Sick again.
I find it ironic that I get sick regularly when I'm incredibly stressed, and then again when I am no longer stressed. Is ironic the work I want? Shitty! That's the word! Shitty! Sick as a dog as I type all this mess. On the bright side, I respond to healthy choices a damn sight faster than I did when I was as stressed as could be. It's good. Even when I'm wrecked I still feel good about my general state. Dig it. Still though, I have this fantasy that I wont ever be sick again. That my healthy choices will keep me good and robust for as long as I like. Also, I have a fantasy that the world turns into a video game a-la Sword Art Online, HabitRPG and the like. I know that won't happen. I swear. Yeah. Won't happen. Cough, sputter, IT WOULD BE SO COOL!
I can deal with nausea and weakness, but the fog and confusion that I've wrote about lately sure is a true bane. I hate feeling stupid, and with this version of whatever I've got, a low IQ and remedial motor control come as a package deal. Video games, puzzles and the like really help keep me focused, but conversation, books and stories are a real bitch this week. I've also lost a great deal of patience; no surprise there. I feel like I can kick its ass in a weekend, so here we go.
Bad Glee! Bad! Shame on you! What does the fox say? How did you screw that up? I... *facepalm**face into desk**face into desk again*
I get to sign up for classes now! Not 100% sure of what to take yet, but still excited that I actually get to improve on skills that will really serve my dreams, and move past a real stigma I've had. Full disclosure: I've been very self-conscious to pick up a pencil and get drawing for about 8 years now. Stopped drawing because, during the second weakest part of my life, I was consistently made fun of by dick-holes who are now probably homeless. Like I said, I was weak, so I took what they said to heart and stopped doing something I love. So, 8 years later, I'm starting up again and committing to raising my skills for me and me alone. I am wussy, hear me roar!
Still can't stop thinking about Hunger Games 2. I can not wait until I go see it again. I honestly don't remember the last movie I saw more than once in the theater, but I'd happily drop a chunk o cash to take another gander at ol' Catching Fire one more again.
Okay. Head's fogging up again. Grabbing food, drinking more water, then hopefully sleeping soundly. Oh and Sickness, you can eat a horse turd. That is all. Thanks.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Day 22 - Thanksgiving
It's my favorite holiday, second only to the entire December holiday season.
This isn't a long one, just an episode of a favorite show growing up, and a Chanukah episode sense it falls right now this year.
I hope that you, anyone who might read this, are with loved ones today or are otherwise happy. I hope that you are so lucky to get fat on amazing food and stories, and I give you thanks if you did take the time to read even this little bit.
Happy Thanksgiving, and Happy Chanukah.
Andrew
This isn't a long one, just an episode of a favorite show growing up, and a Chanukah episode sense it falls right now this year.
I hope that you, anyone who might read this, are with loved ones today or are otherwise happy. I hope that you are so lucky to get fat on amazing food and stories, and I give you thanks if you did take the time to read even this little bit.
Happy Thanksgiving, and Happy Chanukah.
Andrew
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Day 20 - Moments
It's funny to me that I wrote about dystopia etc and then hit Catching Fire last night. I loved that movie, simple as that. But the funny part wasn't the connection between the two of those things really. It was more how much of a hubbub I feel I make over fiction, and how much it digs into me. I cried at a certain part with a certain tribute (Mags), felt real anger and witnessed examples of real, human cruelty. I suppose what I'm getting at is my admiration for moments. While I loved the movie, I wouldn't call it a "fun" time when you see some of the horrors they subject people to. The fact that an art form of any kind can create moments that affect people astounds me! Simple as that.
Don't get me wrong, there were a couple of predictable moments in the story, but they didn't take anything away from the experience. And there it is! You can have certain things that your audience is already clued into (even if they are freakishly obvious), if your other moments capture those watching/reading/gaming etc.
EXAMPLE AND SPOILER
Cinna, played by Lenny Kravitz, creates a gown for Jennifer Lawrence's character, Katniss, to at first look like her fictional wedding dress as chosen by the villainous president. She spins, releasing an eye-catching flame that burns away the dress (and symbolic lie), to reveal a darker, bird themed dress w/ actual wings. The dress is fashioned after a mocking jay, the symbol of the rebellion and a clear bitch slap to President Snow. To add a second back-hand, Cinna blows a kiss to the camera that he clearly knows the president is watching from. If you have half a brain, you can kinda infer that Cinna 'bout to die, but the moment is worth it. As is his death scene in front of Katniss not seconds before she enters the 75th games.
Did I see it coming? Yes. Was it any less impactful? No! In fact, it generally adds a little something to include the audience before taking away something important. There are plenty of stories that simply give you a "by the way" or take someone/thing away off screen. That device pisses me off; offscreen deaths. It's rarely done well and, to me at least, feels like a real lazy writing tool. "How do I explain what my other characters are doing while all of this is happening? Meh, fuck em! They died!" Now, that's a gross generalization as well as just my opinion, but still, I'm rarely a fan of "by the way, we killed your favorite wizards." Damn you Rowling and your wonderful prose and the fact that I actually forgive you for taking a few folks out behind the curtain.
A franchise that has become notorious for back-alley killings is Glee. Fuckin' Glee. Sonofabitching Glee. This show has long sense stopped knowing what it is/wants/what the hell it's doing. The writing makes me hurt, inside and out. Even in the memorial episode (where, yes, I did cry most of the episode) there were unnecessary piles in an otherwise good thing. The show used to be good because the writers allowed the characters awkward/off-kilter personas drive the narrative and create moments that you remember. Arty gets to walk for a few seconds, Sue's sisters funeral, Mr. Shu when he finds out his wife isn't pregnant, those were great moments! Well done and calmly, I might add. They allowed the past of the characters to be important, not relying on random-ass awkward humor (that's been gettin' pretty darn racist, sexist, etc in a really boring and kinda bad way for some time now), or new and strange character traits that make no damned sense in their arch! Tina as a cocky bitch with a Blaine fetish and a sorta molestation scene don't make sense...well, the Blaine fetish kinda does, but it's so creepy that it remains just that, creepy, failing to take the step into awkward-interesting (ala the office). The show, at this point, should just be about the main kids in New York (Kurt and Rachel...even as much as I hate Rachel), and Mr. Shu back at the glee club. Making a huge deal about Shu and Emma's breakup and their reconciliation and declaration that it will take time is good. Having him come in 1-2 episodes later with a side commented "Oh, and Emma and I are back together and the wedding is back on. It's going to be on..." is bad. It's really friggin' bad.
You get memorable moments the easiest by keeping your story simple, making sure the audience knows who is important. A shotgun blast of anything will remove the significance from everything, leaving only a mishmash and a great deal of blending, where you may remember the product existed, but can't find out why you ever participated in it.
Don't get me wrong, there were a couple of predictable moments in the story, but they didn't take anything away from the experience. And there it is! You can have certain things that your audience is already clued into (even if they are freakishly obvious), if your other moments capture those watching/reading/gaming etc.
EXAMPLE AND SPOILER
Cinna, played by Lenny Kravitz, creates a gown for Jennifer Lawrence's character, Katniss, to at first look like her fictional wedding dress as chosen by the villainous president. She spins, releasing an eye-catching flame that burns away the dress (and symbolic lie), to reveal a darker, bird themed dress w/ actual wings. The dress is fashioned after a mocking jay, the symbol of the rebellion and a clear bitch slap to President Snow. To add a second back-hand, Cinna blows a kiss to the camera that he clearly knows the president is watching from. If you have half a brain, you can kinda infer that Cinna 'bout to die, but the moment is worth it. As is his death scene in front of Katniss not seconds before she enters the 75th games.
Did I see it coming? Yes. Was it any less impactful? No! In fact, it generally adds a little something to include the audience before taking away something important. There are plenty of stories that simply give you a "by the way" or take someone/thing away off screen. That device pisses me off; offscreen deaths. It's rarely done well and, to me at least, feels like a real lazy writing tool. "How do I explain what my other characters are doing while all of this is happening? Meh, fuck em! They died!" Now, that's a gross generalization as well as just my opinion, but still, I'm rarely a fan of "by the way, we killed your favorite wizards." Damn you Rowling and your wonderful prose and the fact that I actually forgive you for taking a few folks out behind the curtain.
A franchise that has become notorious for back-alley killings is Glee. Fuckin' Glee. Sonofabitching Glee. This show has long sense stopped knowing what it is/wants/what the hell it's doing. The writing makes me hurt, inside and out. Even in the memorial episode (where, yes, I did cry most of the episode) there were unnecessary piles in an otherwise good thing. The show used to be good because the writers allowed the characters awkward/off-kilter personas drive the narrative and create moments that you remember. Arty gets to walk for a few seconds, Sue's sisters funeral, Mr. Shu when he finds out his wife isn't pregnant, those were great moments! Well done and calmly, I might add. They allowed the past of the characters to be important, not relying on random-ass awkward humor (that's been gettin' pretty darn racist, sexist, etc in a really boring and kinda bad way for some time now), or new and strange character traits that make no damned sense in their arch! Tina as a cocky bitch with a Blaine fetish and a sorta molestation scene don't make sense...well, the Blaine fetish kinda does, but it's so creepy that it remains just that, creepy, failing to take the step into awkward-interesting (ala the office). The show, at this point, should just be about the main kids in New York (Kurt and Rachel...even as much as I hate Rachel), and Mr. Shu back at the glee club. Making a huge deal about Shu and Emma's breakup and their reconciliation and declaration that it will take time is good. Having him come in 1-2 episodes later with a side commented "Oh, and Emma and I are back together and the wedding is back on. It's going to be on..." is bad. It's really friggin' bad.
You get memorable moments the easiest by keeping your story simple, making sure the audience knows who is important. A shotgun blast of anything will remove the significance from everything, leaving only a mishmash and a great deal of blending, where you may remember the product existed, but can't find out why you ever participated in it.
Day 19 - Post Dystopiapocalypse
I pretty much need to say this with a general lack of decorum: dystopian and post-apocalyptic fiction gives me a completely reasonable figurative boner. I love to wonder about the what if that had to of gone through the writer's mind when they churned out their version of these genre nuggets. And what I dig so much is that they've been made so even as far back (and before) 1899 for Dystopia (When the Sleeper Wakes by H.G. Wells), and 1826 for Post-Apoc (The Last Man by Mary Shelley)! It is a part of our ever expanding upper-wrinkled facilities to wonder what could be; to think how we might adapt to ever growing population, food shortage, a meteor, zombies, social control, abject cruelty, manipulation, war (regular or extra nuclear), viruses and oh my sweet Lovecraft does the list ever go on!
The beautiful thing about these two genres is that the world itself has a tendency to be a main character (usually an antagonist), that the main character(s) must overcome, accept, change or otherwise affect or be affected by it as the catalyst for questioning the validity of the current system.
Both are juicy, typically done the same way by a frightening amount of writers (with exceptions of course), and are favorites of mine. Again, not a ton of depth today, just a taster.
Now to scratch the surface.
Dystopia
Wiki answer: a community or society that is in some important way undesirable or frightening. It is the opposite of a utopia.
Fiction example(s): Brave New World, Blade Runner, Shadowrun
Things from my brain: a civilization has achieved their "utopia" through the removal of an important human factor; typically control, environmental stability and so on. The system is typically long sense established.
Post-Apocalypse
Wiki answer: concerned with the end of human civilization. This apocalypse is typically portrayed as being due to a potentially existential catastrophe.
Fiction example(s): A Boy and His Dog, Fallout, World War Z (my favorite book)
Things from my brain: a land that is still reeling from the tragedy that forever changed its world; ie. a wasteland brought on by a world nuclear war, zombies are the dominant species due to virus and so on. The new world is still relatively new.
Blade runner has always been a favorite of mine (the games was killer too), and a huge fan favorite is Fallout, so they'll help start off. Not going into super detail, just a genre taster today.
Dystopia
Bladerunner. Wiki: depicts a dystopian Los Angeles in November 2019 in which genetically engineered organic robots called replicants—visually indistinguishable from adult humans—are manufactured by the powerful Tyrell Corporation as well as by other "mega-corporations" around the world. Their use on Earth is banned and replicants are exclusively used for dangerous, menial or leisure work on off-world colonies. Replicants who defy the ban and return to Earth are hunted down and "retired" by police special operatives known as "Blade Runners". The plot focuses on a desperate group of recently escaped replicants hiding in Los Angeles and the burnt-out expert Blade Runner, Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford), who reluctantly agrees to take on one more assignment to hunt them down.
Post-Apocalypse
Fallout. Wiki: a series of post-apocalyptic role-playing video games created by Interplay Entertainment. Although the series is set during the 22nd and 23rd centuries, its retro futuristic setting and artwork are influenced by the post-war culture of 1950s America, and its combination of hope for the promises of technology and lurking fear of nuclear annihilation. Game 1: Released in 1997, Fallout takes place in a post-apocalyptic Southern California, beginning in the year 2161. The protagonist is tasked with recovering a water chip in the Wasteland to replace the broken chip in his or her home, Vault 13. Fallout's atmosphere and artwork are reminiscent of post-WWII America and the nuclear paranoia that was widespread at that time.
The beautiful thing about these two genres is that the world itself has a tendency to be a main character (usually an antagonist), that the main character(s) must overcome, accept, change or otherwise affect or be affected by it as the catalyst for questioning the validity of the current system.
Both are juicy, typically done the same way by a frightening amount of writers (with exceptions of course), and are favorites of mine. Again, not a ton of depth today, just a taster.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Day 18 - Idea Man vs Impatience (not an interesting post, I promise)
It gets rough for me sometimes, like anyone else, when I take a second to take stock of what I have and where I want to go. See, I'm at that annoying part where I have to start over on many things. But that's not really the problem, or at least, the tick that's irritating me. I can handle starting over, I've done it a bunch. What gets me and puts me in this, a foul mood to anyone, is not feeling like I've gained my just reward for my efforts. It's the whiney artist/business phase that everyone goes through at some point or another. The looking back at what you've done and wishing it had pushed you to a better where you are now. I am grateful for what I have, but I'm just as annoyed that I'm not quite there yet.
I apologize to those around me who have had to deal with this attitude. I do my best to stay upbeat. Today was just annoying, and so was I. I hit that level where you get so unsure of your own opinions that you question your friends opinions about your opinions. "What did you mean by that?" etc. Paranoia can suck it. I don't want it as a BFF.
My greatest gift, my best skill and my favorite thing about myself is my brain. I have a terrific brain, full of ideas, ever-churning out new ones. I am not the most organized, nor am I rich, so putting this dreams into reality is usually a real bitch or just hasn't happened yet. I'm usually met with nay-saying or bad company or dumb luck or anything whatever so-forth that monkey wrenches the works but good, and usually I can just get mad, push forward and get over it. Today's just a dwelling day. It will pass.
But how do you capitalize on a skill like "I have a million and one good ideas?" Hence: writing. But as a fledgling writer, producer, man about town so-and-so, I've yet to hit a stride or any big therein. How do you make your living off of being creative? How do you sell your ideas? I'm actually asking. I don't paint anymore, nor do I draw or do photoshop these days, so I'm heading back to school. I have more examples, but I know it just boils down to being impatient. I'm so impatient, so tired of waiting for success while still working my ass off. But you must push forward. It's either that or die, and nope, no thank you.
I need to create, I need to build, foster, teach and grow myself. I'm working on it.
I want to be Joss Whedon. Well, sorta. I love me some Joss (Firefly, Buffy, Angel, Dollhouse, Avengers etc). The Whedon has a formula he loves and follows. Gruff anti-hero with a heart of gold, supernatural twist on everyday life, big evil corporation, kill off someone you love. He plays with the formula a little, but that's the gist, and it has made him a fuckin' nerdcon (nerd-icon...nerd...con...nerdcon.). He has stayed true to the creative nut that he is, and has come out pretty well so far. Or Steven King! Do I really even need to go into how many books, movies, series or money he has made? J.K. Rowling? Even the Twilight lady! I may not like the franchise, but she had a good, mostly unique idea on a classic money maker, and has done just that, made dem greens!
I know I need to just push forward. I know I need blah fuck cock blah whatever.
Writing this, I find that there is a single cloud that I'm starting to notice in my routine. Two, actually. One's easy and who cares, but the other is a slight mystery and I mean to find it. I've got a list of to-try stuff for this week in an attempt to weed out whatever it is that makes fog of my gray-matter. Shouldn't be hard. I'm betting its my living space. I just do too much here. It's my bed, my entertainment center, my office, my escape and more. Huh...I'll think on that.
I apologize to those around me who have had to deal with this attitude. I do my best to stay upbeat. Today was just annoying, and so was I. I hit that level where you get so unsure of your own opinions that you question your friends opinions about your opinions. "What did you mean by that?" etc. Paranoia can suck it. I don't want it as a BFF.
My greatest gift, my best skill and my favorite thing about myself is my brain. I have a terrific brain, full of ideas, ever-churning out new ones. I am not the most organized, nor am I rich, so putting this dreams into reality is usually a real bitch or just hasn't happened yet. I'm usually met with nay-saying or bad company or dumb luck or anything whatever so-forth that monkey wrenches the works but good, and usually I can just get mad, push forward and get over it. Today's just a dwelling day. It will pass.
But how do you capitalize on a skill like "I have a million and one good ideas?" Hence: writing. But as a fledgling writer, producer, man about town so-and-so, I've yet to hit a stride or any big therein. How do you make your living off of being creative? How do you sell your ideas? I'm actually asking. I don't paint anymore, nor do I draw or do photoshop these days, so I'm heading back to school. I have more examples, but I know it just boils down to being impatient. I'm so impatient, so tired of waiting for success while still working my ass off. But you must push forward. It's either that or die, and nope, no thank you.
I need to create, I need to build, foster, teach and grow myself. I'm working on it.
I want to be Joss Whedon. Well, sorta. I love me some Joss (Firefly, Buffy, Angel, Dollhouse, Avengers etc). The Whedon has a formula he loves and follows. Gruff anti-hero with a heart of gold, supernatural twist on everyday life, big evil corporation, kill off someone you love. He plays with the formula a little, but that's the gist, and it has made him a fuckin' nerdcon (nerd-icon...nerd...con...nerdcon.). He has stayed true to the creative nut that he is, and has come out pretty well so far. Or Steven King! Do I really even need to go into how many books, movies, series or money he has made? J.K. Rowling? Even the Twilight lady! I may not like the franchise, but she had a good, mostly unique idea on a classic money maker, and has done just that, made dem greens!
I know I need to just push forward. I know I need blah fuck cock blah whatever.
Writing this, I find that there is a single cloud that I'm starting to notice in my routine. Two, actually. One's easy and who cares, but the other is a slight mystery and I mean to find it. I've got a list of to-try stuff for this week in an attempt to weed out whatever it is that makes fog of my gray-matter. Shouldn't be hard. I'm betting its my living space. I just do too much here. It's my bed, my entertainment center, my office, my escape and more. Huh...I'll think on that.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Day 17 - Pieces of Childhood
<----And this is my new friend, Wolfgang. He would prefer you pronounce his name: Volfgäng.Seeing someones childhood has always been a favorite thing of mine. Admittedly, I didn't like a large chunk of being a scamp. So when I get to see the happy memories that flood onto the faces of those I care about, I take the opportunity to live vicariously through them. Today's was Sena's and a holiday bizarre at her German School. It was so positive and sweet, the whole thing perfectly laid out. Christmas music came on and I smiled (though I would usually feel awkward as it's not even December, but the vibe was right). She told me a few quick stories about people she recognized, and how the whole school worked and we grabbed some souvenirs. It was a great morning.
I didn't like a chunk of my childhood. But one thing I do love, the pieces that I'm first to remember are the holidays. Specifically Thanksgiving with my folks and Christmas. I love this time of year, and operate like a prize mid-lifer when it swings around. Big meals, great friends, my family, amazing and shite holiday TV...oh man, do I ever love holiday TV. Below I've included the holiday episode of my favorite childhood show, Hey Arnold. Enjoy. (it's labeled incorrectly, but it is the right one)
http://www.watchcartoononline.com/hey-arnold-season-1-episode-19-magic-show
That episode is one of my and my Pop's traditions. I love it.
There's just something about the holidays that gets to me. I'm sap, and something of a TV child, growing up. Truth: I could tell time exact time from what TV show was on. "Brother to Brother? Oh, it's 7:30pm." So I really blame most of it on TV, my love for this holiday season. TV was so good when I was a youngin', and having Nick at Night gave me access to even more quality material, so how could I not listen when it told and showed me how peaceful, loving and right this time of year could be? The music knocks me out, the food, sweet boat loads of awe-hell, I love it!
My most recent tradition is for Thanksgiving. It's really simple. I show up at my folks place fairly early, turn on soul music and cook with Mom and Pop, snacking and drinking all day and rarely not laughing or singing. It's how it should be. Last year, I was lucky enough to have my buddy Aaron join in, and it made the holiday better. This year, I hope to have a few more. I have more friends than I do family, so inviting them together has always felt right to do, and wrong to not.
I suppose that's what it all amounts to. I'm an only child with a fairly strange family life all-in-all, who latches on to friends like their siblings. I suppose it is no surprise that this time of year increases that; the time of year that, in my opinion, pushes family togetherness more than any other fest. And beyond that, even the air seems to change; it's smell and even taste. The whole atmosphere, for me at least, feels at peace, one, together, if only for two months.
Day 16 - Gaps
My memory fails me these days. My short-term is absolute shit. I blame my newly acquired (under-construction) zen attitude. I'm having to relearn how to function when not weighted down by enough stress to pop Rob Ford. Seriously, have you seen this guy (on your right)? That, that was my stressed state! A bloated, crack smokin', fowl-mouthed Canadian man. Which is a funny image, if you ask me.And for kicks:
I'm not political today. Just love the sketch.
I didn't expect to have processing issues when not stressed. Then again, being freaked out and jacked while still tired 90% of the time, I suppose I can see how my body would have to rewire itself. But the fog is horrid. It's this feeling like I didn't do anything in a day, even if I packed in a dozen things. I find that I've had to really sit and breathe, calmly taking stock of a day to appreciate it. I'm not complaining, I'm just very confused by the way my mind works. Large projects are getting done in less than half the time, but strange simple things have becoming foreign to me. My favorite has been the general mess that is my apartment. It's always been messy, and while I never truly enjoyed the mess, I'd always been able to not give much of a damn constantly. An occasional check in was enough. Hey, Apartment. Hey, Andrew. Sure are dirty, Apartment. I am, Andrew, would you clean me? Fuck you, Apartment. Okay, Andrew. That was about as far as it ever got. Now, I hear Apartments voice not as a peaceful yogi, but a high-pitched, lead anime girl. She needs to die.
Speaking of said voices. What the fuck, Japan? I'm a nerd, and a good one at that, and lord knows I love me the Nippon, but I know for a fact that not every Japanese female sounds like this:
I'm looking forward to the day when I'm 100% the man that I want to be. It's soon, I feel, but I sure wish that bloke would lead me through the fog that is my mellon asap.
Things that help: bath, tea, tons of water, spicy food, apparently anything that helps birth a baby!
Day 15 - For Those About to Inspire, I Salute You
I talk a boat load, a metric fuck-ton if you will, about mentors, leaders, being inspired and receiving inspiration. This is just a quick snippet. Looking around me, I'm surrounded by inspiring people and I can't be any more grateful than I am. That's the short of it. My people rock. Thank you very much, Argentina, good night!
Today was an excellent day. Side note: I'm wrecked after today, in such a great way. I made it back to Muay Thai at Black Rose (http://blackrosecrossfit.com/) this morning round 11am. It was me, Aaron (the owner and head coach and good family friend) and this really great guy by the name of Eric. Never has being punched, grabbed and kneed in the face been so enjoyable. I love this style. And Eric was good, patient and controlled. Aaron was also all of those things, but he also hit like a freight train thrown by god, aimed by Bruce Lee. You knew he was there when that fist landed, lemme tell you. Big fan. Knees, kicks, body work sections with a serious over under combo (my favorite), and plenty of control work with the quick pads rounded out my morning. Such a blast. Love it.
A word on Domeka Parker. Domeka does not live in the world that most call their own, and their in lies her confounding magnificence. She is the daughter of one of my favorite people, and my favorite professor, improv and acting guru Scott Parker. I've known Scott for...holy hell, going on ten years now. He's like a father to me, making Domeka that amazing, strange and wonderful talented sister. I'm impressed by her not for her amazing talent or teaching skills, but her ability to believe so whole heatedly in something, and then continue to grow. What truly gets me about her is being able to see someone so confident, someone who knows they have the right answer, achieve success, learn something new, and then believe that the new answer is also the right answer. I used to think this meant she was wishy-washy when I was first getting to know her. Now, I see that it's her ability to understand and assimilate and continue on that grants her such an impressive confidence and skill set. It's constant evolution, while still bringing those around her along for the gain.
Habit RPG update: lvl 14. Blue sword. Swanky chain hat. leather duds. wooden shield. Dragon composed of condensed midnight. Win.
I love my dance studio. I'll probably write several things about it. The two things sticking out in my mind right now, though, are two incredible teachers, Jill Dickman and Danial Brown. I had the friggin' enjoying as all hell privilege of taking Danial's class with Jill, and seeing what a real jazz dancers can do. I frequently say that "I used to be good," but it was just something I'd picked up from watching Fosse, Steven, Al Minns and way too much broadway. Jill and Danial are the real deal, what I am working to become. The combo was hot, the class was vibrant, and between Danial's spot on teaching and Jill's personality, skill and energy, I don't think I'd had a better night in some time taking class. The girls a rockstar. Had my first private with Danial, working the simple things that I never really learned (turns, stretches and proper technique mostly). It felt good, starting anew. I'm a good dancer, a good choreographer and an okay guy, but I've always lacked a solo guru of sorts. It was so easy to work with Danial. He teaches how I like and is a great man, a person that I really look up to. Below is his combo (same one, different night). I was so afraid to try from square 1 again, but it's painless, it really is. Unless you count the stretching, then it fuckin' hurts. No, really, I'm in pain here.
Today was an excellent day. Side note: I'm wrecked after today, in such a great way. I made it back to Muay Thai at Black Rose (http://blackrosecrossfit.com/) this morning round 11am. It was me, Aaron (the owner and head coach and good family friend) and this really great guy by the name of Eric. Never has being punched, grabbed and kneed in the face been so enjoyable. I love this style. And Eric was good, patient and controlled. Aaron was also all of those things, but he also hit like a freight train thrown by god, aimed by Bruce Lee. You knew he was there when that fist landed, lemme tell you. Big fan. Knees, kicks, body work sections with a serious over under combo (my favorite), and plenty of control work with the quick pads rounded out my morning. Such a blast. Love it.
A word on Domeka Parker. Domeka does not live in the world that most call their own, and their in lies her confounding magnificence. She is the daughter of one of my favorite people, and my favorite professor, improv and acting guru Scott Parker. I've known Scott for...holy hell, going on ten years now. He's like a father to me, making Domeka that amazing, strange and wonderful talented sister. I'm impressed by her not for her amazing talent or teaching skills, but her ability to believe so whole heatedly in something, and then continue to grow. What truly gets me about her is being able to see someone so confident, someone who knows they have the right answer, achieve success, learn something new, and then believe that the new answer is also the right answer. I used to think this meant she was wishy-washy when I was first getting to know her. Now, I see that it's her ability to understand and assimilate and continue on that grants her such an impressive confidence and skill set. It's constant evolution, while still bringing those around her along for the gain.
Habit RPG update: lvl 14. Blue sword. Swanky chain hat. leather duds. wooden shield. Dragon composed of condensed midnight. Win.
I love my dance studio. I'll probably write several things about it. The two things sticking out in my mind right now, though, are two incredible teachers, Jill Dickman and Danial Brown. I had the friggin' enjoying as all hell privilege of taking Danial's class with Jill, and seeing what a real jazz dancers can do. I frequently say that "I used to be good," but it was just something I'd picked up from watching Fosse, Steven, Al Minns and way too much broadway. Jill and Danial are the real deal, what I am working to become. The combo was hot, the class was vibrant, and between Danial's spot on teaching and Jill's personality, skill and energy, I don't think I'd had a better night in some time taking class. The girls a rockstar. Had my first private with Danial, working the simple things that I never really learned (turns, stretches and proper technique mostly). It felt good, starting anew. I'm a good dancer, a good choreographer and an okay guy, but I've always lacked a solo guru of sorts. It was so easy to work with Danial. He teaches how I like and is a great man, a person that I really look up to. Below is his combo (same one, different night). I was so afraid to try from square 1 again, but it's painless, it really is. Unless you count the stretching, then it fuckin' hurts. No, really, I'm in pain here.
I'm growing, I'm learning, I'm on the right track.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Day 14 - Penny Arcade
I have many people I look up too, but for art and right out "being a dork," my heart sorta belongs to Jerry Holkins and Mike Krahulik of Penny Arcade. Truth, I did have to google how to spell Mike's last name. I chose now to bring them up because the 18th of this month, Penny Arcade celebrated its 15th year, being founded November 18th 1998. Notably, their 15th brought out some sweet swag and Mike also redrew the original strip (below). Truth 2, I did buy the commemorative swag, and to reiterate: it is, indeed, sweet.
Penny Arcade, for the uninitiated, is a web comic that centers around mostly gamer culture and the regular mutilation of one or more of the two main characters. The two main characters, though not at first, are loosely, and sometimes dead on, the series creators and heads, Mike and Jerry (Gabe and Tycho, respectively). Penny Arcade's subject matter and sense of humor and timing is right up my alley, ranging from crass, violent and dirty to poignant, witty and sentimental. Mike draws and does punch up, while Jerry writes and co-conceptualizes, typically churning out 3 comics a week!
I wasn't there from the beginning. I tuned in once, thought it was cool and didn't really latch on as I was afraid of sinking further into my true geek side. I'm not being cute, I really was afraid. I first heard about the site and strip during my fifth week of college, 2004, from my first room mate, Coco. Coco was solid gold, and what I like to refer to as a "gateway nerd." More on that later. It wasn't until only two years ago that I checked the site out again, but it wasn't the comic that I first latched on to. It was Penny Arcade - The Series. Even if you aren't a gamer, the series is worth a look. The PA team is involved with and has created many things that are good and amazing (PAX, Child's Play, Strip Search to name a few), but today it's all about The Series.
The Series is a backstage look at Penny Arcade, primarily focusing on Mike and Jerry, but branching out to the other incredible members of their staff in their day-to-day and special events. Though it does have the air of stalker-ish to say, you really get to know the cast and crew of the Penny Arcade family. The Series showcases damn-near everything, from PAX footage (Penny Arcade Expo...more on that later), to office work, to specials on pranks (Pepsi, 'nuff said), the office ping-pong matches (no shit), and even weddings and family life and more. There was even an especially powerful episode that talked about Mike and Jerry's life with anxiety/depression (something that most dorks, me included, know a thing or two about), and their experience and opinions about a particular serotonin re-uptake inhibitor (Lexapro). On the real, they share their lives, both professional and private, and it's interesting and entertaining the whole way through. Like many who are fans of their work, I felt like I was given a confidence boost, even a pass to be a geek, watching the series. It was an inside scoop and sort of comfort to see brilliant, talented, good people as the spokes-folks for gamers and nerds, as it were.
In no small way, they made me unafraid, even helped me become proud to be passionate about what I love. For me, and for a boat load of the world, games matter just as much as any medium. They were my escape and favorite form of story-telling growing up, and that has stuck with me now that I'm in my 28th year. I've felt every emotion through gaming, just as much as I had from books, TV and the big screen. Games matter for so many reasons that I don't need to go into now. But for some reason, they're still touted as a waste of time, and those that are passionate about them even more so. Yes, it's gotten better since I was a kid, no question, but it's only been a year or three where I can confidently take my 3DS out in a public place and receive only a small glance and harrumph from the occasional doink. Penny Arcade has become something of the pioneers for us, the gamers and geeks, creating a powerful and positive beacon on the planet for anyone who is/was/will be passionate about gaming, and being proud of who you are. For me and many others, Penny Arcade has helped us grow.
In recognition of their 15 years, I don't have much to give, but you have my thanks, and my admiration. Thank you to Mike Krahulik, Jerry Holkins, and the entire Penny Arcade family. You're doing so many wonderful things, making the world for so many so much brighter.
This is just a small, minute really, taste of PA. It's just the first thing that got me hooked. If you're interested, please check out the videos above, and follow the link below to hit their website.
http://www.penny-arcade.com/
Thank you for your time, those of you that made it this far.
Andrew
the first penny arcade strip
the 15th anniversary edition
Penny Arcade, for the uninitiated, is a web comic that centers around mostly gamer culture and the regular mutilation of one or more of the two main characters. The two main characters, though not at first, are loosely, and sometimes dead on, the series creators and heads, Mike and Jerry (Gabe and Tycho, respectively). Penny Arcade's subject matter and sense of humor and timing is right up my alley, ranging from crass, violent and dirty to poignant, witty and sentimental. Mike draws and does punch up, while Jerry writes and co-conceptualizes, typically churning out 3 comics a week!
I wasn't there from the beginning. I tuned in once, thought it was cool and didn't really latch on as I was afraid of sinking further into my true geek side. I'm not being cute, I really was afraid. I first heard about the site and strip during my fifth week of college, 2004, from my first room mate, Coco. Coco was solid gold, and what I like to refer to as a "gateway nerd." More on that later. It wasn't until only two years ago that I checked the site out again, but it wasn't the comic that I first latched on to. It was Penny Arcade - The Series. Even if you aren't a gamer, the series is worth a look. The PA team is involved with and has created many things that are good and amazing (PAX, Child's Play, Strip Search to name a few), but today it's all about The Series.
penny arcade the series - season 1, episode 1 - The Pilot, pt 1
penny arcade the series - season 1, episode 18 - Drugs
In no small way, they made me unafraid, even helped me become proud to be passionate about what I love. For me, and for a boat load of the world, games matter just as much as any medium. They were my escape and favorite form of story-telling growing up, and that has stuck with me now that I'm in my 28th year. I've felt every emotion through gaming, just as much as I had from books, TV and the big screen. Games matter for so many reasons that I don't need to go into now. But for some reason, they're still touted as a waste of time, and those that are passionate about them even more so. Yes, it's gotten better since I was a kid, no question, but it's only been a year or three where I can confidently take my 3DS out in a public place and receive only a small glance and harrumph from the occasional doink. Penny Arcade has become something of the pioneers for us, the gamers and geeks, creating a powerful and positive beacon on the planet for anyone who is/was/will be passionate about gaming, and being proud of who you are. For me and many others, Penny Arcade has helped us grow.
In recognition of their 15 years, I don't have much to give, but you have my thanks, and my admiration. Thank you to Mike Krahulik, Jerry Holkins, and the entire Penny Arcade family. You're doing so many wonderful things, making the world for so many so much brighter.
This is just a small, minute really, taste of PA. It's just the first thing that got me hooked. If you're interested, please check out the videos above, and follow the link below to hit their website.
http://www.penny-arcade.com/
Thank you for your time, those of you that made it this far.
Andrew
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Day 13 - Who Needs Sleep
I am the worlds worst actual sleeper. I'm not comparing myself with insomniacs, just with those who can squeeze out a wink here and there. When I sleep, such as last night, I get an average of 7 hours in time unconscious. Those 7 hours are filled with nightmares, constant wake ups and general shit restlessness. In reality, in those 7 hours, I'm probably getting closer to 3 max. I'm melting here. My joints ache, my head is cloudy and yet when I lay down for sleep after a long day, I'm not tired. Fuck.
To combat this irritating lack of rest, I'm trying a more stringent schedule of physical what not. I mean, there's a fairly good chance that I'm just anxious due to excess energy. Nothing big. Heading back to crossfit tomorrow, finally, so I need sleep tonight. Real sleep, sweet Moses. And again we come to HabitRPG, which is now an impressive color wheel of tasks filled with even more physical exertion.
If I'm being honest, I hate my body. Can't stand the way I look. I'm strong, fast and more flexible than the average guy. I'm very smart and okay looking without any real debilitating issues save for an in-rehab shoulder and knee (nothing severe). But I look in the mirror and find that the way I look does not match the things I'm able to do and it pisses me off. My vanity is just strong enough to effect me and I would love nothing more than to bitch slap it. Better yet, I just want to be stronger, faster, more flexible and lookin' fuckin' fine. Bawla shiet, yo! Kids still talk like that, right? Meh. I hope not.
The real of all of this is I'm 28 and ready to be the man I've always known I can be. Which is a
warrior-monk-poet-philosopher-teacher-inspiration guru thing. I will take up my octagonal staff and lay waste to the demons of hell! Fuck them bitches! It's their time!...Okay, in this scenario, the octagonal staff is really my potential, while the demons of hell that I might be laying waste to are more figurative, truly being my languid attitude and/or years spent slacking and otherwise doing jack.
I've got that weird buzzing behind my eyes and a taste not unlike bunk and pennies on my tongue. Two things: 1. I have a ton to do and I'm a tad blech about doing them though they will be done. 2. When they are done I will make bank in HabitRPG and can buy a new helmet and probably a shield. I care.
I blame and thank Sena for my recent intake in vegetarian cuisine. It's great, affordable and I feel good...mostly...after eating. Now here's the rub: I'm too active to not eat meat and I kinda forgot that until the buzzing headache this morning. Protean and animal fat makes me feel good. Greens too kale is awesome, but dammit I sure need some animal flesh! Did you ever watch Looney Toons? Remember when they'd be stranded on a desert island or stricken with poverty and one would look to the other to find them transformed into a ham, hot dog turkey leg or steak? Sorry Sena, you're looking like a burrito right now. If I did resort to cannibalism and did happen to murder and eat her, it would be doing so to a vegetarian. It would be therefor be both healthier and natural, like kobe or applewood, and ironic. Now's the time to mention I am kidding. I think. It's hard to tell right now, through the headache and hunger. No I am. *nods* *shakes head* *nods* *and so on and so on*
To combat this irritating lack of rest, I'm trying a more stringent schedule of physical what not. I mean, there's a fairly good chance that I'm just anxious due to excess energy. Nothing big. Heading back to crossfit tomorrow, finally, so I need sleep tonight. Real sleep, sweet Moses. And again we come to HabitRPG, which is now an impressive color wheel of tasks filled with even more physical exertion.
If I'm being honest, I hate my body. Can't stand the way I look. I'm strong, fast and more flexible than the average guy. I'm very smart and okay looking without any real debilitating issues save for an in-rehab shoulder and knee (nothing severe). But I look in the mirror and find that the way I look does not match the things I'm able to do and it pisses me off. My vanity is just strong enough to effect me and I would love nothing more than to bitch slap it. Better yet, I just want to be stronger, faster, more flexible and lookin' fuckin' fine. Bawla shiet, yo! Kids still talk like that, right? Meh. I hope not.The real of all of this is I'm 28 and ready to be the man I've always known I can be. Which is a
warrior-monk-poet-philosopher-teacher-inspiration guru thing. I will take up my octagonal staff and lay waste to the demons of hell! Fuck them bitches! It's their time!...Okay, in this scenario, the octagonal staff is really my potential, while the demons of hell that I might be laying waste to are more figurative, truly being my languid attitude and/or years spent slacking and otherwise doing jack.
I've got that weird buzzing behind my eyes and a taste not unlike bunk and pennies on my tongue. Two things: 1. I have a ton to do and I'm a tad blech about doing them though they will be done. 2. When they are done I will make bank in HabitRPG and can buy a new helmet and probably a shield. I care.
Day 12 - Barely There, Lovecraft
Woke up from the strangest sleep this morning, groggy and confused. I blame writing weird crap at 4 AM. It was raining, so I decided to walk my way to an amazing class at Vega. I'm so grateful for my students and my job there. I've been part of a few studios, all good, but Vega is the topper. I just resonate with it. Anyhow, post class I walked home in the rain for a good hour, taking my time and enjoying the sounds of a mostly vacant Portland that was well drenched by breakfast. I forget sometimes how relaxing it is for me, walking in the rain.
Habbit RPG update. This thing is the shit. Simple enough? I'm now level 11, have a fancy cotton candy blue lion (not kidding), and a magic blue sword. I get so many things done when they're gamified. And no, the rewards aren't really material, as in, can I use them in real life, but a sweet blue sword in any reality is a-okay with me. That being said, I think I need to amp it up and turn my attention to writing. This blog is a huge help, and I feel a daily sense of accomplishment because of it, but I need to get back to my sequel and other projects. I can practically taste, touch, fondle and otherwise feel that APEX is real, but dammit I haven't really done jack beyond chapter 1. It's such a good product and I can't wait to really start it.
But my all-time favorite concept that Lovecraft touched on was the concept of gods and their followers. In the Shadow Over Innsmouth, the fictional story in a fictional town where fictional zealots worship a fictional (though real in their world) fish/sea beast/god (kind of)/monster. The people are talked about by those from other towns as having the "Innsmouth Look," effectively possessing sea creature like qualities. And here's where those good looks come from. The more time and effort you have spent worshiping Dagon and Mother Hydra, the more you look like their children. That's fuckin' rad! Lovecraft basically takes the thought that "God created us in his own image," and flips it. He proposes that we look like god due to our devotion and worship, and that should our faith be significantly diverted to say, I don't know, a fish monster of substantial power, we would take on aspects of that things appearance, in this case eventually becoming an amphibious creature known as a Deep-One.
But something weird hit when I got home, burrowing like a tick in my head. I don't know what brought it on, but I've been massively scattered the remainder of the day, confused even. I tried explaining to Sena a story concept I'd been working on, but couldn't get two coherent sentences out in succession. I've felt like a good ol' fashioned dumb-ass. No clue why. I need a shower and a real nights sleep.
Habbit RPG update. This thing is the shit. Simple enough? I'm now level 11, have a fancy cotton candy blue lion (not kidding), and a magic blue sword. I get so many things done when they're gamified. And no, the rewards aren't really material, as in, can I use them in real life, but a sweet blue sword in any reality is a-okay with me. That being said, I think I need to amp it up and turn my attention to writing. This blog is a huge help, and I feel a daily sense of accomplishment because of it, but I need to get back to my sequel and other projects. I can practically taste, touch, fondle and otherwise feel that APEX is real, but dammit I haven't really done jack beyond chapter 1. It's such a good product and I can't wait to really start it.
Speaking of projects, my crew is insane. By crew, I mean my friends, and by insane, I mean brilliant. Though I did feel like something of an annoying ass after a point the other night (been a strange week in my head), I still feel like the group is something right with the world. They all have such a way with story, or theme, or music, or characters, or setting. It's a good thing. Must keep the project on a hush for now, but soon enough there'll be things to rave about.
Ravings...And I'm back to that thing I wrote last night. A tad depressing, yes, yes it was. We were talking about HP Lovecraft, the boys and I, last evening. I love Lovecraft's stories, his creatures, even his radically over-stuffed sentences (he wrote like he was getting paid by the word). But I love his concept of two things more than anything, and that is perception and godhood. His characters, be they man or otherwise, live in a universe rife with ancient beings and beasts whose power is so great man reveres them as gods of a sort. The most popular of his is the tentacle mouthed Cthulhu, who at one point is described as indescribable. More than that, for the man who sees the mountain sized creature goes insane from simply looking at the behemoth, he can't actually comprehend what Cthulhu is. I love that! Even looking at a statue of the beast for too long can drive one insane due to his very existence being communicated through said statue, regardless of where Cthulhu may be! Dayum!
But my all-time favorite concept that Lovecraft touched on was the concept of gods and their followers. In the Shadow Over Innsmouth, the fictional story in a fictional town where fictional zealots worship a fictional (though real in their world) fish/sea beast/god (kind of)/monster. The people are talked about by those from other towns as having the "Innsmouth Look," effectively possessing sea creature like qualities. And here's where those good looks come from. The more time and effort you have spent worshiping Dagon and Mother Hydra, the more you look like their children. That's fuckin' rad! Lovecraft basically takes the thought that "God created us in his own image," and flips it. He proposes that we look like god due to our devotion and worship, and that should our faith be significantly diverted to say, I don't know, a fish monster of substantial power, we would take on aspects of that things appearance, in this case eventually becoming an amphibious creature known as a Deep-One.
Marinate on that!
Monday, November 18, 2013
Day 11 - My Sweet Anna
My sweet Anna. I softly whisper your name though they spill only into an empty room. It is cold, with the pounding rain against our window the only offering for distraction. The air tastes like ash, and the reality that you're gone gnaws at my brain ever more vigorous with every passing second. A soft belt of thunder in the distance nudges a memory of our first evening.
It was such a beautiful evening; a night of wine and musings of the future. A simple plate of bread and a bowl of soup, a single candle beneath a full moon at the old inn by the wharf. We never did learn the name of that song, the piano tune that warmed a room like sunshine on the bay. Never once did we speak of that night, but in our shared glances I knew we would think of it always. Scampering beneath the sudden shower to return you home before your sisters caught you out. What they might think should we be seen together, the daughter of the mayor with a lowly fisherman. Stolen moments were what we could afford, and our purses were full, though I had barely two coins to rub together. Not a cent mattered, for our riches were in love and the time we together took.
The thunder is closer now, with a brighter flash. It stirs behind me, behind locked door; the brigand, the stranger. I away my mind to this, our fifth year, but this morning as I return to port. The seas had been kind most of my life, but never had I been so gifted a reward as what I'd hauled today. Three weeks on the ocean, the catch was slim, with barely a minnow to call our bounty. The sea air tasted of metal all that time, with something unsettling about the calm of the waves. It was as if the very ocean was fearful of something it held, though all that was brought up was treasure. It was a box, no bigger than my tackle carry, made of more rust than iron. It took but a moment to crack it open and shuck it of its reward. Two things were taken from within; a simple dagger with a blade of bone and a brass handle, and a gold ring. Oh how brightly the bauble shined. I was transfixed with single minded-purpose, for this was the right ring, the one with which we would be wed. It had design like thatching along its curves, and a single blue jewel, perhaps a sapphire, mounted into the band. Your birthstone.
The thing scratches at the cellar door every so often; right now, in fact. I hear its nails dragging down the heavy wood, scraping away at the tarnished hinges. It is calm in its movements; patient and perhaps content in my torment. I refuse to turn around, to acknowledge its existence beyond a large gutter rat that had traipsed its way into our lives so suddenly. I hate it as much as I fear it, puffing heavy breaths of hot air into the frigid space you and I once shared. It came as if from nothing, a punishment deserved by one far more wicked than you, Anna. Yet it still came, removing you from this world and embedding itself in a place not meant for such a thing. I managed to trap it beneath our home, yet there it pesters me, taunts me and calls to me. Our fifth year together should have been heralded with a feast and family, and yet here I stand, accompanied by a twisted figure bastardized by nature. It is a wicked thing that prods our cellar door, horridly back lit in yellow torchlight, a beast that nature would call a bastard of her ilk.
My pistol lays on my desk, loaded with a single shot for a single purpose. My hand finds place easily on the weapon, and I swear the thing that took you smells the gunpowder. It is getting restless, scratching now, pushing against the door with its heft. I lift the pistol and catch sight of the dagger, so bundled with the ring that should have brought us eternal happiness. It tries to speak its murky words now, bidding me closer in rasp and choke. Its voice is familiar, frightening and unnerving, a litany of lies through a mouth that does not belong to it. My pistols hammer clicks and the evening rushes back into my mind.
Your face as I ease to one knee brightens, ever more still as I give you my sweet words. They come naturally, though I do fumble once or twice, recounting our days and years together since our childhood. I often wondered if you noticed me when I first found you as you walked with your father. An angel, a gift from something beyond what we see, that is what you were from the first and until the last moment I was given of you. You smile and tears fall down your cheeks as soon as you see the ring, your eyes closing as I slip it on your finger. I don't remember an embrace as powerful as the one you gave me then, crushing the wind right out of me, leaving me as I was when I first saw you; breathless. The band fit your finger as though it was meant to be there all along, as if it had a purpose for you. How right I was, though not in such a way as I desired.
Its fist pounds the door now, the hinges rattling loudly over its clearer speech. It invites me beyond the barrier to the cellar and I will give it what it needs, though not what it wants. It asks for my neck, for the blood that keeps me bound here, to this world of ours. Time and again it beats the barricade, becoming more forceful with every pound and word. It harasses with three words, "BE WITH ME!" in a pleading, angry mouthful. Its breath heats the air, making a sort of fog near the bottom of the door and a picture not unlike an entrance to the afterlife. This is good, Anna, for when that door opens, a soul will depart this world.
My hand shakes as I near the latch, but the thing quiets. It knows I mean to free it from bondage, though I don't suspect it understands to what degree. Its breath is like lead, and I can make sight of it from this side of the door. Its eyes are like firelight on a bloodied sky as it stares through the cracks at me. It took your perfect green eyes from me, and here it slouches with its own twisted gaze. The latch rattles with my pounding heart, yet the creature calmly raises its own hand near mine on the other side of the door. Softly it repeats, "Be with me..." I can not stop the tears now, so I think to the song from our first night. With each remembered strike of the keys and that soft melody, my body warms and readies, even in this icy air. The time has come, my chest tightens, my veins filling with fire, and the door opens.
Not a man, not a beast of the land or sea that I had ever seen, but it shares pieces of all of them. Hunched and deformed, the creature is, with tiny and useless legs, crippled by its birth, but large arms that pull it where it need be. Its oily, leathery skin makes a sickening scraping sound as it slowly drags itself forward. Steam rises from its back and off its nearly bald scalp. Again it asks I be with it, but this time I point my gun between its eyes. Why does it cry, Anna? A beast that would deprive this world of you deserves not the emotion of sadness or fear. It should feel nothing, nor should it exist any longer. But as is the stupidity of man, I never think that it would be anything better than I. Its fast, lunging and taking me down at the midsection. My pistol does fire but only helps to deafen me, the bullet flying wild, hitting no beast but a stone wall instead.
I try to escape, striking my enemy on its head, fighting as you would want me too, Anna. But I am too weak, tired from crying and my days on the ocean, and the monster has me pinned. I can not look away from its eyes, its horrible orange eyes on bloodshot blue. These are not your eyes, Anna, and they would look better blind. It screams as the butt of my gun takes the light from its left, granting me a small window of escape. Though no sooner am I upright does it lunge again, pinning me against my desk, my back bursting into pain that overtakes my everything. It is through asking for my companionship, now only filled with desire for my end. Its arms are mighty and I feel my life being squeezed from me. So terrible is its strength. I feel my lowest two ribs break and I scream though I don't give in. You wouldn't want me to give in.
My hands scramble around for something to save me, finding the dagger from the box, and I waste no time sinking it into the creatures flesh. A stab wound to the back sends the thing off of me, it screaming as the wound I inflict bubbles and burns, its meat rotting away in a fist sized lump. It scratches for the injury, but it's too high on its hump to reach. Its eye finds the dagger in my hand, and then looks to my face. It is afraid of its bane that I hold in my left fist. I struggle to stay standing, the pain of my broken bones is almost too much to handle. It puts out its long, bony claw as if asking for the blade. Seeing the ring on your finger like that hurts me so, Anna. I promise, here and now, that while it was I that brought you into this form, it would be I to lay you to rest.
I slash at your hand, Anna, hearing you cry out in pain. The tears are heavy as they fall, but I can not stop, I must grant you peace. Forward I through myself, crashing atop you like a wave of sorrow. I quickly loose track of how many times the dagger pierces your body, pushing the act as far from my mind as possible so that I might ignore the twisted cries you make. Soon enough, you're gone again, the second time taken away by me. Truly, I took you both times, both in selfishness. I wonder if you'd ever thought like I do now, musing what life would have been like had I not forced my way into yours. I look down at the hand where I placed that cursed ring and know that the claims of your sisters were correct, that I was nowhere near good enough for you. The ring has fallen from your finger, Anna, now on the ground at my feet. The tears stop as I look from the ring to the body I ignorantly forced upon you, and my path becomes clear.
The sun is golden as it peaks over the horizon, gently touching my skin as I sit here, in my boat. It is dawn, and the gulls are as loud as ever, my boat packed with but four items and two passengers. Your body lays next to me, swaddled in linens. The smell of kerosene has always been a bit too pungent for me, so I had best be swift, though the morning sea air does help. I wave to the other men as they ready their gear for the day, eager to search for such treasures as the ones I had found. "Pleasant fools," I say to myself as I paddle on. An hour out on the sea, and no others are in sight, the sun now up and the world starting her day once more. I hide the ring and dagger away once more in their lock-box, chuckling and wondering to myself how many lives they had claimed and how many times folks had returned them to the sea. The box hits the water with a low splash and I watch its decent until the blackness of the deep claims it.
A lone seagull flies overhead, coming to rest on the bow of my tiny vessel. I smile at the bird, bid it, "Good morning," and continue with, "Would you mind excusing us?" It flies off, Anna, politely leaving us be. Quite an adorable sight, my sweet. I lay next to you and wonder if you know I'm there. A silly thought. I kick over the lantern that sits at our feet, the flame quickly catching up to the oil and then the kerosene. It is instantly hot and I am frightened at the sound of my pistols hammer cocking back. I am but a man, the same frightened boy you once knew, really. But I have a final something I must do and a punishment I must accept. I think of you and as quick as the feeling of fear comes, it falls away, and I am myself to a much brighter place where all I see is your true face on that first night, and all I hear is that nameless piano tune.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Day 10 - Much is Fine More Gets You Schwasted + Two Dreams
Sure was drunk last night. That's why this entry is coming now and not yesterday evening. I was actually fairly excited to write while tipsy or even smashed, but it went beyond that. No, I wasn't black out and there was a definite lacking in the vomit department (score for me). Instead, I hit that stage where you're so tired that your bed and blanket feel not unlike the soothing caress of your lovers arms or perhaps a really affectionate really fat guy who just wants to make it all better. Mazel tov if your lover is a giant happy fat dude, put two wins in your Victory Column. Also, if you drink regularly like I did last night, you probably look like the zaftig gentleman to my left, and should therefor add a third win into your Victory Column.That aside, I do gain a certain amount of clarity and vision (though blurred) while I've a a couple. So for about an hour I had a nice picture of my new project and got to briefly mention it to my boys, Aaron and Erik, both brilliant folks especially in the vein of filmmaking. It was a nice conversation. I always love hearing people talk about their passions and projects and with how eloquent those two are it's very easy to get lost in dreams.
I feel the need to do a drink count. Here we go. Prior to meeting up with the fellas, I hit Grand Cafe to see Sena on her trial run first work day. Handled it like a champ, she did, poured me a good beer, then went so far as to make a fine Old Fashioned as my second drink of the evening. The aforementioned Old Fashioned was one of the strongest drinks I'd ever had, probably in the amount of 3 some odd shots in its larder. Ah yes, and then Koichi and Andrew, family from Seattle (love them two), popped in for a quick hello and a double shot of Ciroc. Starting to get to that magic level. Off we fly to East Burn, where three more beers (one of which is the Sierra Nevada Beer Camp winner. Like hoppy gold she was), get into my belly before we head to the tap-room and snag a gin and tonic, adding another color to the Wilhelm von Bezold (wiki that shit). I don't remember if I had another drink when we hit Gypsy, but dammit I could have used one to drown out those singers. It was hair-band night at the local karaoke bar and it was painful. Never seen someone grind to Dream On before. It had an air of comedy to it.Drink count over. I think I ended with 8 drinks (counting the Old Fashioned multiple times), and a head much needing a pillow. But upon the laying down I found I'd hit that nasty part of liquor related states: useless and annoying energy. It felt like an eternity until I conked out, held firm in a limbo of cheap alcohol and bad breath.
My dreams, though, were the payoff. I'd mostly sobered by the time REM rolled in, so the dreams were just tweaked enough to be both a nightmare (thank you alcohol) but very interesting. It was an island, like a mash up of New Zealand and a great desert. The colors were vibrant, so many deep blue-greens on the hillsides that became massive mountains of earth and golden sand, creating a wall that would keep harsh storms and colossal waves out. I was there during their storm season, however, seeing terrible tsunami's pound the natural wall with this shocking shade of blue. Evidently, their storm season grants the ocean the reach and power to climb over the wall, searching out any unfortunate folks who don't happen to be in their homes. The homes were sturdy, Hobbiton like dwellings, made of some kind of super-strong ceramic and glass pulled from the land itself and metals from iron like trees. We escaped along the peninsula, seeing the wave peak over the ridge and drop a thick sheet of water down upon us, finding refuge in a beautiful cream and yellow home. It was a nice place, very homey and the woman who owned it loved coffee and tea, as evidenced by her hundreds of brewing devices, pots and kettles. The sky darkened, and a thunderous boom swallowed up any other sound. The wave had hit. Flash forward some hours and the roof was starting to leak, but the storm was well over. It was decided by the towns folk that they move into the island, forcing them, and those willing, to pack up their belongings and head into the Storm Home, a seasonal community cut into the guts of the island itself. It was there that they began formulating a plan, a way to extend their borders and protect the island that had given them life.
I then woke up, actually excited by my dream, then I fell asleep and had another.
It was a VR of Jurassic Park. Not JP classic, though, but the one with mutant dinosaurs and some cybernetics. Go from point A to point B and avoid the hungry/angry prehistorics. It was a simple, weirdly invigorating dream, beginning in a cabin with three people besides myself giving the briefing. The cabin then fell away around us, revealing floating islands in a misty valley swaddled in overgrowth. We flew through the scenario until we came to the park and an...inquisitive mechanical T-Rex. I got away, making my way past a Pachycephalosaurus and a rock infused beast that looked like a Monster Hunter Creature. It crashed through a barrier, sending me through the glass behind me, and into the gift shop, which also happened to be the end of the adventure.
I bought a stuffed Pachycephalosaurus.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Day 9 - Mr. Harris
Chris Harris was my high school drama teacher. I owe him a great deal for my love of theater and film. He was picky and stubborn, occasionally hot-tempered, always passionate and surprisingly funny. He would berate us, praise us, reward us and insult us, preparing us for a fraction of the real performing arts world. You could tell by the intensity of his rants how close we were to showtime. "How was rehearsal?" my father would ask, setting up a joke he'd heard the punch-line to over and over again. "Well, we just got the 'you don't care enough' speech about two weeks before showtime," I would say, and my father would smile and close with, "Right on schedule then."
Harris was many things, but most of all he was a good man. A person who cared about his medium and was a shockingly good teacher as I switch on my powers of hindsight. He thought in pictures that everyone could access. On a shoe string budget he would create beautiful set pieces and reuse them until they'd disintegrated and ceased being anything. He'd pull a professional level performance (usually) out of 14-18 year olds and we'd pack a house every night.
Of note, he had a knack for the simple and subtle. It's because of him that I love the plays Our Town and especially The White Rose, my all-time favorite show.
Respectively, those two shows are about life and belief, which I have been known to obsess about and research the possibilities therein. They are shows that, when allowed, breathe life into the actors and then the audience. Usually its the actors taking a script and giving it life for the folks in the bleachers to enjoy, but those shows just don't need that much help. Even the set pieces are usually a simple black stage with a couple of chairs, maybe a table here and there, and the simplest of lighting cues. They let your imagination do the rest, as it should, filling the stage on its own while the minute details lull you into the story without calling attention to themselves (a personal favorite being Mr. Webb's hand bandage. When done right, it's around his palm, as it would be if you were cutting an apple and the knife slipped). It's about honesty, integrity and heart and what is true to the words and world in those pages. They're smart shows without being heavy handed about their messages (well...in terms of theater). They allow you to draw conclusions and formulate your own ideas and while there is a definitive ending to both, they don't tell you what is right and wrong. Those two shows are what sealed the deal for me as an actor and writer. They are minimalist, well written shows about two things that everyone relates too at their core, life and belief.
I did those shows in high school, playing Doc Gibbs and Anton Mahler. They are still two of my favorite characters I've found, and are both stories that I wan't my kids to know. White Rose will be the first play that I ever direct (unless a boat load of cash says otherwise). Mr. Harris brought them both to us, taking a chance on a group of brats madly obsessed about theater and story-telling, giving at least one teen a real view of the art form he loves.
I lost track of Mr. Harris over the years, only popping in once or twice to say "Hi" and check on his new crop of kids (which were dicks the last time I was around). I'm assuming he retired a year or two ago and is living with the dreams he wanted to fulfill. I'll probably track him down when I get my next big project up and running. I think he'd like it. I've always had this fantasy of him speaking or doing a workshop if he was interested. Might be cool.
I've shied away from theater and acting in general, for the most part, for about 5 years. A stupid decision, if you ask me. People say that nature should take its course and that eventually you'll find what it is you want to do/be when you grow up. Grown, I'm back to acting, film, theater, all around performing, and I damn sure regret taking those years off. I'm not bitter or anything, just craving the last 1825 days be returned to me. That being an impossibility, I turn my energy to making up for lost time. I've been and done many things, and with my sights set finally on a future I can see so clearly, I can only imagine the next things that I'll do.
My vision is clear and focused, and on the horizon where which I point my gaze, I see nothing that isn't opportunity, shared and enriched by friends and family.
Harris was many things, but most of all he was a good man. A person who cared about his medium and was a shockingly good teacher as I switch on my powers of hindsight. He thought in pictures that everyone could access. On a shoe string budget he would create beautiful set pieces and reuse them until they'd disintegrated and ceased being anything. He'd pull a professional level performance (usually) out of 14-18 year olds and we'd pack a house every night.
Of note, he had a knack for the simple and subtle. It's because of him that I love the plays Our Town and especially The White Rose, my all-time favorite show.
Respectively, those two shows are about life and belief, which I have been known to obsess about and research the possibilities therein. They are shows that, when allowed, breathe life into the actors and then the audience. Usually its the actors taking a script and giving it life for the folks in the bleachers to enjoy, but those shows just don't need that much help. Even the set pieces are usually a simple black stage with a couple of chairs, maybe a table here and there, and the simplest of lighting cues. They let your imagination do the rest, as it should, filling the stage on its own while the minute details lull you into the story without calling attention to themselves (a personal favorite being Mr. Webb's hand bandage. When done right, it's around his palm, as it would be if you were cutting an apple and the knife slipped). It's about honesty, integrity and heart and what is true to the words and world in those pages. They're smart shows without being heavy handed about their messages (well...in terms of theater). They allow you to draw conclusions and formulate your own ideas and while there is a definitive ending to both, they don't tell you what is right and wrong. Those two shows are what sealed the deal for me as an actor and writer. They are minimalist, well written shows about two things that everyone relates too at their core, life and belief.
I did those shows in high school, playing Doc Gibbs and Anton Mahler. They are still two of my favorite characters I've found, and are both stories that I wan't my kids to know. White Rose will be the first play that I ever direct (unless a boat load of cash says otherwise). Mr. Harris brought them both to us, taking a chance on a group of brats madly obsessed about theater and story-telling, giving at least one teen a real view of the art form he loves.
I lost track of Mr. Harris over the years, only popping in once or twice to say "Hi" and check on his new crop of kids (which were dicks the last time I was around). I'm assuming he retired a year or two ago and is living with the dreams he wanted to fulfill. I'll probably track him down when I get my next big project up and running. I think he'd like it. I've always had this fantasy of him speaking or doing a workshop if he was interested. Might be cool.
I've shied away from theater and acting in general, for the most part, for about 5 years. A stupid decision, if you ask me. People say that nature should take its course and that eventually you'll find what it is you want to do/be when you grow up. Grown, I'm back to acting, film, theater, all around performing, and I damn sure regret taking those years off. I'm not bitter or anything, just craving the last 1825 days be returned to me. That being an impossibility, I turn my energy to making up for lost time. I've been and done many things, and with my sights set finally on a future I can see so clearly, I can only imagine the next things that I'll do.
My vision is clear and focused, and on the horizon where which I point my gaze, I see nothing that isn't opportunity, shared and enriched by friends and family.
Day 8 - Long, mostly good, then bad day.
Read the above post.
I had a mostly good day. Then some shit happened.
Pretty pissed off and tired and I don't really want to waste the energy venting on a blog.
The good: got a ton of work done today, and saw my buddy Zach in Our Town at PSU with my folks and friends.
Really digging Tomb Raider (the new one). Wish it was the one made into a movie.
My home is warm and I have a roof over my head and a full belly.
Tomorrow I get a massage and I sure do need one.
Made good personal and professional choices that, while I feel like garbage now, will come to benefit me in the future.
Got a great couple of jobs and amazing bosses.
Sena got a new job!
Know my place in the world now.
Letting go of old things, as hard as it may be.
Tired now, though, ready for sleep.
I'll post something better tomorrow I imagine.
Thank you if you read this.
Goodnight.
I had a mostly good day. Then some shit happened.
Pretty pissed off and tired and I don't really want to waste the energy venting on a blog.
The good: got a ton of work done today, and saw my buddy Zach in Our Town at PSU with my folks and friends.
Really digging Tomb Raider (the new one). Wish it was the one made into a movie.
My home is warm and I have a roof over my head and a full belly.
Tomorrow I get a massage and I sure do need one.
Made good personal and professional choices that, while I feel like garbage now, will come to benefit me in the future.
Got a great couple of jobs and amazing bosses.
Sena got a new job!
Know my place in the world now.
Letting go of old things, as hard as it may be.
Tired now, though, ready for sleep.
I'll post something better tomorrow I imagine.
Thank you if you read this.
Goodnight.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Day 7 - School and Novel News
It's so easy to get into a school. I'm not trying to sound like a dick. It's easy, if you apply yourself, to get into at least one university. I used to and will once again attend Portland State University. I like this place, I like the program I'm enrolled in. There's really only two things I loathe and those are the website (like a maze with little to no reward at the end), and the FAFSA/Financial aid system.
The whole FAFSA thing is not difficult, it's just time consuming if you're like me: as disorganized as a blind meth-head, when it comes to finances. I've been getting better, but that really only pertains to saving money. I'm still shit with self marketing and all things IRS related. And really, the list of paperwork seems to be getting longer...like physically longer...as in a devil's contract from any television show, animated or otherwise. That being said, I do have everything mostly sewn up (I think).
I'll be heading back to school this winter term as an Art major and I am really excited for it. I keep saying this, but all that I want to do is create. "...I will not reason and compare, my business is to create..." - William Blake
I've got a melon that spills great ideas all the time, but I've been so scattered until very recently (one week ago today), that I never really acquired the appropriate skills to fulfill a few dreams of mine. I routinely describe myself as "a shotgun blast" when it comes to my focal prowess. So, now I go in to hone the skills to make pretty pretty pictures in various media. I focused on performance (acting, dancing and to much lesser extent singing). Luckily, I have my crew that is nothing short of amazing. We are small, yes, but we are mighty. Film makers, actors, singers, composers, and more and all brilliant. It's a grand team, too be sure.
HUGE: This is what my friend Sara found on Pinterest under the popular tag. You'll notice a book called Crossroads written by ME. In the damn popular section! And here's my favorite part: The pinner was one Erasmo Bellusci, and the price was $3.49, my European pricing. While it my not be much, I am an international artist. A small victory, but victory all the same.Also, that's not the cover anymore, but who cares. It's still freaking cool.
And yes, I wrote a book. I wrote a damned novel. And I continue to push forward, making very slow but actual progress. The query is done, and now the hunt for the appropriate agents moves in as the focus. Man, are these folks picky, lemme tell you! That's the plan tomorrow, for sure, to hunt down at least one agent accepting fiction novels about sci-fi, fantasy, paranormal material. It'll be a bitch, but one I'm ready to tackle. That was a weird sentence.
Lastly, I remain sick for almost a week now. Damned Gyro Man. I gotta catch a break. Been less stressed by far since joining HabitRPG and focusing in on my goals and tasks, but I can't seem to break the sick line. I miss training. Just gotta keep workin' towards healthy town. This constant sick BS happens when I come off months of stress every year. My body has to adapt to being able to relax. Here's to hoping I just remain on the path I am and that I never have to change to stress, and then back to relaxed in such a dramatic order ever again. Now, off to drink more water, pay for parking that should be free and then get a good nights rest.
Goodnight.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Day 6 - Bad Gyro Man Bad!!!
With my energy sapped that's to Bad Gyro Man, I've been hard pressed to get much done today. Though I did get to spend another couple of hours in Scott and Domeka's improv class, which is always a good thing. Not much to say there, other than I really love being there. Really, I miss performing and I'm glad I'm getting more opportunities to do so.
I'm a geek, and therefor I love video games. I love them the same way I love books and movies and stories in general. They are more than my escape, they are my safe place, an inspiration and refreshingly frivolous. So when I snag one that stands out, I latch on. This year I've found so many drops of the juice, lemme tell you. Those that have been standing out have been presenting real consequences and challenges that you'd find in the good ol real world. Guns in The Last of Us are probably the best example. You get a hand full of bullets in the beginning, when you fire it's loud and unnerving, and knowing that last bullet could be the one that saves you from certain death gives a real weight is just a snazzy poke in the gullet.
It is my favorite mechanic/hook in games: scavenging. It's the ability to go beyond looting; to take the pieces of armor/chiton/scrap metal/fabric/hyde etc. and use them to make yourself stronger. It makes the world more important to you. To me, it makes each kill more humanizing and the opposite. It makes some see monsters/enemies as nothing more than equipment, makes them worth risking their life, makes player-created items all the more impressive to you and yours, and enriches the experience. Taking something from something else to create or bolster something new is a win. You're creating a functional trophy, one that just might save that skin of yours.
Now think about if you could scavenge/harvest etc aspects of other players. A huge dynamic shift. More on that later. The gyro is back. Ow.
PS. HabitRPG is gold. Level 6. Got an Axe, leather armor, wooden shield and a pet red panda. Score.
Day 5 - Good with the Bad. Forward and Remembering.
Today was great. I share my life with wonderful people who make the experience all the sweeter. Taking dance class with friends is always a joy, especially from and with the people that I'm lucky enough to learn from. Zach and Sena hit Burly Q with me today, taking Daniels subbing routine and then taking my class. Daniel's routine was my wheel-house, it was my jam to a certain degree and I had such a blast. Evie, my boss lady who usually teaches that class, is two things: lucky to have a sub like him, and moreover, an enormous inspiration of mine. I don't know where I would be without her and I don't care because she's a bamf and in my life.
Simple stuff: Got some slick kicks, got some work done, had and made and had again some great food and got more work done. I'm tellin' ya, I'm on the right path.
Shit: Been watching Glee and have been retching at the shite plot and horrid writing. I get it, Sue is a dick and oh look, another twat cheerleader. Meh. Then I watched the episode "The Quarterback," which celebrated the life and unfortunate passing of Cory Monteith and thus the passing of his character Finn Hudson. I couldn't stop crying. It reminded me of my cousin, Will. I've lost many people in my life, but his death was and still is the hardest for me.
My cousin was my hero, and the closest thing I had to a brother when I was younger. I was 11, it was sunny outside, and it was spirit week at my school, Cottrell Elementary (now a charter school under another name, which blows my mind). I remember it was spirit week because I was so stoked for the next day. It was camo day, which just meant that we raided the local Army surplus (Sgt. Gators), and hid in plain sight. I was sewing a senior sergeant's patch onto the sleeve of my jacket, watching the Nickelodeon tv show Roundhouse (look it up. it was awesome), when my father walked in. Looking back, he was clearly down. Then, I wasn't paying any attention. He said, "Hey dude." "Hey, Dad," I responded. "What cha watching?" he asked. I didn't drop a stitch. "Roundhouse. Getting ready for camo day tomorrow." "Oh yeah. Yeah, that's really cool." I don't know why it didn't register that something was wrong. "Son, Will died last night." His exact words. My head popped up and the world didn't exist for the next twenty-or-so minutes. I couldn't honestly hear anything after that. I remember every detail from that day, except what came out of his mouth next.
I'd later learn that my cousin had an enlarged heart (as well as some other choice information that I don't yet feel comfortable sharing. maybe some day). My cousin died in my father's arms, in front of our family. I wasn't there and I don't have the right to describe the scene. I'm told he was caring, apologetic and thought of everyone else there in his last moments. He was the best person. I miss him to this day. He was 20.
The funeral took over the school auditorium. My uncles, both blues musicians, played beautiful music, my uncle Chris (who recently passed himself) sang Too Close to Heaven. I'll never forget that song or that performance. In honesty, that memory helps define a part of me, and I'm grateful that I experienced it. There were beautiful speeches, but I really can't remember them. I was so angry and I sort of just blocked it all out. The thing I do remember, were his videos. He used to make this hilarious home-recording TV shorts. The kicker was him singing Let it Be by the Beatles, in a haunting falsetto. The entire auditorium stood and joined hands, myself included, but I was the only one who didn't cry. I didn't cry for a month after that either, until I pushed a kid over at school for nothing. I'd always been angry, but I was broken after he died. My Dad got the call from school and was appropriately pissed off at me, yelling at me. I tried to run away, then tried to hit him and run again and he grabbed me and held me tight. I balled, choking out, "I miss him so much." My dad said, "I miss him too," with the same amount of tears.
My life is a good thing, and I am doing very great things and can only see more of the up and up in the future. Every once in a while, however, something will remind you of the past, and I am certainly no exception. So today I remember my cousin, William Mayther. He was one of my biggest heroes, and is still a part of my person. I say all of that, the good and the bad, not to make myself or anyone sad, but just to share a small part of what such a wonderful soul brought to the world. If anyone did read this, thank you for making it this far. I really appreciate it.
Simple stuff: Got some slick kicks, got some work done, had and made and had again some great food and got more work done. I'm tellin' ya, I'm on the right path.
Shit: Been watching Glee and have been retching at the shite plot and horrid writing. I get it, Sue is a dick and oh look, another twat cheerleader. Meh. Then I watched the episode "The Quarterback," which celebrated the life and unfortunate passing of Cory Monteith and thus the passing of his character Finn Hudson. I couldn't stop crying. It reminded me of my cousin, Will. I've lost many people in my life, but his death was and still is the hardest for me.
I'd later learn that my cousin had an enlarged heart (as well as some other choice information that I don't yet feel comfortable sharing. maybe some day). My cousin died in my father's arms, in front of our family. I wasn't there and I don't have the right to describe the scene. I'm told he was caring, apologetic and thought of everyone else there in his last moments. He was the best person. I miss him to this day. He was 20.
The funeral took over the school auditorium. My uncles, both blues musicians, played beautiful music, my uncle Chris (who recently passed himself) sang Too Close to Heaven. I'll never forget that song or that performance. In honesty, that memory helps define a part of me, and I'm grateful that I experienced it. There were beautiful speeches, but I really can't remember them. I was so angry and I sort of just blocked it all out. The thing I do remember, were his videos. He used to make this hilarious home-recording TV shorts. The kicker was him singing Let it Be by the Beatles, in a haunting falsetto. The entire auditorium stood and joined hands, myself included, but I was the only one who didn't cry. I didn't cry for a month after that either, until I pushed a kid over at school for nothing. I'd always been angry, but I was broken after he died. My Dad got the call from school and was appropriately pissed off at me, yelling at me. I tried to run away, then tried to hit him and run again and he grabbed me and held me tight. I balled, choking out, "I miss him so much." My dad said, "I miss him too," with the same amount of tears.
My life is a good thing, and I am doing very great things and can only see more of the up and up in the future. Every once in a while, however, something will remind you of the past, and I am certainly no exception. So today I remember my cousin, William Mayther. He was one of my biggest heroes, and is still a part of my person. I say all of that, the good and the bad, not to make myself or anyone sad, but just to share a small part of what such a wonderful soul brought to the world. If anyone did read this, thank you for making it this far. I really appreciate it.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Day 4 - Wanting as a Career
Another day, another...actually, today was incredibly productive. The funny thing about getting another year older was a new found understanding of schedule. A real appreciation too! I'm freaking stoked to get things done. No stress and increased productivity while still relatively young? Win.
That all being said, I took my first real step in some time toward a professional writing career. I finally wrote my damn query letter. And it's good! I'm pleased. I had help of course, and I'm really grateful for it (thank you, Sena). Tomorrow I send it to the fist-full of agents who are accepting new clients. Then I hope and wait and want until something happens, all the while working on my game. School will help and all, but being proactive and organized starts well before winter term. I can't let myself...Scratch that. I won't fall into old habits because I've felt how good a clear plan is.
HabitRPG continues to please. I'm level 4, gettin' shit done, and got me a fancy wooden shield, a sword and some leather armor. Win. Really loving this ARG.
No guitar today. My fingers hurt like hell. Back to it tomorrow.
I keep coming up with franchise ideas. I like 'em all. No, they're not all polished, but they each possess at least a tiny sparkle that I can refine into solid gold at some point. I'm feeling good about my abilities and feeling open to foster them. The way I make it easy for me, make it flow, is to build the world first. Create its fundamental truths, usually through a cool character, then I build the world around them. I can actually see many of them becoming real a great deal sooner than I'd thought before. Feels good to be out of the funk.
The next part is getting back to the physical side of things. I've had plenty of time to heal the ol' gum-hole and jawline (thank you wisdom teeth), and I've been given the green light to head back to Crossfit and Muay Thai (big ups to Black Rose and Aaron. One of the best things I've ever done is hitting that gym - http://blackrosecrossfit.com/Home_Page.html). I've been feelin' the itch this week; that bundle of anxious energy that comes from eons of hunter instinct (and decades of video games and kung-fu flicks), welling up in my belly. So happy to head back Tuesday.
Why not tomorrow? Cause it's query letter send off day. Need a new type of paycheck, one that I created myself. I work freelance, and in my family's business (which I'm insanely grateful for). But this journal is for me to be honest, and while I'm happy to help and to be helped, it's time I made my way into my own career. I create, interpret, teach, perform and inspire. It's what I love to do.
I will make my movies, my plays, dances, shows, comics, books, festivals, students, school and my own path. I have felt my feet on the ground and tasted the air as I move further down the road toward my destiny. I can see my future finally and it's one filled with friends and family and my dreams that have all come true. Life is a malleable and unpredictable bitch that rarely listens, but I'm finding that is less of the case when you allow things their time. Dreams are to be encouraged, followed and most of all, allowed to mature as they will. There is a difference between force and passion, and only now, in this 28th year of mine, do I see the difference and have I the faculty to make it so.
Things are good and only getting better. I'm a good man finally, and well on my way to becoming the person I've always known I can be.
It's been a good day.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Day 3 - Blisters
"I'm tired, son," the 28 year old said to no one. "These bones of mine ache is ways they should yet without the abundance they do."
I've been hitting this teeter-totter thing as of late. One group of friends gets sick, and I follow suit. I heal. Another group of friends gets sick. See where I'm going with this? Meh, it's just annoying, nothing big.
Took my pants off in a room full of tattooed men today. Thought that would sound more "woah" in my head. Meh. I had my consultation for my new tattoo today, and lucked out that I'd already made my first appointment months ago. T-Day, as it were, is December 19th and I'm looking at a leg sleeve, ankle to mid thigh. Ouch, yes. Also fairly pretty and badass. Anyhow, talking over the "what to expect" and price has further pushed my ever-growing budget conscious side. I like saving for things tangible. It's very exciting, I swear! Oh, also: fuck, I'm scared of how much this'll hurt. Stoked and scared. It's a good thing. The guy is a freak of nature talent, I'm in good hands, and it's happening soon. Woot.
More on this habitRPG thing. It's day 4 I think. My guy now has leather armor and a sword, and I just unlocked the ability to get drops. Drops are what usually fall from monsters, post ganking. In this case, the monsters are your habits, dailies, etc. I got a freaking panda in an egg! Then a magical potion that could hatch him...as a skeletal creature. Not thrilled, but still cool. This program is really motivating the crap out of me. There will be more on this.
With all this in mind, as it gets colder, I'm finding myself sinking into a nice day-to-day. I've never had one of those. Most of my jobs have been scattered, the same with my passions. I have never really had a set schedule, save for school (which I'm very much looking forward to getting back to this winter). The thing I'm noticing most is that I'm happier. It's really simple and yeah, I know that structure giving someone clarity isn't a new concept, but I'm new to it. I like it. I feel like an adult. I can see my path more clearly these past few days. I'm very excited to see what the next few months hold.
Day 3 into learning guitar. My fingers fuckin' hurt! Could only erk out about a half an hour before I got pissed at my digits. But seriously, Rocksmith is a win. Get yours today. Really. Do it. Now. Here, I'll help: http://www.amazon.com/Rocksmith-2014-Guitar-Bundle-PlayStation-3-Playstation/dp/B00F9GPZP0/ref=sr_1_8?s=videogames&ie=UTF8&qid=1384064608&sr=1-8&keywords=rocksmith
I need to perform. It's eating at me. My +1 moment of the week, I feel, has been my reaching out to things I need. Specifically: massage envy (win), and my attempt to acquire another dance mentor. I've had a great many teachers and supporters, but I've never had a real male role model in solo dance (Steven and Mikey, I miss you guys. Lindy Woot). There will be more on that later, for sure, but I done good here. I'm pleased and proud with/of myself for swallowing my timid nature and asking for help.
This scattered post is brought to you by the good folks at "Sick With a Smile," an Andrew Slac joint.
Oh, and my back is tight as all hell after hitting the rink yesterday. Such a blast. One of the best nights in a while. I hear tell and look forward to what's next, which threatens to be laser tag / go-carts. But truly next is the good ol' Good Foot for soul night next Friday. But more on that, as well, later. A powerful hunger calls. Starvin' over here. Also, my kitchen reeks and is in need of a scrubbin'.
I must away.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Day 2 - Short and Long
I'm one for the blitz, the overkill, the shotgun blast. Always have been. Paring my life down has been, and will continue to be, something of a chore. I have it written somewhere that just because I'm narrowing my focus, it doesn't mean that I'll be limiting myself from new things. I'm still fairly narrow minded there. C'est la vie. I'm working on it.
In my pursuit of happyness, I've made a great many friends. The crew I currently roll with is solid gold. I'm talking local and the regular hang. Zach, Sara, Sena, Aaron. Such a group, let me tell you. All talented in a weird, sorta freakish way, these four have helped me see who I am and who I can become. Both are good.
The best part is that we're all enablers. We enable each other to both excel at our passions (whether that's through encouragement etc or actual assistance), and to do new/random/stupid/excellent shit. Case in point: Roller Skating. I've been a fan for a while, never consistent but always enthusiastic. Tonight we hit a personal favorite of mine: good ol' Oaks Park (http://www.oakspark.com/roller-skating.html). If tonight is the right night (can never remember the dj schedule) then the jams will be just right for me to fall on my ass and laugh. Honestly, I'm stoked.
This HabbitRPG thing is giving me the strangest burst in productivity. It's too early to tell, but only a couple of days into it and I'm feeling that gamer itch. I'm now level 3, and I'm excited to accomplish my tasks. I have proposed this several times, but I feel that life itself should have an exp bar with associated rewards. When I say this, I'm usually met with (skill and cash are you rewards for your experience in real life). Eat a dick, it's not the same thing. I can't slay things in real life unless I go hunting! Which brings me to another interesting franchise that is another boost in my creativity.
In my pursuit of happyness, I've made a great many friends. The crew I currently roll with is solid gold. I'm talking local and the regular hang. Zach, Sara, Sena, Aaron. Such a group, let me tell you. All talented in a weird, sorta freakish way, these four have helped me see who I am and who I can become. Both are good.
The best part is that we're all enablers. We enable each other to both excel at our passions (whether that's through encouragement etc or actual assistance), and to do new/random/stupid/excellent shit. Case in point: Roller Skating. I've been a fan for a while, never consistent but always enthusiastic. Tonight we hit a personal favorite of mine: good ol' Oaks Park (http://www.oakspark.com/roller-skating.html). If tonight is the right night (can never remember the dj schedule) then the jams will be just right for me to fall on my ass and laugh. Honestly, I'm stoked.
This HabbitRPG thing is giving me the strangest burst in productivity. It's too early to tell, but only a couple of days into it and I'm feeling that gamer itch. I'm now level 3, and I'm excited to accomplish my tasks. I have proposed this several times, but I feel that life itself should have an exp bar with associated rewards. When I say this, I'm usually met with (skill and cash are you rewards for your experience in real life). Eat a dick, it's not the same thing. I can't slay things in real life unless I go hunting! Which brings me to another interesting franchise that is another boost in my creativity.
Seriously...I can't praise this enough. My favorite anime in years (which is saying something these days, lemme tell you). It's smart, charming, refreshingly real if you're a dork, well designed, blah, blah, etc.
Simple premise: SAO is THE new VMMORPG (v is for virtual) in the not too distant future. 10000 people log-on launch day, finding themselves in a stunning fantasy game. The world is just as true as real life, but you get the added benefit of being a bonafide badass in short work. The twist is that not one person can log-out, and if you die in the game, you die in real life! Also, if someone tries to unplug you in real life, you're fucked too. It adds a real weight to something that I've found refuge in for so many hours, a real consequence, something tangible and frightening. Also, it makes me droll just a tad. The only way for the characters to log-out, is for them to clear the 100 floors and beat the end-game boss at the top. I'll no-doubt do a whole thing on this anime at some point, so I'll leave it there with the plot. I love the show, love the premise and Reki Kawahara is my freaking hero. Way to gift the world something fresh and two of my favorite characters of all time (Kirito and Asuna).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sword_Art_Online
I'm finding, as I narrow, that I'm surrounded by amazing things that are pushing me forward. As I relax, I find that I don't need to work as hard to force anything. It all comes naturally. A lot of people already know that, but I sure didn't. It feels good to trust in the process.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)