Monthly Archives: August 2006

Best… Name… Ever

My name isn’t very easy to pronounce for Spanish people. And I’m just talking about “Joshua” here – they don’t even attempt to pronounce “Zamrycki”. It’s a little easier for Catalans (just like Catalan is easier for me to pronounce than Spanish) because they can make the “J” sound, but it’s still not quite right.

Over the years, I have become accustomed to hearing my name butchered in a plethora of ways. I take no offense to this whatsoever. On the contrary, I find it fascinating. So now, whenever I hear any of the following “words”, I turn to see who’s talking to me:

  • JA-soo-ah
  • YA-soo-ah
  • JO-soo-ah
  • HO-soo-ah
  • ho-SWAY
  • YO-soo
  • JO-soo

Sometimes they find out that my friends call me “Josh”:

  • JOES
  • YOES
  • YOESH
  • JAS
  • YAS

And if they ever attempt “Zamrycki”, it usually comes out as one of these:

  • sam-REE-kee
  • tham-REE-kee
  • tham-RRRRRREE-kee

Most of the guys on my volleyball team call me Josh (YAS, actually). Although, last year there were a few guys who took to calling me Tham (short for tham-REE-kee). Whenever the ball was intended for me in a game, it was completely normal to hear someone yell out like machine gun fire, “tham-tham-tham-tham-tham-tham!”. I kinda liked it. It got to a point where, when I’d enter the gym for practice, someone would yell, “tham-tham-tham” as a sort of “Hello” to me. But most people still called me Yas.

Now, they’ve been calling me Yas for years. Why not, it’s my name. Well, the other day someone on the team asked me for my phone number. I told it to him and he entered it into his mobile phone. To make sure he had written it correctly I had a peek over his shoulder. And there, where my name should be, was written the word “Jazz”. I had to think about this for a moment. But then it occurred to me that, in Spanish, the word Jazz sounds exactly like the way they pronounce Josh (Yas). For the past six years, they have all been calling me Jazz! That is so cool.

Sunday Night Fever

It’s 4:42am and I’m just catching up with Jan (and my) mate Garry’s blog before I go to bed when I hear the typical shuffling of feet coming down the hallway that can either mean that Jan has woken up from her slumber or the house has been taken over by zombies. I swivel on my chair to face the door of the office and wait for one of the living dead to turn the corner but instead Jan shuffles in.

Me: What are you doing up?
Jan: I had a bad dream.
Me: Oh no, what happened?
Jan: You were getting off with someone at a disco.
Me: Oh. I’m sorry.
Jan: Her name was Julie. Not Nash.
Me: Uh-huh.
Jan: All I could do to get you back was stick up my V’s.
Me: That’s not that bad.
Jan: I also called you a cunt. But I had to yell because the disco was very loud and I was walking uphill.
Me: Do you want me to come to bed?
Jan: No. I’m gonna go read.

And off she shuffled.

IKEA Crazy

Today: We woke up. We went to IKEA. We had dinner. It’s now after midnight.

Granted, I didn’t get out of bed until well after 2pm. I can’t seem to go to bed before 4am recently. More often, though, it’s been something like 6am. I gotta shake this.

Anyway, my Palm Pilot’s day planner listing for today was completely empty and so I thought it’d be a great opportunity to spend some quality time with Jan. It was too late to take a day trip out of town. Too windy to go to the beach. And Jan didn’t feel like sitting still in a dark place for a couple hours so both going to the movies and coffin shopping were out. We checked out eternal to-do list and there were plenty of things that needed to get bought before Little Girl’s arrival so off to IKEA we went.

And what a productive day it turned out to be. Not only did we spend over four hours shopping (six if you count travel time), we had two meals at the store and all the free refills you could drink. Of course, since they were free, I drank entirely too many of my special raspberry juice / orange soda cocktails. But in between trips to the bathroom, we finally managed to purchase:

  • a wardrobe for Little Girl’s room
  • little hangars for little clothes
  • little towels for little messes
  • the elusive trouser rail for our wardrobe that has taken two months to track down
  • an inconspicuous light for the front hallway
  • child safety wall outlet covers to avoid charred little children
  • four new mugs for big cups of tea
  • a little ironing board so little people can iron my shirts
  • a super comfy rocking chair (that doesn’t really rock) for breast feeding and general lounging

The only things we couldn’t get were a tea strainer (they had sold out) and a big green plant for the living room (plants are the only things they won’t deliver).

I’ll admit it: I love going to IKEA! I could spend an entire afternoon there and not buy a single thing. I’d just walk through the entire store and furnish the imaginary house of my dreams. Blueprints and spreadsheets – what more could you want?! Those four hours today just seemed to fly by. Lucky for me I’ll get to go back in a few months when Little Girl has outgrown her Moses basket and is ready for a full-fledged crib. I can’t wait!

Sleep Style

Aside from the following photographic evidence, I think only my mom and Jan can confirm this, but I just found a picture of a cat that looks just like me when I’m sleeping:


Actual picture of me sleeping

Actual picture of a cat sleeping

Gel-Bras Once Again Safe

I must rant.

I read today that the TSA (Transportation Security Administration) is winning the war on moisture! As of today, the laws of physics have changed, rendering the following items non-explosive:

  • Small amounts of Baby formula and breast milk if a baby or small child is traveling
  • Liquid prescription medicine with a name that matches the passenger’s ticket
  • Up to 5 oz. (148ml) of liquid or gel low blood sugar treatment
  • Up to 4 oz. of essential non-prescription liquid medications including saline solution, eye care products and KY jelly
  • Gel-filled bras and similar prostethics
  • Gel-filled wheelchair cushions
  • Life support and life sustaining liquids such as bone marrow, blood products, and transplant organs carried for medical reasons

I’m sorry, but all of these restrictions are just ridiculous and I’m pissed off. I’m pissed off because I can’t bring a bottle of water with me on a plane. I have to remove my shoes and pass them through an x-ray machine. Musicians can’t fly with their instruments. Even mothers had to drink their own breast milk before a security guard would allow them to bring a bottle on board for their baby. All because the government is too busy lying to the public and hiding behind the smoke and mirrors excuse of “security”. Well it’s not security; it’s security theatre. It’s all a show and it’s all a waste of our time.

The government wants you to believe that they’re doing something to make you safer – well, they’re not. They can’t. I understand that the UK was monitoring a group that they suspected of plotting a terrorist act on a trans-Atlantic flight using “liquid weapons” and that the US forced them to act before they could identify all of the members of the group – so now there are others still at large, capable of carrying out this terrible plan. I understand that. But wasn’t this “liquid bomb” possible last month, too? And last year? Why was I allowed to bring shampoo then? Why will I be allowed to bring shampoo next month when the “terror alert” drops back to oh-so-safe orange? How dare they compromise my safety if, in fact, it is possible to make a bomb out of shampoo?! Why is mother’s milk dangerous on Monday but safe again on Wednesday? Simply put, if there is a substantial risk to aviation, nothing should be allowed on board (hold or cabin) unless it can be positively cleared. Otherwise we have to accept a degree of risk (as we had before this “alert” was raised).

We’re fighting a swarm of wasps with a baseball bat. We clumsily swing at the cloud of perceived aggressors, invariably miss, and only serve to anger each and every one of them – all the time getting stung in the ass. The government has no clue what it’s doing. There is no precautionary measure that will stop an individual from doing whatever the hell they want to do. So why infringe on my rights? Either make us all strip naked on the plane and drug us into complacency after a thorough body cavity search, or just let me bring my goddam bottle of water with me. Thank god they stopped people from carrying iPods on planes last week! Those iPod bombs are really dangerous. But what the hell were they doing to stop someone from entering the airport terminal with four suitcases full of explosives and blowing the hell out of every one of the thousands of poor souls who were stuck waiting for hours thanks to the “heightened security”? What are they doing now?! It’s all bullshit.

Oh, and here’s a list of things you are allowed to carry with you on a plane:

  • Cigar Cutters
  • Corkscrews
  • Cuticle Cutters
  • Knitting and Crochet Needles
  • Scissors – metal with pointed tips and blades shorter than four inches in length
  • Toy Weapons – if not realistic replicas
  • Screwdrivers (seven inches or less in length)

Still not allowed to bring snakes, though.

Benjamin Franklin once said something along the lines of, “People willing to trade their freedom for temporary security deserve neither and will lose both”. This has never been more true than today.

Pushing It Back

I went with Jan to the hospital today for a routine pre-birth checkup. Just one more week until the estimated due date!

We’ve just transferred over to a different hospital – one that, after you mention “natural child birth”, doesn’t look at you like you have three heads and then laugh in your face. So that’s good. The doctor that’s been assigned to us is such a kind and peaceful man – a refreshing change from the totality of my Spanish medical experiences. His name is Dr. Cararach… wait, isn’t that the clouding of the lens of the eye in Japanese? Never mind. After the formal chit-chat in the doctor’s office, they asked Jan to drop her drawers and hop up onto the examining table for a little poke around. Just as it was starting to get interesting (think Jacques Cousteau), the doctor’s female assistant turns to me and says:

Her: Maybe you should step into the other room.
Me: Is that for Jan’s good or for mine?
Her: It’s for everyone’s good.

I had no idea what she meant and I wasn’t in any position to argue so I unfortunately missed the “ins and outs” of the procedure. When Punxsutawney Phil resurfaced, we were told that Little Girl is looking good and healthy and in the preferred position, but we also were given their prognostication of two more weeks of summer, much to the chagrin of my large and overheated wife. They can’t guarantee a delivery date, but since she’s looking a bit more comfortable in there than they had first imagined, we’ve now got our money on September, 6.

If Little Girl’s imminent arrival keeps getting pushed back, we may not be able to venture to the south of France for that wedding we were planing on attending in three weeks. David and Emma are really good friends and we’ve been looking forward to this wedding for a long time so I’m gonna start adding some more spice to my dishes here at home in hopes of smoking the little stinker out.

We’re Engaged!

Most doctors will tell you that swimming is very good exercise for anyone, especially pregnant women. The myth that swimming can be detrimental for expectant moms probably stems from the irrational fear of contracting some sort of infection from the pool water or having your waters break while in full breaststroke and not noticing the loss of fluids.

Jan and I went to the gym yesterday for a relaxing swim and an intensive weight lifting session (respectively). When Jan was finished with her paddle around, she found me toning my already sumptuous gluteus maximus.

Me: How was your swim?
Jan: OK, I guess. A little strange…
Me: Why? What happened?
Jan: I had this weird feeling while I was swimming…
Me:
Jan: It was this sort of tightening and then I felt like I had all this extra room in there.
Me: Maybe your waters broke. Did you put your goggles on and check the water behind you to see if it was all murky and viscous?
Jan:

We later determined that Jan’s waters are, in fact, still intact and what probably happened was that Little Girl’s head had “engaged” (or dropped). Looks like everything is moving in the right direction. (Ha! That’s pregnancy humor)

Where The Sun Don’t Shine

Apparently, we are at that point in the pregnancy where I have to blog everyday so that our whereabouts are constantly known and thus avoid frantic phone calls and emails from concerned friends and relatives wondering if we were in the hospital beginning the old “heave ho”.

Fear not, faithful readers. Everything seems to be on schedule for Little Girl’s scheduled September 1 arrival. If anyone attempted to contact us over the past few days and got no answer, it’s just because Jan and I had left town to “get away from it all” for a few days. We love you for worrying.

I had promised Jan that, once my job on the film had ended, I would sweep her away up the sunny Spanish coast to a romantic and tranquil beach paradise. Knowing that we really should be here at home in Barcelona for the last two weeks of August just in case, this was our only window of opportunity. So I booked us four days and three nights at the Aqua-Hotel Bella Playa in Malgrat de Mar.

After a July that could only be described as Africa hot, all we wanted was a hotel with air-conditioning, a swimming pool, and a stocked restaurant – all next to the beach. And then, two days before we set off on our hedonistic holiday adventure, God decided to lower the temperature by 20 degrees and hide the sun behind a panoramic wall of depressing gray yuckiness. Thanks, God. So instead of wasting the monetary equivalent of a living room home cinema surround sound system (it will be mine!), we decided to take advantage of a very generous offer from Juls and Joan to stay with them in their family’s summer apartment down the coast in Calafell.

Between the clouds and drizzle, we were actually able to enjoy one sunny afternoon by the pool. The rest of our days were filled with rest, reading, and restaurants. Oh yeah, and Charlie – Juls and Joan’s 3 year old son. Charlie enjoys having you tell him stories (mostly about dragons and super heroes), jumping on the giant trampolines at the beach, hitting you with swords, and asking, “What did he do that for?” in a very catchy little sing-song sorta way. I was awarded the title of official pram-pusher once Charlie discovered that I was easily the fastest pusher with a passion for popping wheelies, chasing doggies, randomly stopping short, and violently swerving through pedestrian beach traffic. If nothing else, I got a good workout.

The Lost

The near month that has lapsed since my last blog entry coincides perfectly with my latest job as voice coach on DrimTim‘s latest film The Lost. Not entirely different than my last experience with them on Clean Break, I’ve been a busy little beaver for the past four weeks with absolutely no time to blog. Allow me to attempt a recap:

As opposed to DrimTim’s normal output of action-thrillers, The Lost takes more of a dramatic turn being a psychological-thriller in which we find an American psychologist turned bestselling writer who is forced to return to Barcelona by the sister of one of his old patients whom he, at one point, diagnosed with multiple personality disorder.

As in all the other DrimTim films, the main characters are American and they fly over to Barcelona and mess the place up. So naturally, all of the secondary characters are Spanish. That’s where I come in. Someone has to make sure that their spoken English is understandable. That someone was me.

I knew what I was in for after having done this once before, but I guess a month and a half vacation is enough to make you forget exactly how grueling a filming schedule can be. The standard day consists of 12 hours on set – we often did overtime. These 12 hours don’t include travel time to and from the set and some of our locations were an hour and a half out of town! If I wanted to shower, eat, and sleep while at home, that would normally leave me enough free time to brush my teeth – on a good day. Luckily, I only had to work a couple Saturdays. Hopefully you’re starting to understand why I haven’t been blogging this past month. Did I mention that most work days started at 3pm?

I said that some filming locations were way out of town. 70% of the time, though, we were right here in the city center. The vast array of shooting locations was one of the most interesting parts of the project. Over the course of the month, we shot in a cemetery, a dilapidated old hospital, a cavernous salt mine, a police station, the Catalunya History Museum, an underground parking lot, and the penthouse of a four star hotel. We also got to crash a car, burn down a mansion, and play with an electro-shock therapy machine. All in the name of entertainment.

The script was great. Of course, the script for Clean Break was good, too, but then they added Ms. Tara Reid to the equation and it all went to hell in a hand basket. But of the last six films that they have made, this was easily the strongest script. Now, let’s add the actors:

Armand Assante played Kevin, the psychiatrist. You may have seen Armand in such films as Hoffa and The Mambo Kings (also Judge Dredd and Striptease). Known for playing tough guys and mafiosos, I watched the director spend a lot of time trying to soften Armand’s portrayal of the kind doctor. This was a meaty role and he had a lot to work with (and sort out). Armand is a really nice guy and very interesting to talk to, but his inclination to rewrite every scene just minutes before we shot them coupled with his low mumble of a speaking voice conflicted directly with my job of preparing the Spanish actors for their on camera performance. Every single one of my actors came up to me at one time or another and asked, “What is he saying?”. Armand’s on camera improvisations were met by anything ranging from awkward Spanglish improv to a vacant stare. “Cut!” Though I worked directly with Armand very little, no other actor caused me more headaches. But through it all, I must admit that it was a pleasure working with him.

Dina Meyer played Mira, the mental patient’s sister. You may have seen Dina in such films as Starship Troopers and Saw (1, 2, and 3). Dina is hyperactive, fidgety, and a bit of a control freak, but she is also a very talented actress. The crew was a bit intimidated by her mile-a-minute monologues (in a language that they barely understood) and nobody’s life was made easier by her insistence that her pet chihuahua be on set with her at all times, but that girl knew how to control the camera with her natural demeanor and penetrating glare. I don’t think Dina had the time of her life on this film, but I can safely say that having her around always made things “interesting”.

Lacey Chabert played Jane, the mental patient with multiple personality disorder. Probably first seen on Party Of Five (where she appeared for seven years), Lacey has gone on to provide voices for Family Guy, Rugrats, and The Wild Thornberrys. Let me first say that, besides being one of the most talented young actresses I’ve ever seen, Lacey is one of the absolute sweetest, kindest, and most humble people I’ve ever met. Her “multi-faceted” role in the film had her speaking Spanish, French, and Chinese. So even though my job was to help the Spanish actors with their English, I was also there to help Lacey with her accents and pronunciation. Everyone thought it was adorable watching this cute little girl venomously spit out Spanish curse words. She got so into one of her scenes as a violent mental patient that she actually ended up fracturing three ribs! Now that’s dedication. It was a pleasure getting to know her and working with her – and I’m sure the entire cast and crew would say the same.

And what a great crew it was. Half of the people had returned from the last film and the new people were every bit as great. Just like in the last film, I spent most of my time between rehearsing with the actors, hanging out with the costume girls, practicing my Catalan, monitoring the filming, and frequenting the catering table.

It was probably one of the longest months of my life, but now that I look back on it, it seems to have flown by so quickly. Funny, that is. The producers have already dropped the hint to me that they’ll be shooting their next film around January. I told them that I’ll have to wait and see how fatherhood treats me before I sign any contracts, but I’ll definitely be there at the casting. Did I mention that I also landed a cameo role in this last film? Three credits at the end of the film, baby!

Back To School

You know how they say that if you ever drop out of school, the longer you spend out of the system, the harder it is to return? Well that’s how I feel about blogging. It’s not because I don’t have anything to say – on the contrary! I have little observations and news tidbits everyday that I’d love to tell you about. But I feel like I’d better start with the big stuff first. OK, here we go…