BTL is a New York-based filmmaker and writer who listens to stuff for money – aka, works as a sound mixer and boom operator on movies, TV shows and commercials. She blogs anonymously not to build her own mystique (which she's been told she already oozes) but to make sure she gets her next job. BTL is currently working on a screenplay, a novel, and a documentary, none of which she can tell you anything about — but she can tell you that she likes travel, platform shoes, and bacon-infused bourbon.

The Identification of Uncle Irving
Second Hand Fame

When I was eight, we moved to the suburbs and into a big, creaky, beige house. I got my own room, with my own walls on which I painted a giant rainbow above my bed (a move that I was to regret when I hit my teens, though not as much as my brother was to regret the rainforest wallpaper that he chose for his). We had a big yard where the neighborhood kids and I regularly smacked each other in the head with a tetherball and where I convinced the younger/gullible ones to act in brilliant super-8 melodramas — as well as blocks of adjoining yards that we also claimed as our territory, and quiet streets on which I finally learned to ride a bike. These were something of a contrast to the streets of my former ‘hood, Newark, where my dad had once been jumped while walking with me and my mother and brother by two guys who stole all of his Rolaids (like any native New Yorker, he never kept money in his back pockets).

Shit Happens

Have you ever been held captive, in some horribly dirty and cramped space not fit for human beings, where you were deprived of sleep, forced to stand and perhaps not allowed to go to the bathroom (if there even is a bathroom) for long periods of time, and forced to eat whatever somewhat food-related substance they put in front of you?

No, I’m not talking about Guantanamo. I’m talking about an average day in the world of film production.