It's been a while since I've written on here. I suppose life and leisure have kept me away, as well as my own negligence.
Ah, well.
There comes a time in every young person's life where they make that transition from irresponsible youth to responsible adult. For some, that time comes earlier than others. Sometimes, it's a defining moment while other times it's a gradual, drawn-out process.
Sometimes, it's as simple as four words.
...
My father has cancer.
Some explanation is required.
My father has been my father for, go figure, twenty-six years. He's always been there, through good and bad. I never deluded myself into believing he'd ALWAYS be there for me...I'm a realist, after all. However, the possibility of him not being around to see me turn thirty...well, that never even crossed my mind. Not once.
So, one can imagine how I felt when he called me up to let me know he might have cancer. Or how I felt when he called me up to let me know he DEFINITELY has cancer. Or how I felt when he called me up to to let me know he might have an even worse type of cancer.
We all, to some degree, view our fathers as some sort of supermen. Actually, here's a video describing the different perspectives we have of them as we grow up:
The Six Ways You'll See Your Dad
I rather like that video...I linked it to my dad last Father's Day. It's funny how you don't think of your dad as a person like you until...well, until he gets an awful life-threatening disease. I never truly considered what life without him would be like until right now.
I should probably preface what I'm about to say by stating that I never really had a great deal of "family" growing up. My grandparents all passed-on either before I was born or when I was very young. Any extended family lived too far to be of any significance in my life. All I had were my mother and father. I've been estranged from my mother for six years now, so, in reality, my father is all that I have left. Of course, I also have my stepmom and her family who I know love us and are going to be there for us. However, my stepmom is a wise woman who I know understands why I feel that it won't be the same without him.
Does it make me selfish to worry about myself so much in a situation like this? I sometimes believe it does. I am aware that the fear I feel can only be a fraction of what my parents feel, yet that's all I can think about. What's it going to be like for me if he passes on? Will I become ill like my father later in life, and, if so, how soon? How long will I continue to be invited over for Christmas and Thanksgiving after he's gone?
I can be such a self-absorbed little shit sometimes.
One of the worst realizations I've come to since I received the news is how very little time I actually spend with my father. The last time I physically saw him was on my birthday, which was a month ago. Since then, I've had several conversations with him of varying degrees, but nothing truly and significantly deep. The truth is that I want to see him and spend time with him, but I fear how this news will affect that time. Will I be able to hold eye contact? Can we carry on a conversation about something other than THAT?
My life seems to be nothing more than a grand parade of questions, one-by-one marching through my head all day, every day. Most, these days, being about the obvious. I'm just....finding it difficult to carry on like always with all of these unknowns floating about in the nebulous aether. I don't even known how to tell people about it other than the overly blunt, borderline insensitive, "Well, my dad has cancer!". And even then, where do you go with that, beyond robotically rattling off the information you already know for the fortieth time.
It seriously gets tiresome.
A friend of mine, Dan, who I've mentioned here, recently lost his mom. Since the passing, I've seen him a couple of times at a public, social setting we both frequent. Every time I see him, there's a smile on his face, but his eyes betray the truth. Behind his gaze I can see the cold grip of sadness and loss attempting to veil itself behind the shroud of normalcy. He would probably disagree with my assessment, openly at that, but I know the face behind the mask. I wonder what my mask will be like.
Now, many of your readers may be thinking that I'm being a bit morbid, or, as some may say, "emo" or "dramatic". While you're probably right, you have to remember that death is one of those inevitabilities we all must face, be it for ourselves or for our loved ones. Just because I didn't think about it before doesn't mean my father wasn't going to pass on someday. It really is just a matter of when, and this news merely made me consider the aftermath of such a tragedy.
I'll wrap this up considering it's gotten rather long and rambly. What purpose did I have in writing this? For my own catharsis? To share with others? To get my thoughts down somewhere? All of the above? I honestly couldn't say at this time. I just say down and started writing. To what end all of this comes will be decided in time.
One can only hope for the best.
"All will be well."
- Saint Walker
The rantings of a gamer/writer/actor/slacker kinda guy who merely is looking for the purpose in life through these mediums.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Pentatonix and what constitutes "shit"
I love Pentatonix.
They're one of the newest acquisitions to my very small category of "groups I like". I say this because it's rare for me to like the majority of a group's body of work. Oftentimes, I'll enjoy a few songs of a group, but rarely many or most of them.
This is not the case for Pentatonix. I think they're a capalla style of top 40 and modern hits is astoundingly great and amazingly original. I think the group's dynamic is both diverse but also held so well together that it forms into a woven tapestry of melodic enjoyment.
And this isn't the first time this has happened.
As a matter of fact, I believe Youtube has introduced me to many groups/acts/artists whose bodies of work I enjoy as wholes. I suppose this is because Youtube is a medium through which the viewer can experience unfiltered, unprocessed, unstudio'd groups. It's just raw talent being spilled onto the internet. But, I'll get more to that in a bit.
A couple other groups I love that have grown from Youtube.
My Favorite Martian
and Walk Off the Earth
But this article isn't about those groups (though you should check them out if you have a chance). This is about Pentatonix and one video of theirs in particular.
This one:
This video is of the group doing a cover of Nicki Minaj's "Starships".
Here's the original:
Okay, now that I've sullied my good blog with a Nicki Minja video (no offense, but the only work she was involved in that I enjoyed was "The Creep" by Lonely Island), I can discuss my purpose in writing this.
In the comments section of the Pentatonix cover, one Youtube user goes on to simply state that the group "turns shit to gold", implying that he wasn't a fan of the original. This incited a flame war in the comments between the supporters and haters of Nicki Minaj. I wanted to add my two cents into the debate/war, but realized how pointless that would be in a Youtube comments section (seriously, it's like peeing into the ocean, y'know?).
So, instead, I thought I'd discuss my thoughts here where people that actually give a shit will read them.
When discussing what constitutes what's "shit" or "bad" where music is concerned (or any sort of mainstream entertainment), one has to remember that many studios take artists, not necessarily for their musical talent, but rather because those artists are "marketable". Let's look at a few examples, starting with Nicki Minaj of course. I won't say her rendition of the song is "bad" but Pentatronix's version of the song, while still maintaining the same catchiness of the original, comes across far more melodic, heartfelt, and enjoyable for the senses than Minaj's.
The video's are also a stark contrast of each other. Pentatronix's version maintains that same heartfelt feeling with their video, complimenting their rendition of the song, without the big budget I'm sure Minaj's had. Minaj's on the other hand...well...it looks like an excuse to show her in a bikini. Not that they needed an excuse to do this, but you see my point (hopefully).
Let's look at another mainstream artist...Katy Perry. I will be the first to admit that Ms. Perry has many catchy songs that even I've fallen victim to the effects of. "E.T.", "California Girls", "Hot n Cold" all have burrowed their ways into my head at one point or another to nest comfortably in my thoughts. However, I've watched many videos of her LIVE performances. Have any of you? Yes? No? Maybe? Drunk? Whatever. I'll fill you in if you haven't: she's TERRIBLE.
Katy Perry can NOT song in real life. I originally thought that she could because I hadn't heard any proof of otherwise, but the moment that I listened to that first live performance and all the subsequent ones thereafter, I knew better. Perry is an example of mainstream music not being about the talent anymore, but the image. People like WOtE, PTX, and YFM are missed completely in favor of these idiotic celebrities that are dolled up and autotuned by these record labels for the sole purpose of money.
The studios and labels don't realize that the same money could be made from pure talent, like it was in the old days. They just have to look.
They just. Have. To look.
They're one of the newest acquisitions to my very small category of "groups I like". I say this because it's rare for me to like the majority of a group's body of work. Oftentimes, I'll enjoy a few songs of a group, but rarely many or most of them.
This is not the case for Pentatonix. I think they're a capalla style of top 40 and modern hits is astoundingly great and amazingly original. I think the group's dynamic is both diverse but also held so well together that it forms into a woven tapestry of melodic enjoyment.
And this isn't the first time this has happened.
As a matter of fact, I believe Youtube has introduced me to many groups/acts/artists whose bodies of work I enjoy as wholes. I suppose this is because Youtube is a medium through which the viewer can experience unfiltered, unprocessed, unstudio'd groups. It's just raw talent being spilled onto the internet. But, I'll get more to that in a bit.
A couple other groups I love that have grown from Youtube.
My Favorite Martian
and Walk Off the Earth
But this article isn't about those groups (though you should check them out if you have a chance). This is about Pentatonix and one video of theirs in particular.
This one:
This video is of the group doing a cover of Nicki Minaj's "Starships".
Here's the original:
Okay, now that I've sullied my good blog with a Nicki Minja video (no offense, but the only work she was involved in that I enjoyed was "The Creep" by Lonely Island), I can discuss my purpose in writing this.
In the comments section of the Pentatonix cover, one Youtube user goes on to simply state that the group "turns shit to gold", implying that he wasn't a fan of the original. This incited a flame war in the comments between the supporters and haters of Nicki Minaj. I wanted to add my two cents into the debate/war, but realized how pointless that would be in a Youtube comments section (seriously, it's like peeing into the ocean, y'know?).
So, instead, I thought I'd discuss my thoughts here where people that actually give a shit will read them.
When discussing what constitutes what's "shit" or "bad" where music is concerned (or any sort of mainstream entertainment), one has to remember that many studios take artists, not necessarily for their musical talent, but rather because those artists are "marketable". Let's look at a few examples, starting with Nicki Minaj of course. I won't say her rendition of the song is "bad" but Pentatronix's version of the song, while still maintaining the same catchiness of the original, comes across far more melodic, heartfelt, and enjoyable for the senses than Minaj's.
The video's are also a stark contrast of each other. Pentatronix's version maintains that same heartfelt feeling with their video, complimenting their rendition of the song, without the big budget I'm sure Minaj's had. Minaj's on the other hand...well...it looks like an excuse to show her in a bikini. Not that they needed an excuse to do this, but you see my point (hopefully).
Let's look at another mainstream artist...Katy Perry. I will be the first to admit that Ms. Perry has many catchy songs that even I've fallen victim to the effects of. "E.T.", "California Girls", "Hot n Cold" all have burrowed their ways into my head at one point or another to nest comfortably in my thoughts. However, I've watched many videos of her LIVE performances. Have any of you? Yes? No? Maybe? Drunk? Whatever. I'll fill you in if you haven't: she's TERRIBLE.
Katy Perry can NOT song in real life. I originally thought that she could because I hadn't heard any proof of otherwise, but the moment that I listened to that first live performance and all the subsequent ones thereafter, I knew better. Perry is an example of mainstream music not being about the talent anymore, but the image. People like WOtE, PTX, and YFM are missed completely in favor of these idiotic celebrities that are dolled up and autotuned by these record labels for the sole purpose of money.
The studios and labels don't realize that the same money could be made from pure talent, like it was in the old days. They just have to look.
They just. Have. To look.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Acquaintances
I haven't been doing nearly as much story writing as I used to. However, upon looking through my old Facebook notes, I found quite the collection of short tales that I had written and posted on there. This one was from three years ago. I wrote it as a means of finally letting go of some anger I held from my college days.
I hope you enjoy, and try not to mind the grammatical errors.
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Within the bustling metropolitan of New York City there resides a small café. Not too far out of the way from the main foot-traffic, the café generates good business amongst the throngs of city-dwellers. Business brought in mostly by actors and other pretentious types who find small cafes such as this to be within their realm of “good taste”, patronage was slow on this particular day.
Sitting at a table outside, enjoying the warm late-June air, were two women.
The first was a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties. Her long curly black hair brought back into a ponytail accentuating the delicate curve of her face. Her bright blue eyes shone with happiness that they hadn’t only a couple years prior. Dressed in somewhat popular attire, she came across as attempting to have her own style while still maintaining the status quo of fashion.
The second was another young woman, also in her mid-twenties. Her short blonde hair pulled back on top but not around the sides as it reached to about her shoulders. Her blue eyes, not as bright as the first woman’s, danced in the sunlight. Dressed in equally pseudo-fashion, she seemed to match her friend.
The two women sat over cups of whatever beverage they had decided upon, possibly tea, and talked of nothing in particular. It seemed to be a ritual they shared, coming to this café, discussing life, enjoying their overpriced cups of beverage, and generally whiling the day away with no particular purpose.
The conversation itself was inconsequential. Anyone listening in would only hear talk of people they didn’t know and events they weren’t present for. One of those irritatingly annoying discussions, spoken in a language only the two young women would understand. Not that anyone within earshot would care or want to understand, the two continued on as if their conversation were the most important one they’d ever had.
“You look good, Melanie,” a voice spoke up from somewhere behind the two young women.
They turned to see a young man, possibly early twenties, sitting at a table not far from them. Bringing a cigarette to his lips, he lit it with an almost purposeful nonchalance. His eyes, initially directed toward nothing in particular on the ground, now slowly arched upward to meet their gaze. The bombardier blue within those eyes held a secret not yet revealed to anyone but himself.
The young woman with the curly dark hair blinked once.
“Jack? Jack Norin?” she asked.
“Ah, I’m glad you remember me,” the young man answered, standing and moving toward their table.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Melanie asked him, almost dumbstruck by surprise.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” the young man continued, a slight smile dancing across his lips, “I don’t mean to be rude. Hi, my name is Jack.”
He extended his hand to Melanie’s friend, who took it sheepishly, not knowing exactly the circumstances of the situation she was faced with.
“Claudia,” she responded.
“It’s nice to meet you, Claudia. Again, I don’t mean to be rude. Melanie and I were acquaintances a couple of years ago, before she came to live here.”
“Jack…what are you doing…”
“I hope you don’t mind, Claudia. I would like to take Melanie here aside for a word in private, if that’s all right with you. We’ll be right over there,” he indicated a table at the far end of the café’s outdoor area.
Before Claudia could respond, let alone consent, Jack had gently, almost hypnotically led Melanie out of her seat and away from her table to the far side. They sat at the chosen table, across from each other. Jack sat with an air of mystery about him, never taking his eyes off of Melanie, who couldn’t seem to keep her eyes on Jack for more than a moment.
“You look good, Melanie,” he repeated.
A deeply uncomfortable pause hung in the air.
“Jack…why are you here? Did you follow me?”
He chuckled lightly, “Following would indicate that I had an existing reason to come up here when we last saw each other. No, I did not follow you, Melanie. Though I am here for a reason.”
Becoming even more uncomfortable, she seemed to squirm in her seat as if it were electrocuted.
“Let me ask you something. What was your issue with me when we knew each other? You once gave me an answer, but looking back I’d have to say it was less-than-truthful,” he smiled and pulled the ashtray on the table closer to him.
“Is that why you’re here? To ask me that?”
He chuckled again, “Oh no, not at all. My business with you is completely separate from this line of questioning. I’m just…curious.”
She stayed silent at first. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes he held it out to her, offering politely. She shook her head and he retracted it, removing one for himself before replacing it within his jacket pocket.
Continuing, “Over the past couple of years, I’ve come to some revelations about myself, who I once was, etcetera, and I have my own theories as to why you treated me the way you did. However, I want to hear what it really was before I go drawing conclusions.”
“I thought you were rather immature,” she at last spoke, “You acted like an idiot every chance you had. You couldn’t conduct yourself like an adult.”
Nodding in understanding, the young man took a drag of his cigarette. The tension hung in the air almost as heavily as the smoke from his roll of tobacco.
“That was part of my theory. The other, I believe, had to do with you thinking you were better than most people. You looked down on people like me. Never gave them a chance. Never allowed yourself to see who they truly were because such effort wasn’t a valuable use of your time.”
He continued to gaze at her, a gaze that could pierce tempered steel.
“I don’t think…I don’t think that’s true, Jack.”
“Maybe so, but nonetheless that’s how you and your friends came across. Too good for everyone else. But regardless, that issue is behind us.”
Another drag on his cigarette, slowly letting the smoke billow from his mouth as he exhaled. Each breath, look, move he made seemed almost calculated to make her more uncomfortable.
“I ask you now; do I seem any different than I did then?”
She seemed a bit taken aback at the question, as if expecting something completely different from him.
“What?”
“I know it’s rather egotistical to ask such a thing, Melanie, but indulge me. Do I seem at all different than when we last saw each other?”
“I can’t answer that, Jack. We’ve only been talking for a few minutes.”
He laughed aloud and nodded, “Ah, yes. That’s very true. As an actress, you more than anyone else, would understand that to fully understand a character one must read between the lines. Below the lines. Beyond the lines. Am I correct?”
She nodded slowly.
“And not only their lines, but their interactions with others. How can I expect you to answer such a question when this is the first time you’ve seen me in however many years.”
Putting the cigarette out, he leaned back. A silence fell upon the conversation as the two only looked at each other.
“I have to be honest and tell you that the way you acted, the way you and your friends treated me was very hurtful, Melanie.”
His tone had taken a turn for the serious. No longer did he smile an amused smile. No longer did his bombardier blue eyes mask the feelings he had been hiding.
“Look…Jack, you say that you’re different than you were,”
“I never said that.”
She stopped, collecting her thoughts, “But you have to understand that I’m not the same person I once was either. Looking back, the person I was fills me with disgust. You were right: I did look down on you. And I guess…I guess I’m sorry for that. Maybe you did irritate me with how you acted but that was no excuse.”
She cut herself off, as if there was more to be said, but kept herself from saying it. Her eyes no longer were able to look upon him, now only staring into the table between them. The moment lingered as an eternity as neither said anything.
“Well,” he rose from his seat, “The business I had with you unfortunately cannot be concluded. It was nice seeing you again, Melanie.”
Taking out another cigarette, he lit it.
“I must be going. If you need anything, here’s my card,” pulling out his wallet and producing a business card. Carefully placing it in front her, he smiled a knowing smile and walked away, quickly disappearing into the crowds.
Watching him until he was out of sight, Melanie turned her attention to the business card. Picking it up, she realized it only had a single word on it.
Forgiveness.
I hope you enjoy, and try not to mind the grammatical errors.
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Within the bustling metropolitan of New York City there resides a small café. Not too far out of the way from the main foot-traffic, the café generates good business amongst the throngs of city-dwellers. Business brought in mostly by actors and other pretentious types who find small cafes such as this to be within their realm of “good taste”, patronage was slow on this particular day.
Sitting at a table outside, enjoying the warm late-June air, were two women.
The first was a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties. Her long curly black hair brought back into a ponytail accentuating the delicate curve of her face. Her bright blue eyes shone with happiness that they hadn’t only a couple years prior. Dressed in somewhat popular attire, she came across as attempting to have her own style while still maintaining the status quo of fashion.
The second was another young woman, also in her mid-twenties. Her short blonde hair pulled back on top but not around the sides as it reached to about her shoulders. Her blue eyes, not as bright as the first woman’s, danced in the sunlight. Dressed in equally pseudo-fashion, she seemed to match her friend.
The two women sat over cups of whatever beverage they had decided upon, possibly tea, and talked of nothing in particular. It seemed to be a ritual they shared, coming to this café, discussing life, enjoying their overpriced cups of beverage, and generally whiling the day away with no particular purpose.
The conversation itself was inconsequential. Anyone listening in would only hear talk of people they didn’t know and events they weren’t present for. One of those irritatingly annoying discussions, spoken in a language only the two young women would understand. Not that anyone within earshot would care or want to understand, the two continued on as if their conversation were the most important one they’d ever had.
“You look good, Melanie,” a voice spoke up from somewhere behind the two young women.
They turned to see a young man, possibly early twenties, sitting at a table not far from them. Bringing a cigarette to his lips, he lit it with an almost purposeful nonchalance. His eyes, initially directed toward nothing in particular on the ground, now slowly arched upward to meet their gaze. The bombardier blue within those eyes held a secret not yet revealed to anyone but himself.
The young woman with the curly dark hair blinked once.
“Jack? Jack Norin?” she asked.
“Ah, I’m glad you remember me,” the young man answered, standing and moving toward their table.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Melanie asked him, almost dumbstruck by surprise.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” the young man continued, a slight smile dancing across his lips, “I don’t mean to be rude. Hi, my name is Jack.”
He extended his hand to Melanie’s friend, who took it sheepishly, not knowing exactly the circumstances of the situation she was faced with.
“Claudia,” she responded.
“It’s nice to meet you, Claudia. Again, I don’t mean to be rude. Melanie and I were acquaintances a couple of years ago, before she came to live here.”
“Jack…what are you doing…”
“I hope you don’t mind, Claudia. I would like to take Melanie here aside for a word in private, if that’s all right with you. We’ll be right over there,” he indicated a table at the far end of the café’s outdoor area.
Before Claudia could respond, let alone consent, Jack had gently, almost hypnotically led Melanie out of her seat and away from her table to the far side. They sat at the chosen table, across from each other. Jack sat with an air of mystery about him, never taking his eyes off of Melanie, who couldn’t seem to keep her eyes on Jack for more than a moment.
“You look good, Melanie,” he repeated.
A deeply uncomfortable pause hung in the air.
“Jack…why are you here? Did you follow me?”
He chuckled lightly, “Following would indicate that I had an existing reason to come up here when we last saw each other. No, I did not follow you, Melanie. Though I am here for a reason.”
Becoming even more uncomfortable, she seemed to squirm in her seat as if it were electrocuted.
“Let me ask you something. What was your issue with me when we knew each other? You once gave me an answer, but looking back I’d have to say it was less-than-truthful,” he smiled and pulled the ashtray on the table closer to him.
“Is that why you’re here? To ask me that?”
He chuckled again, “Oh no, not at all. My business with you is completely separate from this line of questioning. I’m just…curious.”
She stayed silent at first. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes he held it out to her, offering politely. She shook her head and he retracted it, removing one for himself before replacing it within his jacket pocket.
Continuing, “Over the past couple of years, I’ve come to some revelations about myself, who I once was, etcetera, and I have my own theories as to why you treated me the way you did. However, I want to hear what it really was before I go drawing conclusions.”
“I thought you were rather immature,” she at last spoke, “You acted like an idiot every chance you had. You couldn’t conduct yourself like an adult.”
Nodding in understanding, the young man took a drag of his cigarette. The tension hung in the air almost as heavily as the smoke from his roll of tobacco.
“That was part of my theory. The other, I believe, had to do with you thinking you were better than most people. You looked down on people like me. Never gave them a chance. Never allowed yourself to see who they truly were because such effort wasn’t a valuable use of your time.”
He continued to gaze at her, a gaze that could pierce tempered steel.
“I don’t think…I don’t think that’s true, Jack.”
“Maybe so, but nonetheless that’s how you and your friends came across. Too good for everyone else. But regardless, that issue is behind us.”
Another drag on his cigarette, slowly letting the smoke billow from his mouth as he exhaled. Each breath, look, move he made seemed almost calculated to make her more uncomfortable.
“I ask you now; do I seem any different than I did then?”
She seemed a bit taken aback at the question, as if expecting something completely different from him.
“What?”
“I know it’s rather egotistical to ask such a thing, Melanie, but indulge me. Do I seem at all different than when we last saw each other?”
“I can’t answer that, Jack. We’ve only been talking for a few minutes.”
He laughed aloud and nodded, “Ah, yes. That’s very true. As an actress, you more than anyone else, would understand that to fully understand a character one must read between the lines. Below the lines. Beyond the lines. Am I correct?”
She nodded slowly.
“And not only their lines, but their interactions with others. How can I expect you to answer such a question when this is the first time you’ve seen me in however many years.”
Putting the cigarette out, he leaned back. A silence fell upon the conversation as the two only looked at each other.
“I have to be honest and tell you that the way you acted, the way you and your friends treated me was very hurtful, Melanie.”
His tone had taken a turn for the serious. No longer did he smile an amused smile. No longer did his bombardier blue eyes mask the feelings he had been hiding.
“Look…Jack, you say that you’re different than you were,”
“I never said that.”
She stopped, collecting her thoughts, “But you have to understand that I’m not the same person I once was either. Looking back, the person I was fills me with disgust. You were right: I did look down on you. And I guess…I guess I’m sorry for that. Maybe you did irritate me with how you acted but that was no excuse.”
She cut herself off, as if there was more to be said, but kept herself from saying it. Her eyes no longer were able to look upon him, now only staring into the table between them. The moment lingered as an eternity as neither said anything.
“Well,” he rose from his seat, “The business I had with you unfortunately cannot be concluded. It was nice seeing you again, Melanie.”
Taking out another cigarette, he lit it.
“I must be going. If you need anything, here’s my card,” pulling out his wallet and producing a business card. Carefully placing it in front her, he smiled a knowing smile and walked away, quickly disappearing into the crowds.
Watching him until he was out of sight, Melanie turned her attention to the business card. Picking it up, she realized it only had a single word on it.
Forgiveness.
I Remember...
I remember being a kid. Not all of it, of course, but some of it. It's a curious thing, memory is.
I remember...being in the playground area of my grade school. It had a large field adjoining it. I remember, after raining, myself and the other kids would make tiny rivers int he ground for the standing water to flow through. I remember we would stick in leaves and twigs and watch them float along the paths as if they were boats.
I remember...finding a bamboo stick in the neighborhood we live in. I made it my walking stick and pretend "weapon" when I had adventures. I remember accidentally leaving it the neighborhood's tennis/pool/playground area one day. I remember not finding it and then this other boy I knew from the down the street showed up with my stick. It was not convincingly nor cleverly disguised. I remember becoming angry and taking it from him forcibly. I don't remember what ultimately happened to that stick.
I remember...a red-haired girl named Chelsea. We were both young...10 or younger. Her and I hung out all the time at a local sports complex where our parents played tennis together. I remember us running around the grounds and facility, having adventures together. I remember once, we had these pipcleaner dolls and used them to act out Saved By the bell episodes, seeing as we both liked the show. I remember visiting her house a year or so later and that being the last I ever saw her. I loved her.
I remember...having an impressive collection of Power Rangers toys. I remember many times when I would steal my Father's tools and take those toys apart and put them back together again, good as new. I remember storing them in a bureau in an unfinished downstairs room in one of our old homes in Georgia. I must have taken them apart hundreds of times.
I remember...exploring the wilderness surrounding this one neighborhood in which my parents had come for their tennis match. The feature that stood out the most had been this creek. I remember it being very wide and very deep, both the water itself being deep and the ravine it was in. I remember finding a "bridge" that connected both sides of the creek. By bridge, I mean a couple of long boards laid from one end to the other. I remember crossing it, on my hands and knees, almost paralyzed with fear at the potential fall. I remember making it.
I remember...having a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shaving kit. It wasn't real, obviously, but that never stopped me from using it and being like my Father. I remember the kit coming with a lather brush, plastic "razor", rinse cup, and a can of green shaving cream.
I remember all these things and more, sometimes pining for the old days when things were so much more simple. Yes, it is the old cliche of "adults wish they were kids again", but it's true. I didn't have a care in the world a lot of those days beyond where I was heading to next in my outdoor adventures or what cartoon was on.
I miss it.
I remember...being in the playground area of my grade school. It had a large field adjoining it. I remember, after raining, myself and the other kids would make tiny rivers int he ground for the standing water to flow through. I remember we would stick in leaves and twigs and watch them float along the paths as if they were boats.
I remember...finding a bamboo stick in the neighborhood we live in. I made it my walking stick and pretend "weapon" when I had adventures. I remember accidentally leaving it the neighborhood's tennis/pool/playground area one day. I remember not finding it and then this other boy I knew from the down the street showed up with my stick. It was not convincingly nor cleverly disguised. I remember becoming angry and taking it from him forcibly. I don't remember what ultimately happened to that stick.
I remember...a red-haired girl named Chelsea. We were both young...10 or younger. Her and I hung out all the time at a local sports complex where our parents played tennis together. I remember us running around the grounds and facility, having adventures together. I remember once, we had these pipcleaner dolls and used them to act out Saved By the bell episodes, seeing as we both liked the show. I remember visiting her house a year or so later and that being the last I ever saw her. I loved her.
I remember...having an impressive collection of Power Rangers toys. I remember many times when I would steal my Father's tools and take those toys apart and put them back together again, good as new. I remember storing them in a bureau in an unfinished downstairs room in one of our old homes in Georgia. I must have taken them apart hundreds of times.
I remember...exploring the wilderness surrounding this one neighborhood in which my parents had come for their tennis match. The feature that stood out the most had been this creek. I remember it being very wide and very deep, both the water itself being deep and the ravine it was in. I remember finding a "bridge" that connected both sides of the creek. By bridge, I mean a couple of long boards laid from one end to the other. I remember crossing it, on my hands and knees, almost paralyzed with fear at the potential fall. I remember making it.
I remember...having a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shaving kit. It wasn't real, obviously, but that never stopped me from using it and being like my Father. I remember the kit coming with a lather brush, plastic "razor", rinse cup, and a can of green shaving cream.
I remember all these things and more, sometimes pining for the old days when things were so much more simple. Yes, it is the old cliche of "adults wish they were kids again", but it's true. I didn't have a care in the world a lot of those days beyond where I was heading to next in my outdoor adventures or what cartoon was on.
I miss it.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
2012 Arro Studios 48 Hour Film Project
For the past two years, I've been participating in the 48 Hour Film Project with the same group of friends that I worked with in filming Fistful of Zombies last year. This year, we unfortunately didn't get our film submitted in time for the main competition.
However, we did have a lot of fun and came out of it with a lot of cool stills. The head honcho of our team is putting the finishing touches on the Director's Cut version of the film, as well, so hopefully I'll be able to share that with all of you.
For now, pictures!
However, we did have a lot of fun and came out of it with a lot of cool stills. The head honcho of our team is putting the finishing touches on the Director's Cut version of the film, as well, so hopefully I'll be able to share that with all of you.
For now, pictures!
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| Jim preparing the camera |
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| Preliminary group idea meeting |
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| O'Malley reading from the prepared audition script |
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| Sound! |
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| Abby hard at work |
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| Fearless leader Mike leading us |
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| Setting up the green screen shots |
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| Scene set up |
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| Me rocking the prop glasses for my costume |
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| Painting the prop guns |
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| More prop gun construction! |
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| The finished product |
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| Me in full costume |
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| Abby, arriving onset by catapault |
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| Rob, in costume |
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| Still of Jenn in her role as "Dead Woman" |
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| Close up |
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| Close up of our sweet equipment |
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| Abby...er...working hard? |
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| The crew discussing camera angles |
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| In-between takes |
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| Editing! |
Honest Assessment and Analysis: Redux
Here we are again...another lovely day in our continuing lives. I recently read an article and it got me thinking about myself again. One particular aspect of it rang a bit too true, in my case. It's a section discussing people that act like assholes and are proud of it.
Here:
"I've known soooo many people like this. The Internet is saturated with them. And let's get this straight right off the bat: It is NOT the same as "I speak my mind" or "I'm opinionated." Huge difference. Being opinionated or outspoken is a perfectly legitimate personality type, even if it's annoying to some people. What I'm talking about is the needlessly aggressive bullshit where a person tries to justify being an asshole by wearing it as a badge of honor. Guys who say, "Yeah, I know I'm a dick -- who cares?" Using it as a sign of toughness and strength. Or girls who hold up "I'm a bitch" as a false torch, confusing it for "strong" and "independent."
People treat it as if it were a heightened level of dominance that others should strive to achieve. It is not. It's being combative, purely out of a love for confrontation. There's a rush a person feels when they verbally beat down someone else and make them concede their point of view. What that person doesn't realize is that most of the time, the only reason the other person is backing down is because it's the closest exit from the conversation and the annoying mouth that it's escaping.
I don't know who decided that this is a desirable personality type, but it seems to me that the only people who honestly think that are the ones who are that way. In reality, it's a coward's means of not owning up to the fact that they never learned how to speak to or respect another human. A way of covering up the fact that they never learned lessons that the rest of us learned at age 8.
The sad part is that this is an extremely easy frame of mind
to fall into because every conversation turns into a competition, and
the reward for "winning" is feeling like the world's smartest badass.
It's walking in, thinking you're Dwayne Johnson, and walking out feeling like the Rock.
Why That's Dangerous:
Once you fall into that pattern of communication, it's virtually impossible to concede anything to anyone in almost any situation. Not just the people you're comfortable with, like family and friends, but people of actual authority, like bosses, police officers and the government agency tasked with greenlighting your methods of curing homosexuality.
Once "I'm a badass whose will can never be bent" sets in, you've actively placed yourself in a position where, in your mind, you are always right, and nobody can convince you otherwise. The real trap is that we've created a culture that promotes this as a lovable, quirky character, rather than a festering, infected pus sack of a human. Dr. House is a classic example. Dwight from The Office. Bender from The Breakfast Club. Han Solo. The list is miles long.
In real life, it's hard for anyone to stand beside you when you need them because you're such an inexcusable prick that you've created a world where people prefer that a catastrophe keeps you away from them. Instead of extending a hand to help you up, they picture extending a foot to crush your windpipe.
But you don't care -- you're an asshole, and you're proud of it. Fuck anyone who doesn't agree with your attitude. They just can't handle how edgy you are."
I've often been referred to, by my friends in particular, as an asshole. I also realize, through introspection, that I'm very lonely, in a number of ways. Could this be an accurate assessment of one of my problems? Hmm....
Here:
"I've known soooo many people like this. The Internet is saturated with them. And let's get this straight right off the bat: It is NOT the same as "I speak my mind" or "I'm opinionated." Huge difference. Being opinionated or outspoken is a perfectly legitimate personality type, even if it's annoying to some people. What I'm talking about is the needlessly aggressive bullshit where a person tries to justify being an asshole by wearing it as a badge of honor. Guys who say, "Yeah, I know I'm a dick -- who cares?" Using it as a sign of toughness and strength. Or girls who hold up "I'm a bitch" as a false torch, confusing it for "strong" and "independent."
People treat it as if it were a heightened level of dominance that others should strive to achieve. It is not. It's being combative, purely out of a love for confrontation. There's a rush a person feels when they verbally beat down someone else and make them concede their point of view. What that person doesn't realize is that most of the time, the only reason the other person is backing down is because it's the closest exit from the conversation and the annoying mouth that it's escaping.
I don't know who decided that this is a desirable personality type, but it seems to me that the only people who honestly think that are the ones who are that way. In reality, it's a coward's means of not owning up to the fact that they never learned how to speak to or respect another human. A way of covering up the fact that they never learned lessons that the rest of us learned at age 8.
Why That's Dangerous:
Once you fall into that pattern of communication, it's virtually impossible to concede anything to anyone in almost any situation. Not just the people you're comfortable with, like family and friends, but people of actual authority, like bosses, police officers and the government agency tasked with greenlighting your methods of curing homosexuality.
Once "I'm a badass whose will can never be bent" sets in, you've actively placed yourself in a position where, in your mind, you are always right, and nobody can convince you otherwise. The real trap is that we've created a culture that promotes this as a lovable, quirky character, rather than a festering, infected pus sack of a human. Dr. House is a classic example. Dwight from The Office. Bender from The Breakfast Club. Han Solo. The list is miles long.
In real life, it's hard for anyone to stand beside you when you need them because you're such an inexcusable prick that you've created a world where people prefer that a catastrophe keeps you away from them. Instead of extending a hand to help you up, they picture extending a foot to crush your windpipe.
But you don't care -- you're an asshole, and you're proud of it. Fuck anyone who doesn't agree with your attitude. They just can't handle how edgy you are."
I've often been referred to, by my friends in particular, as an asshole. I also realize, through introspection, that I'm very lonely, in a number of ways. Could this be an accurate assessment of one of my problems? Hmm....
The Amazing Spider-Man
As I'm sure you faithful readers are aware, I'm kind of a Spider-Man fan.
Anyway, unless you've been trapped in a psychopath's basement for the past month or so, you're probably aware of the new Spidey movie.
Of course, being the fan that I am, I had to check it out. Despite my utter contempt for 95% of the shit Hollywood churns out, my fanboyishness won out.
So, saw it I did! And now I'm here to share my thoughts about it in comparison to the original movie trilogy, to the comics, and to my own opinions.
Let's webswing in!
Let's go right for the metaphorical jugular and talk about Spidey himself. First and foremost, I did NOT like Tobey Maguire as Peter Parker. In my experience, Peter was always moderately attractive, in a nerdy, awkward way. Maguire was a fugly, FUGLY guy. He never screamed "Peter Parker" whenever I was watching him in those films.
Now, the new guy, Andrew Garfield...HE'S more toward what I imagined. Despite looking like Edward from Twilight (which, by the way, distracted me for a good five minutes when that connection was made in my head), he has an awkward attractiveness about him that seems right for ol' PP.
Performance-wise, both are about on part. I think Garfield was a bit better, and that's compared to Maguire's three movies to his one. I just really felt that Garfield gave a good "teenage Parker" vibe and I hope he can keep it up as the character grows.
Now, one of the more notable changes from the original trilogy of movies was the departure from using Mary Jane as the love interest and replacing her with the chronologically correct Gwen Stacy, portrayed in The Amazing Spider-Man by Emma Stone.
This change in character and casting not only brings in a new face to the Spidey franchise, but also gives the audiences the strong female support character they've been wanting in their Spidey films! I'll be honest again and admit that I did NOT like Kirsten Dunst from the original films either. Not only did I not find her visually appropriate to play Mary Jane, but she also played the cliched, overused, and tired "damsel in distress" character.
Now, I know those of you that have seen the new movie will rebut with "But Gwen Stacy got in trouble all the time!". First of all, yes, duh. Second of all, not in the way that you think. In the school, she went back for Peter and friggin HIT THE LIZARD WITH A CHAIR. That's badass. At Oscorp, she was actually doing something useful for our hero and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And what does she do when the bad guy finds her? FUCKING TRIES SETTING HIM ON FIRE!
I'm serious. Gwen Stacy is the strongest love interest character I've seen EVER in a Spider-Man film.
Hmm...a few other differences between the films that I noted...
Well, Peter Parker in the new film is actually written as an intelligent individual. And in a balanced fashion too! He doesn't come across as unbelievably intelligent. On the contrary, many minor scenes are dedicated to showing him working and figuring things out. For example, the creation of his web shooters is shown through a series of scenes where he's analyzing and experimenting until he gets it right. THAT is how you properly portray an intelligent character...by showing them figuring things out as opposed to them just KNOWING something without much context.
The secondary characters, however, were hit or miss for me. I didn't like Sally Field as Aunt May. It isn't that she doesn't do a good job, but rather she only did an "okay" job. That and she doesn't look the part. Martin Sheen as Uncle Ben, however, was pretty good. I felt that he portrayed Uncle Ben as an individual struggling to be the father figure to a son that a) has nothing in common with him as he's getting older and b) is going through some difficult changes in his adolescence. Very well done, in my opinion. Denis Leary does a good job, too...I was honestly expecting a much more outlandish performance (considering the actor and his previous works). However, if Rescue Me taught me one thing, it's that Leary can do subtle and serious when he needs to.
The writing seemed, for the most part, crisp and clean. The dialogue seemed believable. I only recall one unresolved plotline from the movie, and it was such a minor one that I'm willing to let it go.
I could go on and on about this movie, rambling for paragraphs upon pages, but I won't bore you any longer. My recommendation is that you go see the film and make your own decision. Personally, I feel that this was a very promising start to the rebooted franchise and I hope they keep it up with the sequels.
Then again...
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| Yes. |
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| YES. |
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| YES! |
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| YES!!! |
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| FUCKING YES! |
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| Now with 100% less Maguire! |
So, saw it I did! And now I'm here to share my thoughts about it in comparison to the original movie trilogy, to the comics, and to my own opinions.
Let's webswing in!
Let's go right for the metaphorical jugular and talk about Spidey himself. First and foremost, I did NOT like Tobey Maguire as Peter Parker. In my experience, Peter was always moderately attractive, in a nerdy, awkward way. Maguire was a fugly, FUGLY guy. He never screamed "Peter Parker" whenever I was watching him in those films.
 |
| There's a reason this is a meme |
Performance-wise, both are about on part. I think Garfield was a bit better, and that's compared to Maguire's three movies to his one. I just really felt that Garfield gave a good "teenage Parker" vibe and I hope he can keep it up as the character grows.
Now, one of the more notable changes from the original trilogy of movies was the departure from using Mary Jane as the love interest and replacing her with the chronologically correct Gwen Stacy, portrayed in The Amazing Spider-Man by Emma Stone.
 |
| There is literally not a number in existence that quantifies how many people I'd kill to have this |
Now, I know those of you that have seen the new movie will rebut with "But Gwen Stacy got in trouble all the time!". First of all, yes, duh. Second of all, not in the way that you think. In the school, she went back for Peter and friggin HIT THE LIZARD WITH A CHAIR. That's badass. At Oscorp, she was actually doing something useful for our hero and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And what does she do when the bad guy finds her? FUCKING TRIES SETTING HIM ON FIRE!
I'm serious. Gwen Stacy is the strongest love interest character I've seen EVER in a Spider-Man film.
Hmm...a few other differences between the films that I noted...
Well, Peter Parker in the new film is actually written as an intelligent individual. And in a balanced fashion too! He doesn't come across as unbelievably intelligent. On the contrary, many minor scenes are dedicated to showing him working and figuring things out. For example, the creation of his web shooters is shown through a series of scenes where he's analyzing and experimenting until he gets it right. THAT is how you properly portray an intelligent character...by showing them figuring things out as opposed to them just KNOWING something without much context.
 |
| You're supposed to believe I'm intelligent because the script says so. So there. |
The writing seemed, for the most part, crisp and clean. The dialogue seemed believable. I only recall one unresolved plotline from the movie, and it was such a minor one that I'm willing to let it go.
I could go on and on about this movie, rambling for paragraphs upon pages, but I won't bore you any longer. My recommendation is that you go see the film and make your own decision. Personally, I feel that this was a very promising start to the rebooted franchise and I hope they keep it up with the sequels.
Then again...
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