I can neither confirm nor deny that my superiors encouraged me to post this.

I wrote this a couple of days ago after working my 14th day in a row with no days off. I needed to let out some steam. Here’s an email I circulated within my department.

Dear David Bergstein and everyone at Capitol Films.

The short of it. Fuck you.

The long of it -
How can you people live with yourselves knowing the hardships that you have caused our crew and our vendors? I am a proud accountant. And having to dodge the bank and having to deal with stop payments from the studio on checks that we have cut for items that we owe is a complete outrage. You constantly ask for reports and itemized lists that we would never be able to create. The reason why we cannot deliver your necessary projections directly stems from Capitol Films’ absolute resistance to deliver funding that is absolutely required for things we absolutely need in order to get this film going.

Surprise . . . all of the necessary expenditures to get your film going have to come by way of credit and promises to pay. Promises that your company consistently denies us. Then you have the audacity to suggest that it is our accounting department’s fault and problem.

My typical day is filled with making promises that I cannot keep to little ma and pa vendors who have extended services to our company on good faith. These are real people with families to provide for and bills to pay. Your constant promises of “tomorrow the loan will go through” is ludicrous. And you’ve all made a liar out of me.

I suppose you justify your late and slow pays with the fact that you’ve so generously given the crew large pay bumps as bribes in order to stay on and work, but in the end, the hoops to jump through to deal with your company is just not worth it for any of us. You all have set accounting up to fail. I suppose it’s a good practice for you. Make the paper trail as messy as possible so that any attempts to clean up the aftermath will be nearly impossible. Later on down the line, I can just surmise what justifications you all will have for not delivering the final necessary funds of nearly two million dollars that I have processed through accounts payable. . . “Hmmm . . . journal entries? What journal entries? No, we never got those. Sorry, we cannot release any funds.”

Again. Fuck you.

I’ve told every single vendor this week to NEVER do business with any Capitol sanctioned show ever again. And good luck getting a crew to work for you. This crew was not a pool of hungry fresh-out-of-film-school crew members that you have collectively and repeatedly shat upon. We are an amalgamation of professionals, many of us have worked in this business for over a decade. None of us have ever seen nor experienced anything like this.

Obviously none of you have ever had to work hard for anything. Obviously none of you care about good, honest business practices. Obviously all of you are liars and cheats.

–
Anna Metcalf
Second Asst Acct
Nailed Productions LLC
1022 Senate Street
Columbia SC 29201
ph - 803/779-3847
fx - 803/779-3825

*And I wrote this letter three days ago . . . before they decided to close the bank account.

And then the adventure whisks you away.

One minute you’ve got plans and schedules and the next . . . well, the next . . . you walk into work and they tell you there’s no money.

That’s what happened yesterday. Yep, after three months of starts, stops, promises and excuses, Capitol Films finally conceded - they essentially gave us 24 hours to pack up the accounting office and get out of town. They’ve got a roughly 30 million dollar mess on their hands - a movie that’s 95% in the can and 100% in the toilet.

I’m pissed. We all are. Capitol Films is splitting town with no intention to pay the shooting crew’s last week of pay that they worked so hard for. And they have no intention to pay the vendors who extended support and services for the making of the famously troubled film I’ve been working on for two months called “Nailed.”

Flown in as an emergency assistant accountant, I knew what I was getting myself into when I took this job with Capitol Films. I knew that they are very slow to give up the money. It’s like the ’studio’ heads over there are in some fantasy world where they think that filmmaking doesn’t require funding. David Bergstein, the owner of Capitol Films has a ga-jillion bucks in his bank account. And doesn’t care that he’s fucking over hundreds of people.

If I’d have known that they were going to skip town owing millions of dollars, I would not have come here.

So, with 24 hours notice, I’m jetting town. Today. This afternoon, heading to Nashville, Tennessee for a little recuperation . . . one day I had Fourth of July plans with new local friends in Columbia, South Carolina . . . and the next thing I know . . . I’m hopping a plane without even time for a proper good-bye. I had my travel plans switched after they dropped the bomb on us because it’ll just be too depressing to stay, knowing the swath of monetary destruction that this horrible company is leaving in their wake.

Plus, if I don’t leave today . . . who knows if the ticket will be good later?

So, here I am in my hotel room this morning . . . tired, a bit hung-over and bleary-eyed. I’ve got about an hour to pack, but I’ve been on stand-by mode for weeks now, ready to jet literally at a moment’s notice. But I thought I’d have some sort of warning . . . nope . . . whoosh.

Here one minute, gone the next. On the road again. Ahh, the open road.

Keith’s house isn’t exactly a bar, but this was brilliant, it was banter and we were all huddled around the kitchen island, surrounded by whiskey bottles, gin and tonic in a can and a damn fine spread of gourmet food.

“They’re trying to figure out what’s causing the salmonella . . . ” I said.

The chef replied, “Rabid salmon.”

I’ve decided to create a new category entitled “Brilliant Bar Side Banter” dedicated to that brilliant drunken banter that sometimes occurs during a night out on the town. Here’s the first . . .

* * * * * * * * * * *

He’s legal - barely, sexy and knows it. A bit haughty, but not snotty. He purred, “I like my women with strong jawlines.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I understand. Sometimes I like my boys a little metro.”

“I like to wear lacey panties!” he fired back instantaneously.

1. Take a nap. For as long as I want. This may take a couple of days.

2. Take a nice long bath. If I can find a bathtub. Except for one fleeting moment, I’ve had only shower access for months. Strange.

3. Pamper my feet. This article explains how chipped nail polish is all in vogue. Apparently chipped toe polish is still faux pas. Here I go again, forging new trends without even knowing it.

4. Read an entire book. One whole book.

5. Find a rain storm to stand in the middle of.

6. Write.

7. Go on a serious bender.

8. Detox.

9. Light something on fire.

10. Abide.

I’m in gypsy mode until October, this I know for sure. I am VERY happy about this. I’ve had offers to hang out on two different farms in two completely different climes. A friend has already cleared out a spare room in her Chicago brownstone and calls me weekly, insisting I move in. One of my dearest friends just finished his house in the Sacred Valley of Peru and said to me last fall, “Anna, you know one of the extra bedrooms was built just for you.” Another friend has volunteered his place as a Northern California launchpad, should I want to follow the hankering to acquire a little cabin in the Redwood Forest. It’s nice to have options. And great friends and family.

My stuff is still spread across three states - bungalow in Venice, art studio in Mar Vista, a storage unit in ABQ with all my personal effects and art projects that I want to work on for this year. And my car is parked at a lot near the ABQ airport - where it will stay most likely til the beginning of August.

I’m most likely heading to Nashville in a couple of weeks. Going to go watch some lightning bugs do their dance out in the middle of nowhere. That sounds just about perfect. I’m still traveling with my cat, and thankfully, he’s less reluctant now than when we first began our adventure together in February. I’m keeping it simple for the few weeks after I finally jet out of South Carolina (and, really who knows when that will be) - I’m going to try to make it all around Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois and possibly Missouri without having to rent a car.

I’m also kicking around the radical idea of skipping that thing in the desert this year. Shocking! I really love BRC and it saddens me to think that I may not be sniffing playa dust this Labor Day. The theme is “The American Dream.” And serendipitously, my American Dream is within grasp and could be very well catapulted forward if I can just stay put this summer (within reason, of course) and find a spot without distractions and get to the doing.

‘Cause these books are already written, if you know what I’m saying. I just have to sit down and write them.

Eh, fuck it, possibly against my better judgement . . . I’m putting it out there anyway . . .

Drew Barrymore, you and I should totally go roller skating. Because I’m a cool-ass chick. And you’re a cool-ass chick. We both, in fact, kick ass. And we’d have lots of adventure stories to swap. And we’re both smokin’ hot.

I’m a crazy quad-rollin’ artist adventurer who has been cruising the Venice Beach boardwalk for years. I’ve taken wheel to South Carolina, Chicago and Albuquerque parking lots, streets and sidewalks. I’ve skated into Polish pubs in Chicago, pigtails flaring. I’ve busted ass on the woodsy trails in Columbia. I’ve spun my wheels in ‘Burque hotel parking lots. My skating outfit features slight camel toe and I am not afraid to show it.

Through a very strange course of events, I just happen to be traveling the open road with only a suitcase, my skates and my cat. So, Drew Barrymore, this is an open invitation. Some of my dearest friends just went on location to work on your roller derby movie. I was really tempted to take a job in their accounting department . . . but, I just really need a summer hiatus from motion picture accounting. You know . . . so I can roller skate more. I’ll be traveling in that general direction within days or weeks anyway for my own personal business. So, if you wanna roller skate with me, by all means, let me know.

And if not, that’s cool, I’m gonna keep on rolling along wherever it is I go. . . But if this proposal piques your interest in any way, I’ll be there in hours . . . I just replaced the trucks on my skates. My jingle-bell pom’s pom’s are ready to go.

On a film production, the office space is always in some dirty, janky hole. The wiring and computers are never quite ergonomically set-up, there are always some kind of little annoying hoops to jump through and we all just kind of deal with it because the nature of our jobs are reactionary and very temporary. I’ve battled sandstorms, critters, paint fumes, lack of windows and insane property owners in the past . . . here’s the list of annoyances and funny details about this particular place.

1. The Asbestos! There are notices pasted on the walls cautioning that any dust created here could release asbestos. Great! (I think you’re OK if you don’t lick the windowsills, but I’ve taped everything to my walls in lieu of thumb-tacking.)

2. Hot Water Heater and Cardboard box holding pen = same tiny closet. That’s smart.

3. The front door handle mysteriously broke yesterday. Great, one more thing. You can get inside, but you just can’t leave.

4. The lamp lights flicker (only in my windowless room) in tandem with the copy machine. Every day I have a seizure right around noon.

5. A family of hawks live on top of the building.

6. The upside down bathtub in the parking lot has been here for at least two years - left behind by a different film company.

7. Betty White is tired of your shit! It’s true. The sign in the women’s restroom says so.

8. The Indian sari that hangs on my office wall is a portal to another dimension. (Just checkin’ to see if you are paying attention.)

9. The carpet smells kinda funny from when the place had homeless squatters living here.

10. We have an infestation of palmetto bugs . . . in the water fountain.

My friend FoodRockzMan left a DIY blog tag option on his website recently. So I’ve tagged myself. Here are the questions and my answers.

What was I doing ten years ago?
Gulp and Ha-ha! I was in film school and it was also the year I got married. (If you know me now, it’s hard to believe that whole married part, right?)

What are five (non-work) things on my to-do list for today?
1. Get clean towels from hotel attendant.
2. Read at least one chapter of Joan Didion’s “Slouching Towards Bethlehem”
3. roller skate the mall parking lot.
4. Upload some new pix to this website
5. Start on/finish the “Where’s The Toilet” guest blog article

Five snacks I enjoy:
1. hummus
2. red wine
3. almonds
4. anything with pesto
5. chocolate

Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
1. Pay off my parent’s house
2. Acquire numerous little getaway places for myself, friends and family
3. Get the best medical help available for my step-mother
4. Check out of society for awhile - get some folks together and galavant back-pack style around the world
5. Give alot of money away

Places I’ve lived (an incomplete list):
1. Village in Illinois
2. Bungalow in Venice, CA
3. Tambo in the rainforest of Peru
4. Brownstone in Chicago, IL
5. Hotel in Washington, DC

Jobs I’ve had:
1. waitress
2. traveling sex toy saleslady
3. Naturalist working with inner city kids
4. Motion Picture Accountant
5. Corn Detassler

So, I like the fact that I got to ‘Tag’ myself. I’d like to see if this can perpetuate. If you’d like to tag yourself, then leave a comment on this page linking to your own site and get to it already!

Ok, so here I am this morning. Drinking black coffee. Headphones in. It must be working, because no one is fucking with me and I’m powering through work. I have not been motivated for a few weeks. Because every single day, it’s like, “Oh shit, what kind of BS will go down today?” The waiting game is over. We’re all going home. This nightmare has ended. The ennui has lifted because the uncertainty has dried up.

And even though all the crew has descended upon our office and are frantically wrapping out all their gear and paperwork, NO ONE has bothered me. And that’s good. I’m all jumpy and jittery. And cranking it out.

It occurred to me this morning that one must know what one wants in order to make what they want to happen actually come about. And what I want is to wrap this thing up and move on. Head ‘em up, move ‘em out.

I’m kicking around the idea of futzing around my family farm for the summer. Anybody wanna help me build a structure there . . . ? As in a permanent structure? There’s nothing there but cricks and trees and rabbits and hawks and deer and snakes and a well and maybe a usable foundation for a house. And potential. And plenty of room . . .