The glorious beginning of my cinematic career.

Being a Jew, and therefore having connections in the seedy Jewish underworld, a family friend who is for some reason quite fond of me found a job filming a Bar Mitzvah. This friend had previously wanted me to photograph her son's Bar Mitzvah, but having no real experience with such a thing, and a friend who is a talented photographer, I declined the offer, and gave it to this friend. Still, she was determined that I make money, and gave me the contact information of the parents of a young Member of the Tribe named Leo who would be making the great Journey into Manhood.

Now, I don;t actually have experience with video, other than my current film class and several "experimental" shorts made on my video camera, mostly of people saying things like "Josh, turn off the fucking camera!" (I like to think I have a very self-aware cinematic voice). Here is how the conversation with the mother of young Leo went, or something like that.

TPS: Hello, my name is Josh. Uh, Jill gave me this number?

Leo's mother: Oh, hello. You're the one who can do the filming?

TPS: Yeah.

LM: So, what have you done?

TPS: Well, um, I have to admit to not having a ton of experience but I am in a film class in my highschool.

LM: Have you ever done this before?

TPS: Actually, this would be my first job. I was jsut wondering, I don;t really have editing equipment, and as for camera....

LM: Oh, don;t worry about editing, and we have a camera. We just want a nice little thing to remember it by.

And so on. She sounded very anxious the whole time, which is a condition many parents suffer from right before their children's Bar or Bat Mitzvahs. I felt as if I was taking advantage of her, and I was afraid I got the job because she didn't want to hurt my feelings. But, most importantly, I did get the job. The party (I wasn't going to be filming the ceremony) was to be held in a few weeks at the local art museum.

So, a few weeks later, I went to the local art museum, dressed in suit. The photographer and I had both gotten there before anyone else, and we began chatting. She was an actual professional photographer, a very small middle aged woman. People finally began to arrive. I asked them to say things into the camera.

"Hello, Leo, it's your aunt Lottie, I just want to say, we're all very proud of you, and you did a wonderful job on your Torah reading."

"Leo! Your cousins and I would like to congratulate you!"

etc.


The party started. I scanned the room with the camera, occasionally waving to people so they would wave back. I was very cautious, so as not to film any cleavage, and to make sure that I didn't seem to have any frightening tendencies. This meant, I didn't try to film any single element too much. For example, I tried not to have too many shots of plates of food. I did not think it was in my best interest for my employers to think I had a cocktail weenie fetish.

Then the candle lighting ceremony happened. In a candle lighting ceremony, if you do not know, relatives and friends are invited to light candles on a cake with little couplets such as, "You're supernice and your cookies are great, Grandma Fanny, come light candle eight."

Then came the neverending dancing.

If there is one thing I can go through life without hearing again, it is a techno remix of "Don't Stop Believing."


Young Mr. Leo may grow up to be our next president. However, he did not look particularly winning crankin' that Soulja Boy. Watching a room full of mostly white seventh graders who look very excited about the prospect of supermanning a ho sent me into a philosophical spiral. Did they know what that was? If they did know, would they do it? How much money would I be paid to film that? Would this tape, years down the line, cause Leo to contemplate suicide?

Then there was a little photo bit. Then I got paid, killing any regrets I might have had.