I've been remiss in my posting duties.
Solitary confinement progresses swimmingly. The past few days have been some of the pain in the ass days. Ladder too short to reach the tall tall parts of the house so it gets fully extended to thirty feet and then I have to fight with a paint brush on a stick to get to the tippy top. Thems the brakes when you're vertically challenged. Ahhhhh and the spiders. Great big hairy bastards everywhere. Nothing like turning your head when your thirty feet in the air and seeing a spider half the size of your fist right in your face. I'm talking bigger than the Harry Potter spiders. So every trip up the ladder starts first with broom in hand, then down, then up with paint scraper, then down, then up with bucket and brush. Ahhhhhhh and the power lines. Nothing like trying to paint around power lines with a brush attached to a six foot long metal pole while standing thirty feet in the air on a metal ladder. That was a little nerve racking. But those parts are all over. Except the spiders. I have a few more days of battling them.
Three sides done. Yesterday I got news that work in California starts up again near the end of October and goes straight through to Christmas. This is happy news. Usually we go dark from Thanksgiving to Christmas and I find myself bored again. And a woman who knows my sister mentioned she may want me to do her house too while I'm in Maine. TBD on that one but great to know that there is work afoot to keep my hands from being idle.
Reading: Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke. excellent science fiction.
Watching: hours of new fall television daily, Freaks & Geeks season 1, Popular seasons 1 & 2. I used to never watch television, regarded it as the place where talentless actors and creators went to ride out their days of work. Not any more. And I'm becoming obsessed with anything that has high school or college story lines. I think I suspect subconsciously I missed out on the opportunity to be a great high school and college character so I live vicariously through the hijinxes and dramas of tv characters. Oh if I could go back and do it all over again, the adventures I'd have!
Listening: Metric - Help, I'm Alive. Over and over and over.
The track brings up an interesting discovery that dawned on me yesterday while watching the video clips on youtube of their live performances and the two-hour season premiere of House. I love quality time with an amazing person more than anything. The closest thing to that is a piece of artwork that strikes an emotional cord. I am inspired and envious whenever I see or hear something that invokes a sharp physical response. My skin crawls every time I watch the live performances of Metric's Help, I'm Alive. It is an amazing song about the fear of failure. At the end of the House season premiere I found myself crying because it was so perfectly put together. When all of the story elements that had been put into place over the first hour and fifteen minutes started to fall into place during the last fifteen minutes I was overcome with joy at the perfection that I was witnessing. I've always been a big fan of House, one of the best characters ever created for tv, the doctor who is afraid to fail.
These two things settled in my head last night and it dawned on me that the one thing I am really terrified of is failure. It doesn't happen often. In my professional life I am smart and talented enough to figure out anything that is thrown at me on the fly. I have always been good and quick at solving problems. The only thing I have ever failed at is relationships.
The other thing I realized over the past two days is I love eating ice cream for breakfast. Mmmmmmmmmm.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Ugh
Still waging war with the time difference. Who would have ever thought three hours would so royally screw up someone's system.
Slept too late again today so no morning exercise :( I like to blame the time difference and whine about jet lag and insomnia but I suspect deep down I'm just not disciplined. But here again it's 12:30am and I have been reading for three hours in an attempt to put myself to sleep and the only thing I sucessfully accomplished was finishing The Game. Interesting read, funny how it reads like Neil Strauss' personal Fight Club, only not as poignant because he comes off as a total douche through half of it. Wading through all the pap about sexual conquests though, I love to read intelligent accounts of people interacting with other people and how complicated or simple it can be. The limitless possibilities of what can happen when two people start talking for the first time is wonderful.
Happily got to watch another episode of Sons of Anarchy this morning. I watch a lot of crap TV, always fascinated in why something is popular, especially if it is garbage. Sons of Anarchy is brilliant, a weird twist on Hamlet with motorcycles and gun running and gang wars. Seeing the finished product of creative and talented people making something that is flawless is a beautiful thing and inspires me to do the same. Watching most of the junk on the CW teaches me how not to do things. Yeah, I'm talking to you, 90210.
Passed the 25% mark on the house today, the massive side is complete and I curled around to the front and the back and got a little headstart on both. The fourth side will be tricky because of the solarium that I'm not sure I can get over. Glass structures are a pain in the ass. The air is clean though and nature is beautiful. I love being surrounded by woods and haven't been for far too long.
A correction to last night's post that I was thinking about today while working. Once upon a time D called me "a prince amung men". This was the second best compliment I've ever received. She sees a lot of men and the vast majority of them could be described as the dregs. I could have easily been lumped in with the rest of the dregs but instead we connected and developed an interesting friendship.
I miss you, D, and can't wait to see you again. Know that I hope you are well, feeling better and that rehearsals are going great.
Slept too late again today so no morning exercise :( I like to blame the time difference and whine about jet lag and insomnia but I suspect deep down I'm just not disciplined. But here again it's 12:30am and I have been reading for three hours in an attempt to put myself to sleep and the only thing I sucessfully accomplished was finishing The Game. Interesting read, funny how it reads like Neil Strauss' personal Fight Club, only not as poignant because he comes off as a total douche through half of it. Wading through all the pap about sexual conquests though, I love to read intelligent accounts of people interacting with other people and how complicated or simple it can be. The limitless possibilities of what can happen when two people start talking for the first time is wonderful.
Happily got to watch another episode of Sons of Anarchy this morning. I watch a lot of crap TV, always fascinated in why something is popular, especially if it is garbage. Sons of Anarchy is brilliant, a weird twist on Hamlet with motorcycles and gun running and gang wars. Seeing the finished product of creative and talented people making something that is flawless is a beautiful thing and inspires me to do the same. Watching most of the junk on the CW teaches me how not to do things. Yeah, I'm talking to you, 90210.
Passed the 25% mark on the house today, the massive side is complete and I curled around to the front and the back and got a little headstart on both. The fourth side will be tricky because of the solarium that I'm not sure I can get over. Glass structures are a pain in the ass. The air is clean though and nature is beautiful. I love being surrounded by woods and haven't been for far too long.
A correction to last night's post that I was thinking about today while working. Once upon a time D called me "a prince amung men". This was the second best compliment I've ever received. She sees a lot of men and the vast majority of them could be described as the dregs. I could have easily been lumped in with the rest of the dregs but instead we connected and developed an interesting friendship.
I miss you, D, and can't wait to see you again. Know that I hope you are well, feeling better and that rehearsals are going great.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Day #3
Day #3 is in the books.
I woke up Sunday morning and convinced myself that I would rest on Sundays, knowing full well that I will most likely spend Sundays watching football with my cousins and old high school friends. Five minutes after making that decision I went out and started to work on the house anyway, intending to get some kind of head start. I felt compelled to take breaks to watch football every fifteen minutes so it was not a fully productive day. I did eventually run the island circle again and got my time down to 40.20, not bad and I think I can shave another five minutes off it but ten will be impossible. The insomnia vs. jet lag battle royale continued and made it impossible to start my intended routine on Monday.
Monday was as bad as Sunday work wise without the benefit of having the NFL to blame. I felt the need to take breaks every fifteen minutes and do nothing. I was sluggish and slow and eventually pssed out for two hours from 4pm to 6pm. Work ouput was light enough that my father joked as to whether or not I had done any painting. I had. I skipped the evening run so I wouldn't be sore for the Tuesday morning run.
Tuesday morning I woke up at 6am, which would have been perfect if I hadn't then immediately fallen back asleep for two more hours. I woke up as everyone was leaving, ate breakfast and started working. Today was the day. I worked like a madman from 9am to 6pm. The largest side of the house, that which requires the most work, is nearly complete by the end of day three. I then took a long walk around the island, same route as the run. 1 hour and ten minutes, so 35 minutes seems like a much more realistic goal. Not sure whether or not I'll have my first morning run tomorrow as it is 12.30am now and I am not at all sleepy. Jet lag vs. insomnia sucks.
Tonight I missed my first attempt to see old friends. A friend from my close circle in high school was having drinks with the brother of another of our close friends, whom we knew but rarely hung out with because he was three years older than us. After the fact I happened to be surfing facebook when my friend messaged me. He had driven home after a few too many and had thankfully made it safely. They had a good time and he informed me it seemed like our friend's brother was doing good, which is always nice to hear. Last I saw him was in '99 and his long time girlfriend had dumped him and he was pretty miserable. My friend then went on to inform me that I had been a lively topic of discussion.
Most of the time these people knew me I was a very shy introvert. My friend, his name is Matt, had a best friend named John. John was the guy whom the first girl I ever loved cheated on me with, then they thought they'd make it up to me by tossing me John's girlfriend as a peace offering. I declined. I was good friends with Matt but I have always leery and suspicious of anyone who would associate with someone who would do such a thing. John I rarely spoke to afterwards. There are few things that disturb me as much as this kind of betrayal and this particular instance would lead to me closing myself off to people for a number of years. Oh, the folly of youth.
I assume Matt told our friend's brother, Pete, that I was in town and he had tried to get in touch with me through my sister to meet them out. Upon hearing my name Pete would inevitably tell his favorite story of us playing Little League baseball together. Pete was in his last year of eligiblity and one of the best in our league. He was huge and would go on to become one of our best high school basketball players. At the time of the story he was 16, twice my size and threw a baseball close to 60 mph. I was 12 and tiny but fast as hell. We were doing base running drills combined with fielding drills. Coach would hit a ball and someone would take off from home plate. If it was to an infielder they made the attempt to get the out at first. If it was to an outfielder, they made the attempt to keep it to a single. Pete played first base so he always ended up with the ball and threw it in to coach. When it came time for me to run something caught my attention, I believe it was a girl but my memory of it all is fuzzy. People started screaming, I looked up and caught a Pete fast ball with my left occipital bone. When I came to I was four feet back from where I had started with my left eye already swollen shut. Pete thought he killed me. My father threw me in our car and rushed me to my Grandmother's house to put a frozen steak on it.
Matt thought this story was hilarious. The facebook chat went like this.
Matt: Pete told me the story of how he ended your baseball career.
Me: HA! I couldn't hit for shit after that. But I could walk and steal bases like a motherfucker.
Matt: You are the ultimate!
Now I know that he was to some degree intoxicated but I felt surprised at the response. During all the time that Matt knew me I was anything but the ultimate anything. I was a turtle who spent all my time inside my own shell. I haven't seen Matt since '99 either, shortly after we graduated high school. I wouldn't start to peek out of my shell for another 4 years. There is something remarkably validating about someone who only knew you when you felt very small telling you that you are the ultimate. It feels wonderful.
The only compliment I will ever cherish more is when the woman I love more than anything in the entire world told me I was the most amazing person she had ever met. Today's was almost as sweet.
I woke up Sunday morning and convinced myself that I would rest on Sundays, knowing full well that I will most likely spend Sundays watching football with my cousins and old high school friends. Five minutes after making that decision I went out and started to work on the house anyway, intending to get some kind of head start. I felt compelled to take breaks to watch football every fifteen minutes so it was not a fully productive day. I did eventually run the island circle again and got my time down to 40.20, not bad and I think I can shave another five minutes off it but ten will be impossible. The insomnia vs. jet lag battle royale continued and made it impossible to start my intended routine on Monday.
Monday was as bad as Sunday work wise without the benefit of having the NFL to blame. I felt the need to take breaks every fifteen minutes and do nothing. I was sluggish and slow and eventually pssed out for two hours from 4pm to 6pm. Work ouput was light enough that my father joked as to whether or not I had done any painting. I had. I skipped the evening run so I wouldn't be sore for the Tuesday morning run.
Tuesday morning I woke up at 6am, which would have been perfect if I hadn't then immediately fallen back asleep for two more hours. I woke up as everyone was leaving, ate breakfast and started working. Today was the day. I worked like a madman from 9am to 6pm. The largest side of the house, that which requires the most work, is nearly complete by the end of day three. I then took a long walk around the island, same route as the run. 1 hour and ten minutes, so 35 minutes seems like a much more realistic goal. Not sure whether or not I'll have my first morning run tomorrow as it is 12.30am now and I am not at all sleepy. Jet lag vs. insomnia sucks.
Tonight I missed my first attempt to see old friends. A friend from my close circle in high school was having drinks with the brother of another of our close friends, whom we knew but rarely hung out with because he was three years older than us. After the fact I happened to be surfing facebook when my friend messaged me. He had driven home after a few too many and had thankfully made it safely. They had a good time and he informed me it seemed like our friend's brother was doing good, which is always nice to hear. Last I saw him was in '99 and his long time girlfriend had dumped him and he was pretty miserable. My friend then went on to inform me that I had been a lively topic of discussion.
Most of the time these people knew me I was a very shy introvert. My friend, his name is Matt, had a best friend named John. John was the guy whom the first girl I ever loved cheated on me with, then they thought they'd make it up to me by tossing me John's girlfriend as a peace offering. I declined. I was good friends with Matt but I have always leery and suspicious of anyone who would associate with someone who would do such a thing. John I rarely spoke to afterwards. There are few things that disturb me as much as this kind of betrayal and this particular instance would lead to me closing myself off to people for a number of years. Oh, the folly of youth.
I assume Matt told our friend's brother, Pete, that I was in town and he had tried to get in touch with me through my sister to meet them out. Upon hearing my name Pete would inevitably tell his favorite story of us playing Little League baseball together. Pete was in his last year of eligiblity and one of the best in our league. He was huge and would go on to become one of our best high school basketball players. At the time of the story he was 16, twice my size and threw a baseball close to 60 mph. I was 12 and tiny but fast as hell. We were doing base running drills combined with fielding drills. Coach would hit a ball and someone would take off from home plate. If it was to an infielder they made the attempt to get the out at first. If it was to an outfielder, they made the attempt to keep it to a single. Pete played first base so he always ended up with the ball and threw it in to coach. When it came time for me to run something caught my attention, I believe it was a girl but my memory of it all is fuzzy. People started screaming, I looked up and caught a Pete fast ball with my left occipital bone. When I came to I was four feet back from where I had started with my left eye already swollen shut. Pete thought he killed me. My father threw me in our car and rushed me to my Grandmother's house to put a frozen steak on it.
Matt thought this story was hilarious. The facebook chat went like this.
Matt: Pete told me the story of how he ended your baseball career.
Me: HA! I couldn't hit for shit after that. But I could walk and steal bases like a motherfucker.
Matt: You are the ultimate!
Now I know that he was to some degree intoxicated but I felt surprised at the response. During all the time that Matt knew me I was anything but the ultimate anything. I was a turtle who spent all my time inside my own shell. I haven't seen Matt since '99 either, shortly after we graduated high school. I wouldn't start to peek out of my shell for another 4 years. There is something remarkably validating about someone who only knew you when you felt very small telling you that you are the ultimate. It feels wonderful.
The only compliment I will ever cherish more is when the woman I love more than anything in the entire world told me I was the most amazing person she had ever met. Today's was almost as sweet.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
hmmmmmmm...
insomnia + jet lag = x. i'm working it all out now.
i have a sneaking suspicion i'm going to be up forever. 1.15am in Maine but it feels like 10.15pm in Cali and I can't foresee myself sleeping for another three or four hours, if that. Then if I sleep the standard three hours means Sunday will suck and I have a heightened probability of falling off a ladder.
:( stay tuned!
i have a sneaking suspicion i'm going to be up forever. 1.15am in Maine but it feels like 10.15pm in Cali and I can't foresee myself sleeping for another three or four hours, if that. Then if I sleep the standard three hours means Sunday will suck and I have a heightened probability of falling off a ladder.
:( stay tuned!
Barter's Island
Might as well continue to the present.
I arrived on the island much later than was originally intended, around 4pm. Greeted by our crazy dog. He smiles, I tried to take a picture but the bastard thrashes around too much and they never come out. You'd think all the heavy handed training my sister did with him and he'd know how to pose for a picture. The cats sat in the window and eyed me suspiciously. A brother and sister, they were identical at birth almost, all black with white paws. Only way to tell them apart was the boy had a diamond white spot on his nose, the girl had an hourglass. I drove my sister to the animal shelter in 2002 before I moved away for good so she could rescue them. Now the girl is tiny and can climb anything, even walls. The boy is enormous and lazy, an easy 20-pounder.
I walked around the house to survey what needed to be done. Figure if I bust my ass I can do the house in ten or twelve days, the garage in four or so. Then I'll either find some other stuff to do or head back to California early. We'll see how that all goes. Went for a run around the island. There is a road that circles the main island that all the houses are on. It is 4.2 miles long. I did a lap in 42 minutes. Now I work on getting that time down, hopefully to a half hour. Ambitious :) It is easier to run here than in the valley, nice breeze off the ocean, 60 degrees, quiet and beautiful. Northridge is not beautiful. It rains though, this is what I love most about California. No rain. But in Northridge you don't have to be careful of coyotes.
Got back to the house and took an amazing shower after the trip from hell. Lay down on the couch and watched Michigan upset Notre Dame with Dad and the dog and the giant cat. I'm not a big college football fan but it was a great game. Looking forward to starting working on the house tomorrow. My cousin got in touch with me to make plans to do NFL Sundays at his house so I'll probably start that in a week. It was during a public facebook conversation so two friends from high school I haven't seen in ten years or so were immediately in too. My predictions often come true, I'm suspecting a superpower #3. Eerily prescient. It is rapidly turning into my own version of Beautiful Girls. If I start writing about some hot 13-year old I've met who I have a great connection with, someone shoot me. I shouldn't be anyone's Pooh Bear.
Of course as soon as I leave town both roommates called and needed me to do work for them. I respectfully declined.
This is going to be a revelatory three weeks.
I arrived on the island much later than was originally intended, around 4pm. Greeted by our crazy dog. He smiles, I tried to take a picture but the bastard thrashes around too much and they never come out. You'd think all the heavy handed training my sister did with him and he'd know how to pose for a picture. The cats sat in the window and eyed me suspiciously. A brother and sister, they were identical at birth almost, all black with white paws. Only way to tell them apart was the boy had a diamond white spot on his nose, the girl had an hourglass. I drove my sister to the animal shelter in 2002 before I moved away for good so she could rescue them. Now the girl is tiny and can climb anything, even walls. The boy is enormous and lazy, an easy 20-pounder.
I walked around the house to survey what needed to be done. Figure if I bust my ass I can do the house in ten or twelve days, the garage in four or so. Then I'll either find some other stuff to do or head back to California early. We'll see how that all goes. Went for a run around the island. There is a road that circles the main island that all the houses are on. It is 4.2 miles long. I did a lap in 42 minutes. Now I work on getting that time down, hopefully to a half hour. Ambitious :) It is easier to run here than in the valley, nice breeze off the ocean, 60 degrees, quiet and beautiful. Northridge is not beautiful. It rains though, this is what I love most about California. No rain. But in Northridge you don't have to be careful of coyotes.
Got back to the house and took an amazing shower after the trip from hell. Lay down on the couch and watched Michigan upset Notre Dame with Dad and the dog and the giant cat. I'm not a big college football fan but it was a great game. Looking forward to starting working on the house tomorrow. My cousin got in touch with me to make plans to do NFL Sundays at his house so I'll probably start that in a week. It was during a public facebook conversation so two friends from high school I haven't seen in ten years or so were immediately in too. My predictions often come true, I'm suspecting a superpower #3. Eerily prescient. It is rapidly turning into my own version of Beautiful Girls. If I start writing about some hot 13-year old I've met who I have a great connection with, someone shoot me. I shouldn't be anyone's Pooh Bear.
Of course as soon as I leave town both roommates called and needed me to do work for them. I respectfully declined.
This is going to be a revelatory three weeks.
The Bastardly tag team of Murphy and Karma
The trip was atrocious.
A friend of mine I work with occasionally ferried me to LAX, but not before insisting I go out to eat with her and her husband. I try to never eat a meal before travelling so this didn't gel at all with my plans but I couldn't refuse so I grinned and bared it. I barely touched the chicken and mushroom crepe though so it went home with them. This was after she made me drink an entire bottle of kombucha. It was recently introduced to me by D, who loves it and is endlessly entertained by making me try things that always require a very close visual inspection first, like "What the hell is all that stuff floating in there?". It is fantastic for you, but like everything fantastic for you, tastes kind of awful. I'm too harsh, the grape flavor tastes ok, very, very powerful tang to it, but just before you take your swallow you smell what seems like being just a little too close to really dirty feet. I suffered through it. Her husband drank the mango flavored one, it smelled like sweat. She cheated and drank the ginger one which smelled like herbal tea.
My flight was at 11:45pm. I was over cautious getting there early with my dodgy ID as it was barely glanced over before I was waved through and I found I had two hours to kill. Laptop came out and I discovered I was unable to get online, screw LAX, how I hate thee. Last post to the blog was successfly made via Blackberry, which did a little to renew my faith in technology.
My master plan was to drink two tall boys at the sports bar while watching whatever sporting event was on tv, scamper to the gate at 11:15, get on the plane and by the grace of god be asleep before takeoff.
Murphy's Law lesson #1: Scampered to the gate at 11:15 to find the flight was delayed and not boarding until 12:30. The tall boy plan worked however, I was exhausted, and fell asleep in the most awkward position in the waiting area, wasting precious plane z's and waking up every five minutes to thrash and try to get the kink out of my neck. Eventually we arrived at 12:30 and the plane began to board.
Murphy's Law lesson #2: And I boarded the plane to the not-so-angelic sounds of the crying baby. First thought - Only the Devil himself would take a baby on a red eye, knowing full well that just because they, the offensive parents, coulnd't sleep, neither should anyone else. I threw the head phones in and, mercifully, the baby was enough rows away that the sound of Adult Swim cartoons drowned it out. Oh but I had no idea what was still in store for me.
Murphy's Law lesson #3: This is the lesson where Murphy teamed up with Karma and I must have done something horrible to someone who didn't deserve it because the 20-somethings that took up the middle and window seats next to me were the physical embodiment of just about every pet peeve I have about people. It was incredible really, if I created two people that did everything that drove me crazy, these two would have bested them. The guy sat in the window seat. Dishevelled looking and doughy, film student, nasal - he did the worst thing ever and that was keep his girlfriend talking. She was the icing on the cake. Every three seconds she came into contact with me in some way, either elbowing me, grabbing me accidentally, hitting me with her stuffed monkey or trying unsuccessfully to climb over me the few precious moments I got to doze off. She was not graceful. Every bump, and we were told at the jump off there would be many, she flung both hands out in a death grip on the two arm rests. If I was changing channels on the tv I got clawed. If I wasn't the channel changed rapidly or the volume got turned way up, not cool when you are asleep. The coup de grace came when I had to turn ipod and tv off for landing and had to listen to her for 20 minutes whine about how her ears wouldn't pop. It was killing her, the pain too intense to bear. Except her ears did keep popping, she said so immediately after. Or one would, but not the other. Oh, there it goes....nope, still excrutiating. But she didn't keep popping them until the pressure equalized. She was a first time flyer and terrified of it. Eventually she became convinced that all she needed was to get off the plane as quick as possible and during my exit I felt like I was running with the bulls in Pamplona and a scant step away from getting trampled to death. She was also nasal and everything she said came out in a whine. Her boyfriend is a stronger man than I. My superpower #2: thanks to an evening where I nearly blew out my eardrums huffing nitrous oxide from whipped cream cans in high school I have been able to pop my ears just by moving my jaw around a bit. Super useful superpower on planes. Probably means I really screwed something up in my head but I'm not a doctor so I'll reap the rewards at the present time.
The delay made me late for the bus I was supposed to take to Portland, Maine. This was going to be my favorite part of the trip. I hate flying because you can't see anything. It's a quick way out. I always prefer to drive. The bus trip from Boston to Maine at this time of year is gorgeous because the leaves start to change colors. People drive to the Northeast from all over the country to see it, I always thought that a bit silly but it certainly makes the drive prettier. That was all tarnished by the fact I got to sit in front of Logan Airport for the next two and a half hours waiting for the next one.
An observation while waiting: a man ran around the terminal in a frenzy, looking for someone. He ran to the same few spots over and over, would throw his arms up in exasperation, then run off, only to show up ten minutes later doing the same routine. He'd make a phone call to someone, "Have you seen mom?" and then race off agan. He did this for an hour. Logan is not a big place. My first job ever I worked with a woman named Becky. I was a production assistant and good at it, very dependable. Becky was a field coordinator, my direct supervisor when we were on location and she always went crazy, frantic, a little out of control. One day we were driving and I gave her advice. "No matter how crazy things are, keep control of yourself. No one wants to see their commanding officer freak out. People lose respect for you. If you are freaking out, appear calm. It will keep everyone calm around you. Your people will follow your orders and your supervisors will always see you as in charge of any situation." She mulled it over and would thank me a year later. It was some of the best advice she had ever been given. All the man running around was accomplishing was convincing everyone he was an idiot. Especially when he worked himself up so much he had to take his overshirt off and wrap it around his waist. Just relax. I always like to keep a clear head, everyone who works underneath me knows this. The interesting psychological aspect is then, if you ever do freak out, and it happened quite often last year when I was saddled with people who had no idea what they were doing and spent most of their time screwing around, people get amazingly scared when you start yelling. It was endlessly entertaining. Becky was a sweetheart and tried to hook up with me later because of the advice I gave her, I was not attracted to her because she had a history of liking douchebags and because I knew she was spastic. But I was happy she took my advice to heart and it helped her climb the ladder. I quit the job babysitting the retarded kids and now never have to worry about being the field commander, but I always keep a level head.
That's why you can never distract me during a game of pool, D. Or can you......? You'll never know and I'll never tell ;)
A friend of mine I work with occasionally ferried me to LAX, but not before insisting I go out to eat with her and her husband. I try to never eat a meal before travelling so this didn't gel at all with my plans but I couldn't refuse so I grinned and bared it. I barely touched the chicken and mushroom crepe though so it went home with them. This was after she made me drink an entire bottle of kombucha. It was recently introduced to me by D, who loves it and is endlessly entertained by making me try things that always require a very close visual inspection first, like "What the hell is all that stuff floating in there?". It is fantastic for you, but like everything fantastic for you, tastes kind of awful. I'm too harsh, the grape flavor tastes ok, very, very powerful tang to it, but just before you take your swallow you smell what seems like being just a little too close to really dirty feet. I suffered through it. Her husband drank the mango flavored one, it smelled like sweat. She cheated and drank the ginger one which smelled like herbal tea.
My flight was at 11:45pm. I was over cautious getting there early with my dodgy ID as it was barely glanced over before I was waved through and I found I had two hours to kill. Laptop came out and I discovered I was unable to get online, screw LAX, how I hate thee. Last post to the blog was successfly made via Blackberry, which did a little to renew my faith in technology.
My master plan was to drink two tall boys at the sports bar while watching whatever sporting event was on tv, scamper to the gate at 11:15, get on the plane and by the grace of god be asleep before takeoff.
Murphy's Law lesson #1: Scampered to the gate at 11:15 to find the flight was delayed and not boarding until 12:30. The tall boy plan worked however, I was exhausted, and fell asleep in the most awkward position in the waiting area, wasting precious plane z's and waking up every five minutes to thrash and try to get the kink out of my neck. Eventually we arrived at 12:30 and the plane began to board.
Murphy's Law lesson #2: And I boarded the plane to the not-so-angelic sounds of the crying baby. First thought - Only the Devil himself would take a baby on a red eye, knowing full well that just because they, the offensive parents, coulnd't sleep, neither should anyone else. I threw the head phones in and, mercifully, the baby was enough rows away that the sound of Adult Swim cartoons drowned it out. Oh but I had no idea what was still in store for me.
Murphy's Law lesson #3: This is the lesson where Murphy teamed up with Karma and I must have done something horrible to someone who didn't deserve it because the 20-somethings that took up the middle and window seats next to me were the physical embodiment of just about every pet peeve I have about people. It was incredible really, if I created two people that did everything that drove me crazy, these two would have bested them. The guy sat in the window seat. Dishevelled looking and doughy, film student, nasal - he did the worst thing ever and that was keep his girlfriend talking. She was the icing on the cake. Every three seconds she came into contact with me in some way, either elbowing me, grabbing me accidentally, hitting me with her stuffed monkey or trying unsuccessfully to climb over me the few precious moments I got to doze off. She was not graceful. Every bump, and we were told at the jump off there would be many, she flung both hands out in a death grip on the two arm rests. If I was changing channels on the tv I got clawed. If I wasn't the channel changed rapidly or the volume got turned way up, not cool when you are asleep. The coup de grace came when I had to turn ipod and tv off for landing and had to listen to her for 20 minutes whine about how her ears wouldn't pop. It was killing her, the pain too intense to bear. Except her ears did keep popping, she said so immediately after. Or one would, but not the other. Oh, there it goes....nope, still excrutiating. But she didn't keep popping them until the pressure equalized. She was a first time flyer and terrified of it. Eventually she became convinced that all she needed was to get off the plane as quick as possible and during my exit I felt like I was running with the bulls in Pamplona and a scant step away from getting trampled to death. She was also nasal and everything she said came out in a whine. Her boyfriend is a stronger man than I. My superpower #2: thanks to an evening where I nearly blew out my eardrums huffing nitrous oxide from whipped cream cans in high school I have been able to pop my ears just by moving my jaw around a bit. Super useful superpower on planes. Probably means I really screwed something up in my head but I'm not a doctor so I'll reap the rewards at the present time.
The delay made me late for the bus I was supposed to take to Portland, Maine. This was going to be my favorite part of the trip. I hate flying because you can't see anything. It's a quick way out. I always prefer to drive. The bus trip from Boston to Maine at this time of year is gorgeous because the leaves start to change colors. People drive to the Northeast from all over the country to see it, I always thought that a bit silly but it certainly makes the drive prettier. That was all tarnished by the fact I got to sit in front of Logan Airport for the next two and a half hours waiting for the next one.
An observation while waiting: a man ran around the terminal in a frenzy, looking for someone. He ran to the same few spots over and over, would throw his arms up in exasperation, then run off, only to show up ten minutes later doing the same routine. He'd make a phone call to someone, "Have you seen mom?" and then race off agan. He did this for an hour. Logan is not a big place. My first job ever I worked with a woman named Becky. I was a production assistant and good at it, very dependable. Becky was a field coordinator, my direct supervisor when we were on location and she always went crazy, frantic, a little out of control. One day we were driving and I gave her advice. "No matter how crazy things are, keep control of yourself. No one wants to see their commanding officer freak out. People lose respect for you. If you are freaking out, appear calm. It will keep everyone calm around you. Your people will follow your orders and your supervisors will always see you as in charge of any situation." She mulled it over and would thank me a year later. It was some of the best advice she had ever been given. All the man running around was accomplishing was convincing everyone he was an idiot. Especially when he worked himself up so much he had to take his overshirt off and wrap it around his waist. Just relax. I always like to keep a clear head, everyone who works underneath me knows this. The interesting psychological aspect is then, if you ever do freak out, and it happened quite often last year when I was saddled with people who had no idea what they were doing and spent most of their time screwing around, people get amazingly scared when you start yelling. It was endlessly entertaining. Becky was a sweetheart and tried to hook up with me later because of the advice I gave her, I was not attracted to her because she had a history of liking douchebags and because I knew she was spastic. But I was happy she took my advice to heart and it helped her climb the ladder. I quit the job babysitting the retarded kids and now never have to worry about being the field commander, but I always keep a level head.
That's why you can never distract me during a game of pool, D. Or can you......? You'll never know and I'll never tell ;)
Friday, September 11, 2009
It just hit me
It is now 2:50pm and that moment just hit me. The what am I forgetting, what do I have left to do moment that usually strikes just when you've convinced yourself you aren't forgetting anything and you have nothing left to do.
It has been a whirlwind day of packing and washing dishes which is odd because I pack like I'm going to be away for four days and then just do lots of laundry in Maine and I rarely use dishes when I eat, always cleaning as I go. I suspect foul play.
I actually have discovered over the past few days that I can cook, which amuses me and cements in my mind that I do have a superpower. I have always been able to watch someone who knows what they are doing and learn from them very quick. One of my housemates is a very talented chef, occasionally I watch him cook and lend a hand to be useful. He leaves for six weeks and, voila, I can cook. It is a super useful superpower. Prior to the past week all I would ever attempt was boiling pasta, which I'm excellent at, and making mac and cheese, which is the best. Oooooo, and grilled cheese sandwiches. Cross my heart and hope to die, it's an honest to goodness superpower, learned all the tricks I've been using during work for the past three years and all of the tricks I'm about to use fixing the rent's house and painting while watching a carpentry crew for a week five years ago on my third tv show. I will however never admit it was my fault if anything goes horribly wrong at the house. Maine is an awful place when it comes to homes and vehicles weathering poorly ;)
So I think I have only one stop left at the kitchen sink to do a final batch of cutlery, then a shower and then I'm off. You can't see the photo on my driver's license so I always end up at the airport three hours early as I am constantly flagged for extra security, which is tons o' fun especially on 9/11, and definitely high priority to take care of while home. So I'll most likely be sitting around for at least two hours before the plane takes off which means today may mark the first day with a pair of posts. Depends on a) # of snotty kids racing around and b) # of drinks imbibed pre-boarding. Today may also mark the first occasion I go back on the whole no drinking thing. It is one of very few things that actually does put me to sleep and flying is an awful bore.
I'm off to continue the what am I forgetting, what do I still have to do game. I'm not a fan.
It has been a whirlwind day of packing and washing dishes which is odd because I pack like I'm going to be away for four days and then just do lots of laundry in Maine and I rarely use dishes when I eat, always cleaning as I go. I suspect foul play.
I actually have discovered over the past few days that I can cook, which amuses me and cements in my mind that I do have a superpower. I have always been able to watch someone who knows what they are doing and learn from them very quick. One of my housemates is a very talented chef, occasionally I watch him cook and lend a hand to be useful. He leaves for six weeks and, voila, I can cook. It is a super useful superpower. Prior to the past week all I would ever attempt was boiling pasta, which I'm excellent at, and making mac and cheese, which is the best. Oooooo, and grilled cheese sandwiches. Cross my heart and hope to die, it's an honest to goodness superpower, learned all the tricks I've been using during work for the past three years and all of the tricks I'm about to use fixing the rent's house and painting while watching a carpentry crew for a week five years ago on my third tv show. I will however never admit it was my fault if anything goes horribly wrong at the house. Maine is an awful place when it comes to homes and vehicles weathering poorly ;)
So I think I have only one stop left at the kitchen sink to do a final batch of cutlery, then a shower and then I'm off. You can't see the photo on my driver's license so I always end up at the airport three hours early as I am constantly flagged for extra security, which is tons o' fun especially on 9/11, and definitely high priority to take care of while home. So I'll most likely be sitting around for at least two hours before the plane takes off which means today may mark the first day with a pair of posts. Depends on a) # of snotty kids racing around and b) # of drinks imbibed pre-boarding. Today may also mark the first occasion I go back on the whole no drinking thing. It is one of very few things that actually does put me to sleep and flying is an awful bore.
I'm off to continue the what am I forgetting, what do I still have to do game. I'm not a fan.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Timer's counting down
Plane ticket has been booked and now the clock is ticking. What surprises me is I feel very little about it. When I talk to my mother and father they are overjoyed at the prospect of me coming home outside of Christmas time. My sister even gets giggly at the thought of the four of us all under the same roof for an extended period of time for the first time in a decade. I get amused by all this but as soon as I'm off the phone with them I feel nothing.
It is more a surprise than anything. I hesitated booking the plane ticket because I figured once the clock started ticking I would feel fear. I have always been the kind of person who compartmentalized every aspect of their life. Family here, friends over there, work there at the back. It was difficult to do growing up because my world in Maine was tiny. When I went to school in Boston it became easier. Even easier in New York and when I moved to California. Now the compartments separate themselves geographically. I've always needed to do this because I am a radically different person with each group.
I've always thought of myself as a mirror. I pick up the traits of anyone I spend a lot of time around and do a bit of a mimic. It isn't something I do purposefully, it just happens. I continue to do it because I am generally loved by everyone I come into contact with. Only recently have I learned that this is a staple of NLP, Neuro Linguistic Programming. It is a form of hypnosis that utilizes body language and voice tones to manipulate a subject. In my case, the picking up of traits and assumption of them into my general body language and actions shows someone watching me that I am a kindred spirit, someone like them and therefore likable. But I find that when Maine friends meet friends from New York there is something strained about any of the interaction because the two geographical locations might as well be on different planets. Life is too different from the one to the other. I find it very hard to talk with people I grew up with now because my life is remarkably different.
I haven't decided yet whether or not I will see anyone in Maine. Nearest I can describe its like talking to someone from the 60's. Everyone has a house, wife and kids by age 25. They work the same job for 40 years. They settle into a pattern and they never leave it. I, technically, work 8-12 jobs a year. Their 40 hours a week is my 80-120 so I make 5 times as much money but have no time to start a family. I travel often so renting a house or apartment makes much more sense. I never know where the next big money gig will show up so I keep myself liquid, always able to sweep everthing into a small storage unit and abandon it if the need arises. So talking to a friend from high school, one who 16 years ago would have been like a brother, is now a lot of sports, nostalgia and surface talk about how their life is. It's difficult to explain to someone that the amount of money I spend drinking in a month would pay their next three mortgage payments. Two different planets.
The one thing that excites me is nature. I haven't really been out in nature for a very long time. My parents house is surrounded by 18 acres of forest. It is the secluded house in the horror movies, the one where someone is lurking in the impossibly vast expanse of forest that cuts them all off from any hope of rescue. Add to that the fact that it's on an island about a mile off the coast and you get a recipe for some amazing freedom. There are no surprise visits, hardly any interaction with the scattered few who live there. There is just peace and quiet. My mother was complaining when she looked out the window today that there were four deer eating from her garden. This doesn't happen in the valley. And the air is so clean. Every breathe is thrilling.
I've let loose the reigns of this ramble at this point, it goes where it will from here on. I guess the overall thought I was having was that it is a small wonder I'm kind of excited to be going back. I still haven't decided on whether or not I'll see anyone but I suspct it'll go like: I'll work my ass off for a week on the house, the writing and the exercising. I'll get incredibly bored and during week two will put out the apb to all those I have called brothers in the past and we'll meet up. We'll shoot the shit abouttheir lives and families, they'll demand stories of celebrities and what really goes on during the tv shows I work on, I'll completely go back on my swearing off of beer and we'll have a raucous good time. We always do. Then I'll go back to the island and return to solitary.
The thing that shocks me more is that I know there is nothing in California I will miss with the lone exception of D. I don't know that this place will ever be home when the only thing that tethers me here is a paycheck. I have a sneaking suspicion that upon my return things will change for me, all for the better, as the rewiring process takes hold. The pieces of the life I want to have will start to click into place, one after another.
And with each new piece a greater happiness.
It is more a surprise than anything. I hesitated booking the plane ticket because I figured once the clock started ticking I would feel fear. I have always been the kind of person who compartmentalized every aspect of their life. Family here, friends over there, work there at the back. It was difficult to do growing up because my world in Maine was tiny. When I went to school in Boston it became easier. Even easier in New York and when I moved to California. Now the compartments separate themselves geographically. I've always needed to do this because I am a radically different person with each group.
I've always thought of myself as a mirror. I pick up the traits of anyone I spend a lot of time around and do a bit of a mimic. It isn't something I do purposefully, it just happens. I continue to do it because I am generally loved by everyone I come into contact with. Only recently have I learned that this is a staple of NLP, Neuro Linguistic Programming. It is a form of hypnosis that utilizes body language and voice tones to manipulate a subject. In my case, the picking up of traits and assumption of them into my general body language and actions shows someone watching me that I am a kindred spirit, someone like them and therefore likable. But I find that when Maine friends meet friends from New York there is something strained about any of the interaction because the two geographical locations might as well be on different planets. Life is too different from the one to the other. I find it very hard to talk with people I grew up with now because my life is remarkably different.
I haven't decided yet whether or not I will see anyone in Maine. Nearest I can describe its like talking to someone from the 60's. Everyone has a house, wife and kids by age 25. They work the same job for 40 years. They settle into a pattern and they never leave it. I, technically, work 8-12 jobs a year. Their 40 hours a week is my 80-120 so I make 5 times as much money but have no time to start a family. I travel often so renting a house or apartment makes much more sense. I never know where the next big money gig will show up so I keep myself liquid, always able to sweep everthing into a small storage unit and abandon it if the need arises. So talking to a friend from high school, one who 16 years ago would have been like a brother, is now a lot of sports, nostalgia and surface talk about how their life is. It's difficult to explain to someone that the amount of money I spend drinking in a month would pay their next three mortgage payments. Two different planets.
The one thing that excites me is nature. I haven't really been out in nature for a very long time. My parents house is surrounded by 18 acres of forest. It is the secluded house in the horror movies, the one where someone is lurking in the impossibly vast expanse of forest that cuts them all off from any hope of rescue. Add to that the fact that it's on an island about a mile off the coast and you get a recipe for some amazing freedom. There are no surprise visits, hardly any interaction with the scattered few who live there. There is just peace and quiet. My mother was complaining when she looked out the window today that there were four deer eating from her garden. This doesn't happen in the valley. And the air is so clean. Every breathe is thrilling.
I've let loose the reigns of this ramble at this point, it goes where it will from here on. I guess the overall thought I was having was that it is a small wonder I'm kind of excited to be going back. I still haven't decided on whether or not I'll see anyone but I suspct it'll go like: I'll work my ass off for a week on the house, the writing and the exercising. I'll get incredibly bored and during week two will put out the apb to all those I have called brothers in the past and we'll meet up. We'll shoot the shit abouttheir lives and families, they'll demand stories of celebrities and what really goes on during the tv shows I work on, I'll completely go back on my swearing off of beer and we'll have a raucous good time. We always do. Then I'll go back to the island and return to solitary.
The thing that shocks me more is that I know there is nothing in California I will miss with the lone exception of D. I don't know that this place will ever be home when the only thing that tethers me here is a paycheck. I have a sneaking suspicion that upon my return things will change for me, all for the better, as the rewiring process takes hold. The pieces of the life I want to have will start to click into place, one after another.
And with each new piece a greater happiness.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Lazy Labor Day
Game planned today, it being impossibe and all to set about building a better life for oneself without some kind of blueprint. Made the decision to once again start the torturous process of p90x, the most masochistic of all exercise programs. Results are guarenteed though, just need to have the willpower to go through with it.
Last night marked the last night of drinking for a while, yesterday marked the last day of soda drinking, nothing but water from here on out. Snacks have all been squirreled away and I feel comfortable getting to business. My head is in the perfect place.
I watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall for the dozenth time or so, absolutely hysterical. Now I'm in the midst of Intolerable Cruelty for the millionth time or so. Snappy dialogue is such a rarity these days. I love a movie I can put on and never look at, laughing heartily just based on what I hear. Even more impressive when it comes from a romantic comedy, which I have always regarded as one of the worst film genres. So much garbage pumped out of Hollywood in a shallow attempt to get guys to take their girls to the movies. The hypocrisy isn't lost on me that the one screenplay I've finished with my writing partner is a romantic comedy.
Work recommencing on the horror outline, movie up next is The Girl Next Door, figure I might as well keep it up with the rom coms. Simon and Garfunkel never sounded as good as it does on bagpipes at the Wee Church of the Heather chapel.
Last night marked the last night of drinking for a while, yesterday marked the last day of soda drinking, nothing but water from here on out. Snacks have all been squirreled away and I feel comfortable getting to business. My head is in the perfect place.
I watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall for the dozenth time or so, absolutely hysterical. Now I'm in the midst of Intolerable Cruelty for the millionth time or so. Snappy dialogue is such a rarity these days. I love a movie I can put on and never look at, laughing heartily just based on what I hear. Even more impressive when it comes from a romantic comedy, which I have always regarded as one of the worst film genres. So much garbage pumped out of Hollywood in a shallow attempt to get guys to take their girls to the movies. The hypocrisy isn't lost on me that the one screenplay I've finished with my writing partner is a romantic comedy.
Work recommencing on the horror outline, movie up next is The Girl Next Door, figure I might as well keep it up with the rom coms. Simon and Garfunkel never sounded as good as it does on bagpipes at the Wee Church of the Heather chapel.
For D
I stared at this white square for twenty minutes before giving up and meeting a friend of mine at her work place, the lovely D. She will become the first non-narrator character in this thread of mine, suitable as she has become the most important person to me during this four week prison sentence in Northridge, California.
I didn't know what to write about, hence the staring, so she rescued me by requesting I write about the ins and outs of the trip to Maine. It is a good topic that I will hardly do justice to.
The past four weeks have very much been like a prison sentence, Maine will be like four more weeks of solitary confinement. My family lives on a tiny island off the coast and I will probably never leave it. Life will consist of exercise in the morning, painting a massive house during the day and writing during the evenings. It will be regimented strictly by me, my family will probably think I'm crazy but I have a specific goal in mind. I used to have an incredible inferiority complex, felt like I had zero self worth. After a number of years of thought and interaction I realized that was foolish, I was being a complete retard. It has recently dawned on me that when you're young, beautiful and intelligent there is nothing outside the realm of possibility.
The goal of the trip is to cement this change of thought. This kind of paradigm shift has happened four times now. The first two were very negative, caused by having my heart broken and resulting in me retreating into myself, closing off. The second two were positive, caused by meeting amazing people who opened my eyes and showed me that I was an amazing person. I will not look back. I have always hidden, not any more. If my body is my temple, the temple I have dwealt in for the past 16 years will be raized. Over the next month I will rebuild it, twice as beautiful and glorious. There are no more boundaries.
The trip will be incredibly difficult. Since I moved away from Maine permanently at age 21 I have not returned for more than five days at a time. The state depresses me. There is nothing to do there. Trips home would result in nothing but thinking time, and that was horrible. Unhindered dwelling on how things were not how I wanted them to be. There will be no more of that. The first 18 years of my life were spent trying to escape the state because it was a dead end, a stagnant place, an oblivion. I often wonder what life would be like if I had stayed. It is impossible to tell how miserable I'd be. Most likely I'd have a kid or two, a wife that I was growing to loathe, the same group of close friends I maintain contact with to this day but they would be my safety net, the people who I bitched to about how miserable I was. And I would just ride out my time. But I did escape. And in escaping saw that the world was my oyster.
How beautiful is it to realize that you are capable of doing anything you desire and having whatever you want? Words will never be able to describe it.
As for D. I cannot thank you enough, nor will I ever be able to. You were the most perfect person standing in the right place at the exact right time. You are an angel. She reads this now and I hope she breaks out into a brilliant smile, knowing that I am forever grateful. I adore every second we have together because you are amazing, despite how hampered those seconds are by the restrictions of our situation. Anyone else wouldn't be worth the hassle, you are.
My mind's been too preoccupied lately to memorize a poem properly like you won but have faith that this is from memory and appropriate:
There was a lady, sweet and kind,
Was never a face so pleased my mind,
I did but see her passing by,
And now I love her 'til I die.
I'll have the Shakespeare recitation ready for you when I return.
I didn't know what to write about, hence the staring, so she rescued me by requesting I write about the ins and outs of the trip to Maine. It is a good topic that I will hardly do justice to.
The past four weeks have very much been like a prison sentence, Maine will be like four more weeks of solitary confinement. My family lives on a tiny island off the coast and I will probably never leave it. Life will consist of exercise in the morning, painting a massive house during the day and writing during the evenings. It will be regimented strictly by me, my family will probably think I'm crazy but I have a specific goal in mind. I used to have an incredible inferiority complex, felt like I had zero self worth. After a number of years of thought and interaction I realized that was foolish, I was being a complete retard. It has recently dawned on me that when you're young, beautiful and intelligent there is nothing outside the realm of possibility.
The goal of the trip is to cement this change of thought. This kind of paradigm shift has happened four times now. The first two were very negative, caused by having my heart broken and resulting in me retreating into myself, closing off. The second two were positive, caused by meeting amazing people who opened my eyes and showed me that I was an amazing person. I will not look back. I have always hidden, not any more. If my body is my temple, the temple I have dwealt in for the past 16 years will be raized. Over the next month I will rebuild it, twice as beautiful and glorious. There are no more boundaries.
The trip will be incredibly difficult. Since I moved away from Maine permanently at age 21 I have not returned for more than five days at a time. The state depresses me. There is nothing to do there. Trips home would result in nothing but thinking time, and that was horrible. Unhindered dwelling on how things were not how I wanted them to be. There will be no more of that. The first 18 years of my life were spent trying to escape the state because it was a dead end, a stagnant place, an oblivion. I often wonder what life would be like if I had stayed. It is impossible to tell how miserable I'd be. Most likely I'd have a kid or two, a wife that I was growing to loathe, the same group of close friends I maintain contact with to this day but they would be my safety net, the people who I bitched to about how miserable I was. And I would just ride out my time. But I did escape. And in escaping saw that the world was my oyster.
How beautiful is it to realize that you are capable of doing anything you desire and having whatever you want? Words will never be able to describe it.
As for D. I cannot thank you enough, nor will I ever be able to. You were the most perfect person standing in the right place at the exact right time. You are an angel. She reads this now and I hope she breaks out into a brilliant smile, knowing that I am forever grateful. I adore every second we have together because you are amazing, despite how hampered those seconds are by the restrictions of our situation. Anyone else wouldn't be worth the hassle, you are.
My mind's been too preoccupied lately to memorize a poem properly like you won but have faith that this is from memory and appropriate:
There was a lady, sweet and kind,
Was never a face so pleased my mind,
I did but see her passing by,
And now I love her 'til I die.
I'll have the Shakespeare recitation ready for you when I return.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Today was a good day
Being a suffering insomniac, any day i get more than three hours of sleep is golden. I slept from 3-6am and was bummed but then I dozed off from 10am to 4pm and was elated. It stunted the rest of my day but i didn't care. I woke, watched some tv, read some and then went to work on the horror screenplay outline.
The outline process is key. I can't write anything if I don't know what I'm writing. A screenplay is point A to point B. In between is plot, character development, actions and reactions. I refuse to even begin the process if we haven't fleshed out A -> B. With A to B concrete it is only a matter of time until completion. A -> B is now concrete.
Now the clock is ticking.
The outline process is key. I can't write anything if I don't know what I'm writing. A screenplay is point A to point B. In between is plot, character development, actions and reactions. I refuse to even begin the process if we haven't fleshed out A -> B. With A to B concrete it is only a matter of time until completion. A -> B is now concrete.
Now the clock is ticking.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Today is the day
Today is the first day of the past month that didn't feel like I was serving a prison sentence so it has been wonderfully enjoyable.
A friend came over first thing this morning because she wanted to go see a movie. Instead we shot the shit about life and upcoming work for an hour or so. She wanted to confirm that I would be with her on the next gig in New York at the end of January, beginning of February and then again in the summer. I told her I would to the degrees that she cared about. She filled me in on her upcoming move to Seattle with her husband and the pros and cons of it. I filled her in on what going to Maine meant. It was a good chat. Then I blew her mind by showing her The Fall, Tarsem Singh's second movie. For a film it is an amazing work of art: beautiful story, incredible performances, and quite possibly the most beautifully shot movie I've ever seen. I loved it all over again for the dozenth time or so. She fell in love for the first. I've never seen anyone not love it.
After she took off I started in on the normal routine. Reading: Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke and The Game by Neil Strauss. Jury's still out on both. Very curious to see how The Game ends, hoping that it is more than just a very funny book about social retards trying to make themselves alpha males to pick up women and thereby give their lives meaning. Fingers are crossed that there is a bigger picture than just dudes posturing but everytime the narrative tells you there is a bigger picture you kind of wondering if Neil's bullshitting. Time will tell. Watching: season 5 of Alias and The Cell. Every time I watch The Fall it reminds me that I liked The Cell, Tarsem Singh's first movie, even though it was a huge failure. It is also a beautifully shot movie but the performances are hideous and the writing was poor. Interesting idea though. Except I dozed off before the parts I really wanted to see, Jennifer Lopez vs. King Stargher, some of the most beautiful and powerful images ever preserved on film. Maybe I'll go back and pick it up where I left off while I do some work this evening.
Drove around for a little bit running some errands and then went for the evening's long walk. The other day I was cleaning my room and found the paper outline of the last project I had begun writing, a horror screenplay. Tonight is the night I resume work on it. The only reason I started working on it in New York was to give me a prop by which to strike up conversation with my favorite waitress.
Here there is no reason to pick it up but to do it. And do it I shall anon.
A friend came over first thing this morning because she wanted to go see a movie. Instead we shot the shit about life and upcoming work for an hour or so. She wanted to confirm that I would be with her on the next gig in New York at the end of January, beginning of February and then again in the summer. I told her I would to the degrees that she cared about. She filled me in on her upcoming move to Seattle with her husband and the pros and cons of it. I filled her in on what going to Maine meant. It was a good chat. Then I blew her mind by showing her The Fall, Tarsem Singh's second movie. For a film it is an amazing work of art: beautiful story, incredible performances, and quite possibly the most beautifully shot movie I've ever seen. I loved it all over again for the dozenth time or so. She fell in love for the first. I've never seen anyone not love it.
After she took off I started in on the normal routine. Reading: Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke and The Game by Neil Strauss. Jury's still out on both. Very curious to see how The Game ends, hoping that it is more than just a very funny book about social retards trying to make themselves alpha males to pick up women and thereby give their lives meaning. Fingers are crossed that there is a bigger picture than just dudes posturing but everytime the narrative tells you there is a bigger picture you kind of wondering if Neil's bullshitting. Time will tell. Watching: season 5 of Alias and The Cell. Every time I watch The Fall it reminds me that I liked The Cell, Tarsem Singh's first movie, even though it was a huge failure. It is also a beautifully shot movie but the performances are hideous and the writing was poor. Interesting idea though. Except I dozed off before the parts I really wanted to see, Jennifer Lopez vs. King Stargher, some of the most beautiful and powerful images ever preserved on film. Maybe I'll go back and pick it up where I left off while I do some work this evening.
Drove around for a little bit running some errands and then went for the evening's long walk. The other day I was cleaning my room and found the paper outline of the last project I had begun writing, a horror screenplay. Tonight is the night I resume work on it. The only reason I started working on it in New York was to give me a prop by which to strike up conversation with my favorite waitress.
Here there is no reason to pick it up but to do it. And do it I shall anon.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Time is NOT of the essence
I have now successfully killed one entire month of free time. This is quite the accomplishment for someone who, until very recently, could not stand to be alone with himself for more than a day or two.
I had a job finish in New York City on July 18th. I flew back to LA on the 19th, landed at 11am and was working on the next show at 2pm. This is how I like to organize my schedule, no rest for the wicked and idle hands are the devil's playpen and all that. Mostly I like to keep myself busy because I don't like to have time to think. Thinking time was never good because it always devolved into thinking about what was missing from my life and why was it missing. This could have been very constructive but it never was, thine own self being thy harshest judge. Thinking was always very negative.
A few years ago I got very lucky. Things fell apart: I lost the girl, I lost the apartment, I lost the job. Like I was putting together a beautiful puzzle of the rest of my life and then the table got nuked. Three times. Right in my face. A friend suggested I come to New York and crash with him so I did, nothing to lose by it. Going back to Maine would be an admission of defeat. Then another friend called with a job offer to help on a popular tv show for a week. That became two months. Then the next show started and I found myself working year round, making good money. I felt like a lotto winner. Year two was even better. Year three I started getting calls to travel for work. At the end of year three I found myself attached to a company in Los Angles that became very successful, year round work making three times as much as in New York. So I moved to sunny California. I felt like the luckiest man on the planet. The negative thinking quieted down but the shadow always remained in the back of my mind.
I work like a crazy person. Despite the initial job falling in my lap, I worked my ass off, impressed my supervisors and they kept me working. The higher up the ladder I climbed, the higher up the people I impressed. I was always good at earning my keep. Year 4 started with two straight months, no days off. I loved it and I was loved for it. First month I broke my toe: worked through it. If I had taken time off I would have just sat there and thought about what was missing and I couldn't do it.
This ramble leads up to returning from New York at the end of July, I love it when the end circles back to the beginning.
I worked for two weeks and then found out over beers that the next show was in New Jersey and already staffed, as was the small jobs happening in LA. This kind of hiatus happens. I had cash in the bank so killing four weeks wouldn't be a big deal. The first three weeks were torture. Every day: watch movies, watch tv, read. Intend to write but never actually do it. Exercise. I always drink too much and eat like shit in New York, this trip I put on 20 pounds. It was gone by the end of week one. All exercise accompanied by loud music to keep from thinking. Movies, tv and books kept me from thinking. If I got bored I went out to play pool and drink, people watch, conversation with new people being an excellent way to keep out of my own head. Anything to distract myself. During week 3 I learned the hiatus wasn't going to be four weeks but ten. I panicked.
Panic lasted two days. The shadow leapt out and the negative thinking began. I had been foolish financially and didn't have enough to ride out that long with no work. Had I seen the possibility of the hiatus I could have been prepared. I didn't so I wasn't. I went for a walk to try to suss out what to do, no music so I could think clearly. After four miles I realized I was happy and enjoying myself. I was curious. Two days later I had no solution and was till upbeat and chipper. Every day, long walks to think and never a negative thought. Call it a revelation or an epiphany.
This story ends yesterday with a call to my mother. The folks have been meaning to paint the house. I told her I would do it. Next week I leave for Maine and I will be there for a month or so. For the past eight years I've gone back once a year for Christmas, sometimes for Thanksgiving. I never stay more than five days because there is nothing to do there but think. This hiatus, which has felt so much like a prison sentence, is about to become much more grueling because Maine is like solitary confinement. But I'm embracing it. I am taking my newfound positive outlook and I'm going back home. The sentence is short. I know the next show starts in mid-October and I'll be back for it and ready. I know there are shows stacked one after another for months thereafter so my poor dwindled bank accounts will once again swell. But this will be the perfect opportunity to do that which I have been too scared to do for the past decade: crawl inside my own and think. Start to play with the circuits and switches and do some rewiring. Figure out what is missing and why and not lament it but correct it.
Oh, and write a bit.
I'm looking forward to the challenge.
I had a job finish in New York City on July 18th. I flew back to LA on the 19th, landed at 11am and was working on the next show at 2pm. This is how I like to organize my schedule, no rest for the wicked and idle hands are the devil's playpen and all that. Mostly I like to keep myself busy because I don't like to have time to think. Thinking time was never good because it always devolved into thinking about what was missing from my life and why was it missing. This could have been very constructive but it never was, thine own self being thy harshest judge. Thinking was always very negative.
A few years ago I got very lucky. Things fell apart: I lost the girl, I lost the apartment, I lost the job. Like I was putting together a beautiful puzzle of the rest of my life and then the table got nuked. Three times. Right in my face. A friend suggested I come to New York and crash with him so I did, nothing to lose by it. Going back to Maine would be an admission of defeat. Then another friend called with a job offer to help on a popular tv show for a week. That became two months. Then the next show started and I found myself working year round, making good money. I felt like a lotto winner. Year two was even better. Year three I started getting calls to travel for work. At the end of year three I found myself attached to a company in Los Angles that became very successful, year round work making three times as much as in New York. So I moved to sunny California. I felt like the luckiest man on the planet. The negative thinking quieted down but the shadow always remained in the back of my mind.
I work like a crazy person. Despite the initial job falling in my lap, I worked my ass off, impressed my supervisors and they kept me working. The higher up the ladder I climbed, the higher up the people I impressed. I was always good at earning my keep. Year 4 started with two straight months, no days off. I loved it and I was loved for it. First month I broke my toe: worked through it. If I had taken time off I would have just sat there and thought about what was missing and I couldn't do it.
This ramble leads up to returning from New York at the end of July, I love it when the end circles back to the beginning.
I worked for two weeks and then found out over beers that the next show was in New Jersey and already staffed, as was the small jobs happening in LA. This kind of hiatus happens. I had cash in the bank so killing four weeks wouldn't be a big deal. The first three weeks were torture. Every day: watch movies, watch tv, read. Intend to write but never actually do it. Exercise. I always drink too much and eat like shit in New York, this trip I put on 20 pounds. It was gone by the end of week one. All exercise accompanied by loud music to keep from thinking. Movies, tv and books kept me from thinking. If I got bored I went out to play pool and drink, people watch, conversation with new people being an excellent way to keep out of my own head. Anything to distract myself. During week 3 I learned the hiatus wasn't going to be four weeks but ten. I panicked.
Panic lasted two days. The shadow leapt out and the negative thinking began. I had been foolish financially and didn't have enough to ride out that long with no work. Had I seen the possibility of the hiatus I could have been prepared. I didn't so I wasn't. I went for a walk to try to suss out what to do, no music so I could think clearly. After four miles I realized I was happy and enjoying myself. I was curious. Two days later I had no solution and was till upbeat and chipper. Every day, long walks to think and never a negative thought. Call it a revelation or an epiphany.
This story ends yesterday with a call to my mother. The folks have been meaning to paint the house. I told her I would do it. Next week I leave for Maine and I will be there for a month or so. For the past eight years I've gone back once a year for Christmas, sometimes for Thanksgiving. I never stay more than five days because there is nothing to do there but think. This hiatus, which has felt so much like a prison sentence, is about to become much more grueling because Maine is like solitary confinement. But I'm embracing it. I am taking my newfound positive outlook and I'm going back home. The sentence is short. I know the next show starts in mid-October and I'll be back for it and ready. I know there are shows stacked one after another for months thereafter so my poor dwindled bank accounts will once again swell. But this will be the perfect opportunity to do that which I have been too scared to do for the past decade: crawl inside my own and think. Start to play with the circuits and switches and do some rewiring. Figure out what is missing and why and not lament it but correct it.
Oh, and write a bit.
I'm looking forward to the challenge.
The Blank Page
The blank page has always been an obstacle for me. So this is the first test in a self-taught seminar on overcoming obstacles.
In this white box there is all the promise of success and every possibility of failure. In the past I have almost always failed to complete the writing of anything, assignments for school not included. The lone success was a screenplay, which was co-authored, and the lone reason for success was my co-author. We have a good system so it stays in place: I write the outline, 10-20 pages very detailed, he is very successful at completing the rough draft and I excel at polishing and perfecting. I started writing our first project five years ago, a road trip comedy. Over the course of the first three years I sat down to work on it three times. Those three times did give birth to a very solid and polished 60 pages of which i was very proud, then my laptop crashed and it was forever lost. "Didn't you back it up?", you ask. Nope. While I was working sporadically on project 1, he began project 2, which took him a month to crank out. After kicking it back and forth for a few more months, it came out wonderful. Many have read it, professional writers, actors and laypeople, and it has received nothing but excellent reviews. He has since almost completed two more rough drafts while I keep meaning to sit down and start something... anything... I hate him a little bit for it.
So this test is an attempt to kickstart myself. Time has been abundant lately, there is no excuse to not write anything. The first step to success is pressing that orange button just an inch or two away...
In this white box there is all the promise of success and every possibility of failure. In the past I have almost always failed to complete the writing of anything, assignments for school not included. The lone success was a screenplay, which was co-authored, and the lone reason for success was my co-author. We have a good system so it stays in place: I write the outline, 10-20 pages very detailed, he is very successful at completing the rough draft and I excel at polishing and perfecting. I started writing our first project five years ago, a road trip comedy. Over the course of the first three years I sat down to work on it three times. Those three times did give birth to a very solid and polished 60 pages of which i was very proud, then my laptop crashed and it was forever lost. "Didn't you back it up?", you ask. Nope. While I was working sporadically on project 1, he began project 2, which took him a month to crank out. After kicking it back and forth for a few more months, it came out wonderful. Many have read it, professional writers, actors and laypeople, and it has received nothing but excellent reviews. He has since almost completed two more rough drafts while I keep meaning to sit down and start something... anything... I hate him a little bit for it.
So this test is an attempt to kickstart myself. Time has been abundant lately, there is no excuse to not write anything. The first step to success is pressing that orange button just an inch or two away...
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