I know. Long time no blog. And this won’t be a long one either. So much to be done. So much landscaping. So much filmmaking. I just wanted to write about us planting trees last week. Little baby trees. It took us all day, digging fourteen holes and planting fourteen trees. And while we were digging, these words kept echoing around my head…

Yuk Yuk.

In a few minutes, the local welcoming committee will be turning up in the shape of a person appointed by businesses to market Ann Arbor. The house is looking fairly spruced and there was even tea in the pot. PG Tips. But I’ve drunk it.

The idea of a city marketing person welcoming newcomers to the area is novel to say the least. Apparently they scan the local property register–a public record, accessable by anyone–and find who’s new in town. She has a whole heap of vouchers, coupons and freebies to give me.

Meanwhile, Nancy and Russ at the Michigan Theater have started introducing me to people as the theater’s “resident filmmaker” which is, yes, pleasing. We got in for free to the opening night of the Ann Arbor Film Festival and consumed large quantities of free vodka before settling in to watch the offerings of the evening.

I have to say, the opening night’s films were pretty good. The experimental nature of this festival throws up some really interesting ideas, although there’s a tendancy to spurn structure which often makes things overlong. You can hold an audience with an idea for only so long and then you’ve got to give them something else. Narrative, for example.

We left before the 80 minute epic of the evening, as did a large swathe of the audience. Like I say, there’s only so much experimental film one can digest at a sitting. We’ll be going back tonight for more, though, and probably Friday as well. I’m also planning on attending the free Avid seminar today (including free lunch–there is such a thing) at 1pm.

At the weekend, we’re off to Lansing, a two hour drive north, because The Car is in the East Lansing Film Festival on Sunday. Yes, two major festivals in Michigan and they’re both happening on exactly the same week.

Thank God for Cinema Slam, I hear you cry. And you’re right. An alternative night of short films coming up hot on the heals of the A2 Film Festival.

After fighting with various DVD authoring software–Roxio Toast and iDVD–for two days, I finally got all this month’s films on to two disks ready for projection next Tuesday. Laura’s made a funky flyer, 200 copies are in the Michigan lobby. We’re all set.

We went to the spa for an hour to relax in a hot tub today. A Valentine’s gift from my beloved. Eschewing the promised delights of the traditional English patio–okay, “British Isles Garden”–we opted instead for the Aleutian Cabin, which had a fireplace. And a roof. As it turned out, we required neither. Hot tub–it’s not just a clever name. Ho, no.

Twice I’ve been in a hot tub before. First time was in Whistler where Lucy and I went skiing many years ago. Then there was snow on the ground and the hot water soothed out the kinks after a morning on the slopes. There was beer and whisky involved.

Second time was in California, staying at Kate’s. The same week I met Joseph in fact. This time was in a spa complex and beer is probited by some State code. Not to worry. There’s Canadian beer in the fridge here. There was more but now… Well, now it’s in me, of course.

Laura bought me a set of Black Adder DVD’s–no doubt as I keep saying how this is the best BBC TV series ever made and quoting it all the time. Very pleasing. And my sister sent a wedding gift which arrived this morning. A beautifully carved oak writing case. Very lovely. I must send her a thank you.

Other stuff:

Next Cinema Slam is well in hand. I have nearly all the films. Still waiting to hear if I’ve got a commission for a second documentary project. This one would be educational too and looks like great fun. No sign of the lights today, or the Sennheiser mic I bought off ebay. We noticed that the boards are down off the local Dairy Queen now, though, and they’re open for business. Must be summer. Kind of.

Right, we’re off to the Common Grill over in Chelsea now (yes, they’ve got a Chelsea here which, no, is not like the one in London). See ya! I’ll try to write up the experience of Michigan Women’s Basketball in the next day or two. For now, I’ll just note that it’s a very different game from watching men’s basketball. Like it’s played in a different gear or something.

Gosh, it’s exciting, isn’t it? You come here each day, never knowing if there’ll be something new to read. Maybe even just an extra comment (I like all the comments, by the way). To tell the truth, it’s just been extremely hectic here. Never a dull moment…

Last week, as you may recall, I got my work permit, which means I can now work. Almost immediately I found myself making a short documentary for the local theater about one of their main benefactors and fundraisers. I also ordered a lighting kit which should mean my producer buddy John and I are now geared up for shooting anything and everything, since he’s bought a camera.

Laura and I also shopped for domestic appliances. This may not sound very exciting, but when I tell you we bought a fridge freezer that’s bigger than my old flat, I bet you’ll take notice. Okay, so it’s not really that big. But it is pretty humungous and it has one of those ice maker things on the door that you just push the cup under. Eight hundred dollars well spent, I’m thinking.

The biggest news, of course, is that we’re moving. We did the house search, decision and offer thing all in the space of about four days. That was three weeks ago and we’re due to take possession next Thursday or Friday.

Houses in the States come in square feet rather than number of bedrooms and there’s various styles they kind of fall into, like Ranch, Colonial or Cape Cod. Ours is an 1800 square-foot Cape Cod which doesn’t include the basement, which is huge. There’s an attached double garage with an electric door and the master bedroom has an en suite bathroom with a spa tub. It’s awesome!

And talking of awesome, I should mention that it’s across the road from the Wolverine Party Store, which means there’s somewhere handy to buy beers and the occasional pint of milk or loaf of bread. It’s also literally around the corner–walking distance–from the fleapit cinema, which I think is pretty cool too.

Our new lot hasn’t had any landscaping done to it at all. The house was built in Pennsylvania, shipped to Michigan on trucks and stuck together here. Yesterday we met up with a contractor to have extra windows put in what will be our office plus an extra door into the garage. This morning we met the first of two landscape architects we’re talking to about putting up fencing, building a deck, adding paths and maybe some plants–as long as they’re ultra-low maintenance (remember Richard Stagg Close!).

Today has actually been insane. After the landscape meeting, I went off to shoot an extra interview for this twenty minute documentary thing. John came out and helped. We got the interview done but Russ, the theater manager, had another person booked to talk to us at 3pm. John went home and I showed Russ the edit so far. He seemed pretty blown away, which is fantastic, and loaned me his Jeep to drive home for lunch.

So, I’ve never driven a Jeep before but people here don’t seem to worry about just getting in cars and driving them, so I got in and drove it and tried not to worry. Made it home without hitting anything and did a bit more editing. A copy of the St Albans Observer turned up, courtesy of Pete, who was kind enough to put it in the post. The paper featured a feature all about yours truly. Most of it was complete bullshit and they’d called me Mr Mr Jefferies thanks to some pretty incompetent editing. I read two or three paragraphs and went back to editing.

Oh, and just to be clear, Pete is *not* responsible for content in the paper. I’m still grateful to him for getting me a copy. Not everyone who works on the St Albans Observer is a muppet. Just the person doing the editing. Unfortunately, the end product is all anyone sees and if it’s unreadable, then it’s unreadable. (Much like some of these blogs…)

Back to the theater and the interviewee turned up with two kids who were also going to appear. Except they had nothing to say and kept fidgetting. I went for close ups. Big close ups. Without the kids. Much better. All lit with daylight, like this morning, as my lights aren’t due until Friday. Or maybe even next Tuesday. Who knows.

Back home again, transferred the rushes and made a toasted banana sandwich which I may try to convince Laura is a traditional British staple. Except that she’ll read this and, of course, the jig will be up. Never mind.

The rushes. Ah, yes. The rushes. This morning’s rushes are great. This afternoon’s have, what’s the technical term? Bugger all sound. The sound lead must have fallen out. I couldn’t hear while I was recording since the headphone socket and sound plug are too close together for both to be connected at the same time. About thirty seconds into the interview, it’s all static. Bugger. Bugger bugger bugger.

I called Russ and left a mesage. Then we went out as I’d blagged free tickets (thanks to the same theater) for Rufus Wainwright tonight. Rufus is a skinny gay dude with slept on hair and a fantastic voice. His influences are operatic and French. Normally I wouldn’t mention the fact that he’s gay but he sings quite a few songs about trying to convert straight guys, so it’s pertinant if only slightly irrelevant.

Rufus drew in an audience that was an eclectic mix of young female college students hoping to convert him, gay couples of various ages hungry for a pretty icon and a collection of folks of all ages and orientations who just enjoy his work. The theater was packed out. I don’t know if they sold out, but it must have been pretty close. The man has, as I say, an amazing voice and a terrific range. The sound system didn’t really do him justice and, when he lifted his mouth to sing over the mic, it seemed like he didn’t need it at all.

Now, I’m not saying I’ll be rushing out buying his albums and all, but if you get a chance, you should go and hear him.

Back home now, another busy day ahead tomorrow. Laura has a meeting with the Chamber of Commerce for breakfast at 7am. We’re meeting another landscape architect at ten. There’s a shedload of editing to be done before Thursday night, including a lot of animation with stills photos and programs, which means I have to use After Effects. Which means I have to learn to use it. Fast. There may even be an interview to reshoot.

There. I bet just reading this has worn you out. If not and you’re still feeling bouncy and full of energy, please come round to help us cut the grass. We’ll be serving drinkies on the deck just as soon as we have one. Just as soon as the snow clears.

Blah, ran a short film evening at the local theatre last Tuesday… Blah, it was really successful, blah, more people came than went to the main feature. We had sixty, they had just over forty for both screenings… blah blah blah… It was awesome.

So, next day, the theater calls me and asks if I’d like to make a short film for them, a paying gig, to honor someone who’s receiving an honor… I do have my own equipment don’t I? Sure… I call around and find some one who does…

Thursday I meet with the theater boss and plan some of the film. Did I mention the stupid b’s at the shipping company lost all my paintings? Well, they did. It’s an insurance claim now. I decide to spend the money on lighting kit.

Friday, I go to a big facility company in Farmington Hills and choose lights. I buy some gels and say I’ll place an order. Can I try some things out? Sure. I borrow lights for free.

The weekend is all phone calls. By Monday, I have a camera assistant with his own topoftherange camcorder. The Canon XL1s no less. We go filming.

Tuesday, there’s no filming. Laura and I go sit in the INS/BCIS office of manyacronyms and wait. We wait and wait. We join a line to get a number which tells us how to wait. We wait some more. Eventually, we are allowed to file our papers with the official guy. Except we aren’t. He gives a load of them back and asks for the originals of our birth certificates and marriage certificate and other crap. Other crap which they already actually have because if they didn’t we wouldn’t be there, would we? So we have to come home. But he says I can have a work permit the next day.

We call the lawyer who we are paying big bucks to tell us how to file all this stuff and she gets unamused and tells us to go back. The official guy gets unamused too and tells us she’s got it wrong. Come back next day. We don’t need half the forms she’s given us and we need this this and this.

So today we go back. And we wait. But he sees us. And he fills out the stuff. And instead of it being 45 to 60 days to get an appointment for change of resident status–like the genius well-paid lawyer said–it’s more than 100 days. But I can have a work permit. So we wait. And we wait. We wait nearly three freaking hours.

Laura speaks to the counter clerk who says she’ll tell the woman. But she doesn’t. I speak to the other counter clerk, who says oh dear she’ll tell the woman. But she doesn’t because she doesn’t even take my name. Eventually I see the woman who has been dealing with work permits. Oh, and she’s got my paperwork. But not an appointment letter so she didn’t know I was there. She takes my photo and gives me a card and we go.

There’s some more filming and later there’s some vodka and later still, whisky. The theater owner from above says I can use his cabin for filming and I meet half the theatrical people of Ann Arbor. It’s a long day. It’s a fast week. Lots is done. I didn’t mention landscape architects or radon tests or selling my mother’s house either did I? But maybe I will sometime.

Time. It clutches like a whore. Falls wanking to the floor. His script is you and me. Boy.

Time, it moves so fast. And yet, it doesn’t really move at all does it? My nails need cutting and I’ve met nearly all the major players in Ann Arbor’s performing arts community. I’ve even been in a house that has a study bigger than my old flat in St Albans. Which is nice. And I can work! And I will soon have some nice lights. And [you know, stuff]. Oh, and this year, I’m a BlueJays fan and we have tickets. Yay!

Not so long ago, in a country not so far away, one Lionel Birnie did write to me after the screening evening for The Car. This was back in October and Lionel had stayed on for more beers after we left the bar. I’d phoned Lionel after we left to see if he could see Laura’s lost bag anywhere there. We never heard from him again until an email arrived some time after…

LIONEL: Sadly I didn’t make it back to Soho House to see about Laura’s bag as I got arrested for being drunk and disorderly and spent a few hours at Holborn nick (!)

A bitter-sweet irony, being accosted by a jobsworth copper after watching my film about… a jobsworth copper!

ME: Of course, the question we really want answered is what exactly were you doing when the police picked you up?

LIONEL: Having walked Sandy to the tube station I’d got split up from Simon and Sue, who I’d planned to travel to Euston with.

I had no credit on my pay-as-you-go mobile so I went into a pay phone near Tottenham Court Road tube and stuck 50p in the slot to try to ring Simon. But the 50p got stuck in the slot and wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t go in, so I could make a call, nor come out.

The next phone box I tried the receiver was smashed, so I crossed the road. The third I tried had no receiver at all. The fourth stole another 50p, as it lodged there, infuriatingly.

By now I realised that it’s the scam by scumbags that they tamper with the slot so your money gets stuck, then they come along with a piece of wire and pull all the cash out.

The final phone I tried stole another 50p – making 1.50 in total – and I lost my rag, hurled the receiver against the window and kicked the phone.

Then a busy little copper and his WPC sidekick nabbed me. From there I talked myself into arrest – I swore, refused to give my name, called him ‘Sonny Jim’ and her ‘My love’, which didn’t help.

The copper said if that phone is broken I’m going to arrest you for being drunk and disorderly. I said: ‘Of course it’s fucking broken. It stole my money you twat.’

I tried to argue that he couldn’t nick me for being D&D on the basis of a broken phone – it was either vandalism or D&D not some pathetic hybrid of the two.

When I called him the ‘smallest-minded man in the whole history of Britain’ he read me my rights. After the last line ‘… do you understand?’ I replied ‘Er, I’m not sure, can you run it by me again?’

In the van, on the way to Holborn cop shop, I tapped on the bars and said: ‘I think I recognise you? Did you two do the legs on the opening credits of The Bill? Yes, I thought it was you.’

I stopped being sarky at the station where the desk sergeant made it pretty clear that he thought the entire thing was a waste of time.

I was locked up for a couple of hours and let go as soon as it was impossible for me to get the last train. All I got was a formal warning and a ‘don’t do it again’ talk.