I have a confession to make. I am not an actor. I do not, nor have I ever, claimed to have any skill in acting, nor a desire to be an actor of any kind. Despite this, I often find myself on various stages, doing various things in front of people I don't know, aka "the public". When I was younger, I did a lot of singing, which put me on the stage often. I was in musical theater classes, performed in one musical theater production (which left a somewhat sour taste in my mouth, since typecasting was apparently all the rage, and geeky girls wearing glasses don't really get the flush parts, no matter their vocal abilities). I sung the National Anthem. At conferences, minor league baseball games, etc. I performed in a couple of bands (one jazz, one pop) and a few choirs.

I also danced. I loved ballet, and being on the stage never bothered me. I danced in college as one of those girls wearing the sparkly figure skating outfit with the gold pom-pons, counting and marching during halftime twenty feet in front of the University of Colorado drumline, hoping our beloved Buffs would win (they were actually pretty good back then).

I played sports. Gymnastics. It's not exactly a stage, but if you fuck up, you do it all by yourself in front of a lot of people while wearing a leotard. How's that for scary? I even did it through my teenage years, until I was 19, so I confronted fear on a national level while feeling extremely self-conscious about pretty much everything, but mostly my awkward and un-curvy body.

Then somewhere along the line, I got myself behind the curtain, writing and directing films in school, which was surprisingly comfortable. I loved being able to show up and tell people what do to and not have to worry about how I looked, because no one was going to remember and no one was looking at me anyway. They would only remember what was on the screen after everything was said and done, and most of the time (save for a couple of small films), I was nowhere to be found, except in the stories we could regale one another with afterwards over a few beers. And that, my friends, has been lovely.

And yet, it seems as though the stage has found me again. I have gone a bit of a foray into writing comedy for film and television, as practice, on spec. I do it for fun at this point, and I cross all my fingers and toes, hoping that someday soon I'll be able to do it for money as well. So I work to improve my craft. And part of improving that craft has been improv. I recklessly decided to sign up for a seven week improv class here in San Diego at a place not far from my house. So far, I've had two classes, and while I'm not going to say it's easy, I feel a certain comfort with just making things up. It's so much easier than having to memorize something and then pray you don't forget it at the exact moment you are supposed to show it to the world, which has definitely happened to me more than once.

Until this class, I had no idea what improv was, other than a shortened version of the word improvisation. I had never seen improv, or heard stories from people who do improv. It was something that was vaguely related to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler and there was something called Upright Citizens Brigade and another thing called Second City. And something called Groundlings. But other than that, I've been clueless. But I'm learning. I don't have a choice. They don't mess around up there at Finest City Improv. They get you on the stage and get you out there. 

So the other night was my first time on stage, doing improv. If I could think of something to liken it to, it would be for someone to ask you if you knew how to train a Whing-ding-a-saurus, and you looked them straight in the eye and said, "Why yes, I know exactly how to do that." But in the back of your mind, you are thinking: Train a what? Even my dog doesn't listen to me.

But that's something you should know about me. I never back down from a challenge. So I grilled my teacher on what was going to happen, which of course, he can only answer so much. I love rules and knowing there's a plan. And improv doesn't really have a plan. Or rules. So, I show up the other night, and Amy, one of the other instructors, gives us the rundown for the evening. We're going to start out with a game where you have to name things in a category until you either repeat one or can't think of one. Okay, I can do that. I love brain games. Then, little scenes. 

Me: How long is a scene?
Them: However long it needs to be.
Me: How will I know it's over?
Them: You'll know.

Hmm. These guidelines are a bit fuzzy. But oh well. I'm going to roll with it anyway. The music starts, and we all go out on the stage. Somehow I'm bringing up the rear, with just one other person behind me. We start the brain game. Cars. I got this. Dictators. Easy. Candy bars. Fine, but I didn't hear one person say Snickers, so I've got a hit against me. On to the next one. Swear words. US Cities. Come on, people, how about a challenge. Beers. Puh-leese. (all those years in bars are finally paying off). Cartoon cats. At least three pop into my head, but it's over before it gets to me. And before I know it, I'm the winner. So far, improv is working out.

On to the scenes. I'm not sure what the hell is going on, so I just watch. But before too long, Amy pulls me out and we are eating fudge. Lots of fudge. And I don't know what I say, I just go with it. Keep going until they say stop. Then another scene. And another. And so on and so on and so on. It just keeps going, rolling through one after the other. And I still feel like I have no idea what's going on, and sometimes I'm just watching as if I'm also in the audience, and other times an idea pops into my head and I jump out there, full force. Thank god I'm not wearing a leotard. And I catch a glimpse of a couple friends who came out, and a couple of guys in my class. And I feel supported, which gives me a boost of confidence. And then it's over, and I'm left to over analyze everything I did or didn't say or do. Which of course, will take days or even weeks to thoroughly pick over.

But the funny thing is, it wasn't uncomfortable. I wasn't all that nervous. I spent most of my energy just trying to figure out what was going on, and trying to keep up. I can't wait to go back.

What is a film geek? What is a cinephile? Well, WikiHow, not surprisingly, has the answer for you. If you look at both the lists, you'll notice that 6 of the step have absolutely nothing to do with movies. Cinephilia has to do with being obsessed with Titanic, among other things.

Well, no offense to WikiHow (it's my go-to site whenever I need step-by-step instructions, along with eHow), but being obsessed doesn't have anything to do with whether or not you're wearing a hoodie or sweatpants, or how many charm bracelets you're wearing, or what kind of glasses you sport. The truth is, cinephiles and film geeks are exactly like homicidal maniacs: they look just like everyone else.

Cinephiles and Film Geeks are basically the same thing. It's possible Film Geeks don't take themselves as seriously. They probably use words like 'lovely' or 'sublime' a lot less than most cinephiles. But there's one thing WikiHow did get right. Both cinephiles and film geeks love movies. They watch movies. New movies, old movies, funny movies, serious movies, long movies, short movies. Movies in English, movies in other languages, movies in color, movies in black and white. True movies, made-up movies, and movies in between the two.

Cinephiles devour everything cinema. So do film geeks. But the special thing about them is that they do it together. They talk about movies, the think about movies, the watch movies in groups. They're like schools of fishes, swimming towards a brightly lit screen in hopes of being moved, inspired, cajoled, and entertained.

In the end, I think that's the difference between cinephiles and film geeks. Film geeks are a clique. Not a closed, snobby clique like those jerks in high school, but a clique that always seems to be recruiting new members. New followers of the gospel, where they can meet up regularly and go to their cinema church. It's pretty fabulous, really. Which is why I'm proud to come out as a fully-fledged film geek. 

Yep. If this group had membership cards, I would have one too. And it's wonderful to meet up with my other film geek members. We all love different movies, quote different characters, and swoon over different actors and directors, looking skyward with coos of "she's so talented" or "that's my favorite". We make our top 10 lists (unless your Scorsese; then you make a top 85 list). And anyone can join.

So what do you have to do to join? It's easy! Watch movies. Enjoy movies. Go to the theater and sit with your fellow film geeks. Turn off your phone and turn on to the screen. Groucho Marx once said "I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member." I'm pretty sure he meant every club except this one, since he was definitely a film geek. 

Today I participated in a fundraiser for a great non-profit in San Diego called San Diego Writers, Ink. It's peopled with writers who help other writers become better writers, and whenever I participate in something they put on, I'm not disappointed.

But somewhere, deep down, is a nagging little voice asking me why I'm working to raise money for another non-profit besides my own. But that voice really needs to pipe down. Why? Because I'm working to raise money for the non-profit I work for every day. Yes, EVERY day. In case you didn't know, Media Arts Center San Diego has been around for quite a while, spreading the gospel of digital media and storytelling since its inception. That gospel has grown to include camps for kids, documentary classes for teenagers, partner programs with California libraries, and workshops for adults. Everything from how to take pictures with your fancy new DSLR to how to build your own steadicam.

Oh, and we also show movies.

That's my job. I often get an odd reaction from people when they find out what I do. "You mean you get to watch movies? All the time?"

Yes, all the time. I'm lucky enough to have a job that includes something most people (including myself) enjoy. I get to watch movies, meet filmmakers, and sometimes visit film festivals. I'm not going to tell you that it's not as glamorous as it sounds, because you wouldn't believe me anyway, and that's like complaining that your Maserati doesn't purr at 20 mph like it does at 80. Small potatoes.

So yes, I do love what I do. I love watching movies. But I also feel like I'm participating in something that matters. Yes, the education programs that are provided by Media Arts Center are wonderful. There is a wonderful staff of people that attend to all the details and ensure that they are enriching for kids young and old. The video production programs are also wonderful. Media Arts has managed to help a plethora of organizations that don't have access to the digital media tools and knowledge that we have in order to help them send their message around the internet and back again. Because that's what we do: provide access.

So now we have this Digital Gym, where you can get training on all things digital, like the YMCA, but for your brain and creativity instead of your body. And we also have a movie theater, which is where I come in.


But how does that fit in? Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough, not contributing enough, or not do-gooding enough. And then I reflect.

I've been at the organization for six years, programming films for the San Diego Latino Film Festival, Que Viva! Cine Latino, Cinema en tu Idioma, and a number of other community screenings. We've partnered with the SD Asian Film Festival, the Jewish Film Festival, Horrible Imaginings Film Festival, and countless other community groups to get messages out and spur cross-cultural dialogue within the San Diego community. Now I program the Digital Gym Cinema, and I'm constantly asking myself, what is this film for?

It's simple, really. Film is for people. It's for ideas. It's for creativity and sharing. There is not one single filmmaker on the planet who makes a film to watch alone in their own living room. Films are made to be seen, by groups of people, to share something that filmmaker thinks is important. It's just up to me, as the curator of the Digital Gym Cinema, to try to figure out what the community most wants, or what the community most needs.

So if I may, I'd like to reflect on what's come along so far. A film about the danger of greed (The Brass Teapot). A film about a family dealing with the separation of living on both sides of the border (Aqui y Alla). A film about zero-emissions motorcycle racing (Charge). A film about French capitulation to the Nazis during WWII (La Rafle). A film about women in India as the country develops (The World Before Her). A film about the pollution of our land and oceans (Trashed). These aren't all of them, but they all have a story to tell that I think is worth telling. Some films were more well attended than others. I take no offense.

What I am always looking for is the movie that is simply a beautiful work of art. Something about it reaches down deep and pulls at you, whether it's the music, the visuals, the story, or a combination of all of those that keeps you in your seat for a couple of hours (or longer!) because you can't take your eyes and ears away from the screen. And sometimes I hear, "How is that helping people?"

I despise that kind of response. Movies are art. They contain art. They blend art. And I still believe in art for art's sake. Many years ago, I found myself in Paris at the Louvre. I went through the galleries and found myself in front of the Mona Lisa. I didn't stand there and wonder how that was helping people. I admired it, and the other works, as something that makes our lives a little less dull. An expression of something someone wanted to share.

Let me be clear: artists (and filmmakers) are not required to change the world. If Iron Man has taught us anything, it's that audiences don't expect movies to change the world. They expect something to be shared. A story, an idea, a thought. Some artists are activists, and I think that's great. Some are not, and that's great, too. But what all of them are doing is engaging. 

This is what I strive to program at the Digital Gym Cinema. So as we look forward, I'm excited about the variety of shares coming our way. A film about the coming-of-age of a teenager from the Dagreb tribe (The Lesser Blessed). A transgender story of impossible, unextinguishable love and romance (Laurence Anyways). A film about the complicated world of Somali pirates (Stolen Seas). A poetic journey from schoolbus to public transportation in Guatemala (La Camioneta). A film about two musicians who tragically died before their time, but not before their genius rooted (Greetings From Tim Buckley).

I sincerely hope to create engagement. What engages you?

Because I'm responsible for choosing so many films that I think people will like or should see in San Diego, I find that there are many folks to want to know what I was thinking. Sometimes they feel as if I may have lost my mind, and sometimes they are grateful that I've found a story they connect to on a deep level. And sometimes they just want my help in remembering the title of a great film they say a few years back and can't forget(except the title, that is). Whatever the reason, I love talking to our audiences. This blog is an attempt to extend those conversations and be even more available for chats.

I don't pretend to know everything about movies, and like all art, film is subjective, so my opinion is only worth as much as people decide. At the same time, I have been teaching film for several years, and if there is some piece of knowledge that I can impart to another person who is hungry for it, I'm more than willing to give. I love teaching. I love talking. But most of all, I love learning, and I know that our audiences have much to teach me about what they love about movies and why they think certain movies are valuable while others should be banned to the trash heap. We all would put different films in each pile, and I think that is what makes it so awesome. Film speaks to pretty much everyone on some level. And now, I want to speak to you about what those levels are. Bring it on, cinema-goers!