me after, here’s my phone.” She handed it to me and got out of the car by the entrance.

             “Good luck!” I yelled as she smiled and closed the door. I parked and prepared myself for another LONG graduation.

            “Common, Kelli! You have to come with me.” Anna said, as we were finishing up cleaning her graduation party at one of the local restaurants. My face full of another red velvet cupcake, I almost choked as I laughed. After having just finished my last full year of college, it seemed silly that she wanted me to come to her Grad Night. “It’s going to be fun and I don’t want you sitting alone at my house.”

            “How am I going to get in?”

            “Here, do you have the ceremony booklet thing?” Anna’s friend asked me. I shuffled in my bag for a moment before producing the crumbled blue and black program from earlier today. “Here lets look.” She held the booklet open for both Anna and her to see.

            “Well… I don’t think she would go… maybe her?”

            “No she said she would be there for sure.”

            “What about Michelle? She said she didn’t know if she was coming or not.” Anna suggested.

            “No, no. You don’t want to run that risk.”

            “Hannah?”

            “She’s going for sure. Hmmm.” She looked up at me and then it was like a light bulb popped on in her head. “Her.” She pointed at a name and Anna smiled up at me.

            “Hello, Samantha.” She stuck out her hand to shake mine.

            “Samantha??” I felt the firm grasp on my arm and looked back hesitantly. I’m done for.

            “Yes?” I hesitantly replied as one of the teacher helpers that had been helping to distribute the tickets looked down at me. She smiled and held out a couple little pieces of paper.     

            “You forgot these.” She handed them to me and told me how to enter the raffle. I sighed and looked at Anna who almost couldn’t control her laughter. I thanked the lady and took the tickets.

            “You should totally enter the raffle!” Anna prodded. I looked at her and felt a huge sinking feeling in my stomach.

            “What if she comes??” I hissed at her, “I just took her ticket that she PRE-PAID! They’re going to come down and kick me out!”

            “You’re going to be fine, if she didn’t show up by now then she isn’t coming.” I still didn’t feel better. We threw our names into the raffle for the random prized and also for the $500.00. “If you get that, it’s mine.” Anna laughed but I knew he too well to know she was not kidding. 
            We handed the people at the door our tickets and stepped inside. It was a massive room with a huge staircase that let down to a room full of games. There was a bull-riding pit, blow up booths that dropped money, a poker room, a dance floor… a high school kids dream. I don’t think I ever felt so happy to have grown up, looking around and just being able to feel the cliques shift throughout the entire room like mini herds of sheep. I guess that is one thing about traveling – no matter where you are or what you are doing there is always going to be the same type of human behavior, just a different flavor of what is expressed. 
              We walked around a bit and I met a few of Anna's friends, we joked around and told them about how I got in. It's different being back in Kansas, everyone was more polite and seemed more interested in asking questions about you, it was actually kind of nice to be back in this environment where people don't get out much and someone who is new in town is the biggest thing to talk about. 
             "Samantha Halvino!" I heard the name over the speakers. WHAT! I grabbed Anna's arm and stared at the DJ desk. They were calling the raffle. Anna burst out laughing, 
            "You HAVE to go up there!"