FML

Filmmakers came, awards were given out, tubs of hummus were eaten, and kegs of beer were tapped. So another film festival goes by and though I planned to step back from helping out this year, I was there almost every night. The festival went much better than I expected as there was an unprecedented level of press, good word of mouth, and great attendance. There were several new faces among the volunteers who added a great deal of fresh energy to the organization that had been lacking a year ago and who will hopefully continue to provide a helping hand in the future.  And though there was a lesser amount of partying in comparison to previous years, the events that were held were meaningful and for the most part, appropriate. And with the success of the festival occurring around me, I couldn’t help but feel like crap.

I should have been happier but I wasn’t. Internal and external factors contributed to the welling up of discontent. I was unfortunately fortunate enough to volunteer to be the event manager for the two sold out shows that were not opening nor closing night. Sold out shows presented a whole slew of issues that I had to deal with quickly, sadly culminating to the turning away of several people because we had run out of seats (including someone’s grandmother ). Knowing that I’m still not working and the dwindling hope that I’ll find something by the end of the year wasn’t helping. I also had just received a form letter for my WB application which contributed to my general malaise. The afterparties weren’t a factor since drinking isn’t my forte but I was looking forward to the karaoke night that we were going to hold. Inspired by that week’s episode of Glee (which is an excellent show despite the fact that IMHO the pilot episode was mostly unwatchable), I was planning to do Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life” though I intended to replace “It’s” with “Fuck”. It was going to be emotional. It was going to be heartfelt. It was going to be cathartic. It was never going to happen because when we got to the venue, a miscommunication left us in the bar area downstairs which didn’t have karaoke. Bummer. And someone I was hoping to see there didn’t show up. Double bummer. So this is the way it goes. Every half hour or hour doesn’t always have a reversal and a resolution, like on television (I learned that at ScriptDC).

I got to move on. Look for new opportunities and new avenues. Keep my head up. Cliche. Cliche. Cliche. Maybe I’ll change my name to Franklin Marshall Lee. FML. To me, it somehow may be appropriate.