don't ever lie to your director about your skills.
I know a bunch of kids who've spent some summers in hollywood, and they all came back saying "if you're asked to do something you don't know how to do, whatever you do don't admit you can't do it!"
In other words, lie, try to do it yourself, and then pass on the task if you can't cope.
Well fiddle-dee-dee.
Let me just say, from extremely recent personal experience, this doesn't work to well.
For example, the other day I was asked to do some basic sewing for some pretty complex and hilarious costumes for a green screen project I'm designing for. We're set to start shooting tomorrow, and I have all aspects of the costume ready, except this little skirt / kilt thing one of the more flamboyant characters is supposed to sport.
Unable to find a plaid skirt of the exact pattern/color/style my darling director was looking for, I stupidly agreed to sew the damn thing myself.
I say stupidly, ladies and gentlemen, because I absolutely positively can. not. sew. At least as far as I can tell. I've never even tried to sew a button, and a few hours ago I had never touched a sewing machine.
I agreed to sew the skirt primarily because several of my sorority sisters can sew, own machines and, (i presumed anyway) could either do it for me or supervise the process.
Well although I love them dearly, it turns out they are all as flaky as the dandruff on that weird animator's head. Despite promise after promise none of them sat down with me to help me out. So today, at my wits end, I committed another stupid act.
I threw down 99.99 $ (which I can't actually afford) on a brand spakin new "simple singer" sewing machine. It came with a how to dvd, accessories and all that jazz. It was love at first sight. I've named her Sally.
I then bought a simple "EASY! 1 HOUR SEWING!" pattern for an elastic band mini skirt, picked up the perfect plaid fabric and bounced on home, happy and naive. Oh so Naive.
I then (how many stupids are we up to now?) in my typical fashion put off the actual sewing of the garment until 10pm tonight. When I finally pulled myself from Real Estate Boys delicious lovely tattooed arms and slumped over to my apartment where Sally was waiting for me, still wrapped tight in her box.
I carefully removed her from her Styrofoam bed, gently assembled her parts according to the instructions and watched the how to dvd 3 times before attempting to thread the needle on my own. Slowly and surely I somehow managed, and (delighted at my own competance!) I eagerly attempted to sew some peices of scrap fabric togeather, before starting out on the real thing.
whir whir whirrrrr!
went sally
horray horray hooray!
went I
bzzzzz-clunk-errrrrrrr-
went sally
OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK
went I.
Yes ladies and gents. Within 10 minutes I managed to jam my machine. The wheel would not turn forwards or backwards. It was terrible. I cried for a brief minute, tinkered for five, cried for another 10 and then hatched a plan to take it back to wall-mart and exchange it. I called the store, talked Jennie the nigh manager into letting me exchange my machine sans receipt (which is against several policies mind you). Just as I was packing sally up to take her back to the hell hole from whence she came
clink!
I tinkered with one last lever, on a hunch-
clink clunk!
whirrrr whirr whirrrr!!!
went Sally.
THANK JESUS!
went I.
