That angel's a star!

Okay – it’s a red letter day, and one worth cringing over as I hear my voice on the Toronto Star website in my very first travel video, Montreal, City of Glass. (Full disclosure: I didn’t shoot it, it’s footage taken from the video demo shoot for a possible travel series. I’m just in it.)

View the article here and the link here and laugh, laugh laugh. At me. Not with me. But hey, it was my first time!

Fact: When I took the footage down to the Toronto Star multi-media centre to get it all hooked up (I mean, I really had to go down in person, because when the multi-media person sent me a friendly note asking about formats, H264 compression, AAC audio and 640 X 360 pixels, I realized that they speak some sort of foreign tongue down there and that I would need to go down in person to communicate using sign language), I discovered that the head of the multi-media person, Scott, was someone I had gone to high school with in Saskatoon. And I hadn’t seen him since! So then I realized that there must be, in fact, some common language rooted deep in prairie mythology and perhaps I wouldn’t have to use sign language after all.

Do I look fat?

Then Scott mentioned something about the gorgeous glass dress making my hips look big. Say whaaa? I think I preferred the other language – the one I couldn’t understand Weirdly, he didn’t even say this in an insulting way – which is a skill, I must say. You can tell he works with words. But anyway, my friends, that is why you won’t see a picture of me on the front of the video – you know, that still picture onscreen before the video is played.  Instead, after much soul searching and scanning of said video,  I chose to showcase a stained-glass angel.

Angels live here!

And here’s another interesting fact. In my first draft of the article I called the angel a ‘she.” And then I contacted the educational department at the Chapelle de Bon Secours where the angel has lived in secret – hidden in the church basement – for more than a century – to fact check. And here I learned that in the angel world, they also have their own language, one that is just as mystifying as video speak. I was told: an angel does not have a gender, but in a lexical angle, the word “angel” is a masculine one, so you have to refer to it as a “he”, even though it has long hair.

Huh? Okay, though, it’s just always a good idea to fact check, because I could have ended up with a cross-dressing angel and then where would we be?

And one last thing, when I was in the multi-media centre at the Star, and still trying to find a flattering slim-hipped shot of myself for the front of the video, I spent so much time looking through the video that I crashed Scott’s mega computer. But he was quite nice about it, and hardly seemed flustered at all as  he tried to get it up and running again – I must say it’s good to run into old friends.

My glass ass

Not every video can be perfect. That’s why they invented the word ‘retake.’ So here’s an I’m-such-a-schmuck moment in the video shoot for our travel series demo, Wandering Carol.  We were doing a lobby scene at Hotel St Paul in Old Montreal where I was supposed to reenact checking in.

Where's the bell man?

It’s funny – when I was ‘for real’ checking in the day before  it was a Three Stooges moment (except I was the only Stooge) because of my million kilos of luggage. (Well, how was I supposed to know what to take for a video shoot? I just took everything.)

The Beautiful People in the lobby were watching me flounder and laughing at a suave man who held the door open for me saying, “Oh, that’s a big help!” They had a point … why couldn’t I hold the door and he carry the luggage? I mean, if he truly wanted to be of service. But then, when I checked in on camera, everyone and his dog were leaping over themselves to help me - even though they couldn’t see the camera - and when they found out they were on film, they quickly ran away. But that’s not the schmuck part.

My scene included walking up to the desk clerk and checking in. He was speaking in French and then I was repeating what he said in English to make sure I understood. Then I hear Bob the Soundman (as  opposed to Bob the Director) say to Sandra the Producer, “Should we address this now?”

He was way too polite to say, “You ijjit! You’re speaking in the 3rd person.”

And I was. Through the whole scene, in fact, maybe two or three scenes, instead of saying, “Oh, so my room is on the 9th floor and breakfast is until 10:30?” I was saying, ”He says that my room is on the 9th floor.” “He just said that breakfast ends at 10:30.” “He says the elevator is to my left.”

I’m not sure who I thought I was talking to … my invisible studio audience? Anyway, after numerous takes, “bonjours!” and people trying to assist me, I was finally ‘pretend’ checked in. And now I’m mulling over a theory about people helping people: when I checked in for real I was wearing flat shoes and no one lifted a finger. When I pretend checked in I had high heels on and suddenly people were jumping to help – even women. Is life different for high-heeled people? I think there’s a thesis in here somewhere. Maybe when my video career fails I’ll go back to grad school.

Anyway, the shoot is finished. Whether I was a big blond mess or whether it worked out, I have no idea. I never did see anything on film, so I can only hope. It’s out of my control now – which is hard for me to grasp. As a freelancer writer, I’m in charge of what I do, when I go, what I write. But this is a whole different game. Camera angles, cutting, shaping, marketing … it’s a foreign world. And a foreign language, too. I could barely understand a word the crew said. SOTS, beats, viz, cutaways…. my regular response was “Huh?”

Thank God for Sandra, my translator aka the Producer, and thanks to the rest of the crew who knew what they were doing even if I didn’t and, as I may have mentioned before, never once called me an idiot…. at least not to my face.

Gotta love glass

People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. What about girls who wear glass dresses? Luckily, when I was wearing a glass-encrusted couture dress in a Montreal street scene for our demo video, Wandering Carol, no one pelted me with rocks. 

Espace Verre, a glass works studio, gallery, school and glass facility centre was the perfect place for our art themed video. It was so good I went twice. 

After  a brief workshop with glass jewellery artist Laura  Sasseville I learned that I’m no glass master after using a blow torch to make three wonky glass beads. 

Downstairs, in the hot room, I saw chicks with buff arms twirling huge iron rods with melted glass like the rods were cheerleader batons.  

I also saw THE dress made by designer Jessica MacDonald. Short and sassy, with a bubble skirt and hand-hammered glass medallions, it’s Sex and the City personified. I lust after this dress (though after my major budget-killing splurge at Barbeau the day before, no way was I asking the price). Still, I couldn’t just let it sit there on the dummy. Not when it could be sitting on this dummy. What could I do but beg to try it on? 

Jessica agreed to be interviewed and let me put on the dress. Jessica brought a second dress, too and it fit! It fit! Okay, so it was a little tight on the hips. Those damn croissants. I’m the first person to ever wear it, so good thing I didn’t spill red wine. 

Then Director Bob, for some obscure visionary reason (at least it wasn’t a bubble bath scene) had me walk outside in the bubble dress. Let me just say it was freezing out. And I walked and walked. Up the street, down the street, back again and again. 

“Why didn’t I bring pantyhose?” I whined, realizing how short the dress is and remembering how untoned my legs are – a fact I usually forget until summer. But there’s something about a sexy short dress with a bubble skirt and glass medallions to make a woman forget her help-me-I’m-in-front-of-the-camera fear. It was the one and only catwalk moment of my life and I was vogue-ing and vamping with the the best of them. I even attracted passing cars, who obviously thought an extremely well-dressed nutcase was on the loose, but fortunately no one called the police to restrain me. 

The posing was fun, but the interview with Jessica was hard. Let’s just say I’m no Baba Walters. 

“Touch the dress, touch the glass,” Bob kept saying. “Use your hands.” So there I was fondling myself (don’t worry, I kept it PG) while trying to ask Jessica  insightful questions about her architectural background and love of texture. Good thing she’s articulate and saved my glass-coated hide. 

And so I survived yet another scene and it was all about glass. If it had gone badly, it could have shattered my self-esteem, but instead I found all the new glass art and fashions positively illuminating. 

Oh, right. I was going to talk about the schmuck portion of the shoot. Ah well, I promise I’ll write about it tomorrow.

What? No more camera crew? After an intense 2 and a half days of shooting the demo for Wandering Carol, a funky new travel series, I cannot believe the crew came, they shot and then they drove back to Toronto. I think I worried so much about making the demo video beforehand, that when the shoot finally happened it was a relief.

I'm a diva!

The first scene was STRESS. It was at the Tiffany Exhibit at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts and I had to stand in front of a lamp and look animated.

“Carol,” said Sandra, the producer, in a kindly tone. “When a person’s face is serious it can look kind of drawn.” Otherwise, smile. But don’t smile because who looks at Tiffany lamp with a goofy smile on their face. I felt like one of those wannabe non-models on America’s Top Model with Tyra saying, “Smile with your eyes!” I was trying so hard to look bright and lively and “Smize” (which is Top Model talk for eye smiling) that my lip started twitching. I am not going to live through this, I was thinking.

Not that I didn’t adore the Tiffany show. Tiffany the lamp designer, by the way, was the son of Tiffany the jewelery store owner and the exhibit is over May 2. Just so you know.

Send me an angel ... a Tiffany angel

Then we went on to boutique shopping. In the story line I’m supposed to be going to a museum or some arty thing and get waylaid by a cool boutique. And then I come out swinging a shopping bag. The shop we chose was Barbeau, and that was all fine and good, but then I fell in love with a $250 dress and bought it. I mean, for real. Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with a $30 dress? Or a pretend dress on film? At least no one can say the show’s a fake.

And then we went to the charming Boulangerie Patisserie.

Forget the camera, where's the almond croissant?

And I’m ooohhhing over the pastries and then I sit down with my chocolate chaud and two men tried to chat me up. Yves and Normand. I mean, for real again. They didn’t even care if it was one camera, so we shot it.

Hey, we like being on film!

 Then we went to my fav Montreal church, the Chapel of Notre Dame de Bon Secours and I had to do an interview. Hahahah. I have no idea what I said. But at least it was dark in the church so I didn’t have to worry about looking like crap. Besides, the stained glass windows stole the show.

That's a class, I mean, glass act

And that was pretty much the end of round one. Then I went to bed and I couldn’t sleep again, not because I was nervous but because I was so hyped up because I’d lived through the first day of shooting and it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Okay, in all honesty, it was WAY exciting. And I loved the crew because they never once said, “Carol, you idiot, you’re a big stupid schmuck. Now do it right.”

Actually I was a big stupid schmuck the next day but I’ll tell you about that tomorrow, because not only is my 15 minutes of fame up, so is my 15 minutes of blogging. (Actually, it’s been more like 2 hours of blogging because I’m on the train and the WiFi keeps cutting out – but on the upside, it’s making the ride go fast.)

We cost more than your house!

I spent a couple of hours in prison this afternoon. Trust Montreal to transform a prison into La Maison Des Gouverneurs’ Wine Cellar, which I believe, means the Governors’ House Wine Cellar. Yes, the Quebec Liquor Board keeps a mere 50,000 select bottles of wine in the basement of the La Prison Des Patriotes – a historic site of the 1837 and 1838 rebellions. And why, you may ask, is this site described as both a prison and the Governors’ House? It’s not because any of the governors were thrown into the clink but because the guv was also the prison warden, and the wardens’ home, now restored, is beside the prison and connected by a tunnel. At least I entered the prison and popped out into the wardens’ home so unless I was hallucinating or transported by aliens, a tunnel seems like the most logical answer.

I wouldn't want to live here

Where men once huddled in freezing cells chained by their ankles, now there are wine bottles keeping cool. Some bottles are the same vintage as the prison – the oldest bottle is from 1800. The most valuable bottle is an 1834 Chateau d’Yquem from France, a sweet desert wine valued at a mere $37,000 (and that’s a low estimate).

Back in the mid 19th century a prisoner could expect to last about 2 years before either the cold, the damp or the bread-and-water diet did him in. Today, in addition to a small exhibition about the prisoners and the rebellion (labels only in French but helpful staff speak English), there are wine tastings and private receptions held in the restored basement. Or you can rent out the wardens’ house for a function. It’s a weird world, isn’t it, when both the jailer and the jailed are sharing a memorial?

Drink in the clink

For a lot of foreign (or non-Quebec Canadians) the rebellion is something we don’t know much about, so in a way, combining parties and wine with a memorial of the patriots who were hung or imprisoned for their quest for freedom and democracy is a celebration of their life and their actions.

But it’s still bizarre. And so is a bottle of wine worth $37,000. It used to be that people would try to break out of prison … now they’d like to break in.

And on a different note, video shoot tomorrow. Eeeek!

Misadventure at Union Station:

So I took a cab to Union Station in Toronto to catch my 3:15 afternoon train to Montreal. The cabbie was nice. He asked me what I was going to do there. I told him that I was researching an article then shooting a demo video for a possible travel show.

Gotta love Montreal

“I’m very nervous,” I add.

Just as he said, “the key is to get a good night’s sleep,” I realized that I’d left my sleeping pills in my apartment. Let me tell you about my sleeping pills. I have two and a half pills and I’ve been keeping them so I can sleep the night before the video shoot. The shoot goes for two days, so one pill each night, plus a half so that I don’t take the last one then panic thinking, oh, no! I don’t have any more sleeping pills.When I’m nervous I can’t sleep. No matter what bright ideas people come up with for sleep aids: melatonin, homeopathic jetlag medicine, hot milk … if I’m stressed I can’t sleep. If I’m tired I can’t think and life is horrible plus my skin breaks out. So, I’ve been hoarding these last two and a half pills as if they’re gold ducats.

“I forgot my sleeping pills!” I shrieked.

“What you need,” he said, “is to go for a 30 minute walk the night before.”

Yah, yah, exercise is fine, but let me tell you, I need to do things like exercise just to sleep on a good night. I already sleep with a T-shirt on my head (to cut the light) and earplugs and the air conditioning on ‘fan’ in winter just for the noise to cut the traffic sounds outside. If I’m doing a video shoot I NEED MY SLEEPING PILLS!

I almost got into an argument with the cabbie over whether exercise would put me to sleep or not, but then he had an idea. “Maybe you can go to a doctor in Montreal.”

“Maybe there’s a doctor at my hotel!”

“No, not the hotel. A walk-in clinic.”

“Maybe.”

And then we arrived and I paid him and picked up my ticket and thought, I need those pills. So I asked at the First Class Lounge (yes, my friends, I’m in First Class – a perk of the job) if I could leave my bags there while I tried to make it back to my apartment because I forgot something.

“You can’t leave your bags unattended,” the man said. “Take them to the baggage check.”

Time was running out. I had about 55 minutes. I waited at the baggage check but no one was there so a kindly old man who was just standing around (not a Via Rail employee) went into the office and found the clerk.

“It’s an emergency!” I told the clerk. “I have to get to my apartment and back and have to store my bags!”

The clerk and I then discussed whether I could, in fact, get to my apartment and back in less than an hour. “Go for it,” he said. He thought I should take the subway one way and a taxi back to save money. “That’ll be 6$ to check your bag.”

“Will someone be here when I get back? I won’t have time to wait.”

Then he did something I thought was very kind and clever. He said he’d arrange for the porter to put my bag on the train for me. So I gave him money to tip the porter and tip himself then caught a cab back home.

“I have to hurry!” I said, as my cabbie put on gospel music and set off. “I forgot my medicine!” You may notice here how sleeping pills are now being described as medicine, but I didn’t want anyone to know I was risking missing my train for two and a half sleeping pills.

Luckily we made it, even though we only caught one green light all the way home. 

“This has turned into an expensive mistake,” I told the cab driver as we pull up to the station. (A $35 mistake, plus the original $15 cab fare. Those pills better work.)

“But your health is the most important thing,” he said, which confused me until I remembered I’d told him it was medicine.

Love it, but can I sleep through it?

“It certainly is,” I agreed. And now I’m in Montreal. With way too much luggage including seven pairs of boots/shoes, five jackets, two handbags, a gazillion tops and last but not least, two and a half sleeping … uh, I mean, my medicine.

Am I in London?

I know I’m back in Toronto, but half my brain is still in the UK (insert half wit joke here) while the other half is already in Montreal where I’m heading Monday. Do I unpack, repack or add on top of what I already have? Oh, right. Laundry. That’s the key to efficient travelling. Leave with clean clothes.

Am I in Montreal?

So about Montreal. I’m going on a press trip – with 3 other writers – but on Friday the film crew will arrive so we can shoot our demo for Wandering Carol, the travel series. It’s a film crew that keeps on growing: it started out with just two but now it’s director, camera man, sound man, producer … and me. Yikes. Has it occurred to anyone but me I might not be able to act?

Sandra The Producer and Bob The Director and I met up today at Paupers on Bloor (you know, for years I thought the place was Poppers until one day I looked at the sign) for our final meeting before the shoot. Bob brought the rough draft of a script, well, not a script exactly because it will be ad lib out on the street, but a rough layout with inner dialogue and now all I have to do is cut out both the bubble bath scene he added and the line about picking up someone to share my hotel room with. What kind of travel show is this? Actually, we were all screeching with laughter at Bob’s take on a solo gal’s trip. But I have to say he laid out a great framework and can read me pretty well … except the part about picking up someone to share my hotel room with.

Ah, here I am in Toronto