Nothing says The End like a nice plate of pasta!
Editing class is over, and....I'm not sure. I think I'll only be satisfied if I get a job within the next few weeks and am specifically told "We hired you over the other candidates - and despite your distinctly unprofessional appearance - primarily because you have a certificate from NYU."
I did author a pretty snazzy DVD of the crap I edited, though I think its menus may have turned out better than any of the samples linked within them. I might circulate a copy or two to prove that I took this course (or at least that I went to a lot of trouble to make it seem like I did).
Now, with Broadway still on strike and no class to wake up early for, it's time to relax and look for an editing job and maybe a Spanish class, and maybe even start writing a book. [Now accepting book deals from only the most reputable publishers.]
November 17, 2007
November 7, 2007
Weeks 1 and 2 of class went a little bit slow, but Week 3 started with Final Cut Pro, the program I'd actually like to use to edit. The hours are starting to take their toll...even though I elected to take this class, I'm forced to continue working in the meantime (who isn't?), and the 80 hrs a week I usually spend sleeping are now spent - gasp - out in the world =(
I was gradually pulled out of sleep yesterday morning (after missing my alarm) by a foreign stinging sensation on my arm. I finally opened my eyes and discovered a 2-inch long burn across the middle of my forearm, manifesting itself as a huge yellow blister. It took me a little while to wake up fully and to figure out that I'd fallen asleep with my laptop on top of me...
I can accept that the thing gets incredibly hot, even hot enough to burn someone, but to sleep through the melting of one's own flesh? Had no idea that was possible. Makes me wonder if I should get a dog or monkey assistant [assistant that is a monkey, not assistant to a monkey] to prevent such things from happening in the future. That or I could go to sleep the second I get home every night, but that would seem a terrible injustice. Not just to me, but to you, my loyal readers. So know that I risk life and limb to bring you this limited and questionably worthwhile information every couple weeks.
I was gradually pulled out of sleep yesterday morning (after missing my alarm) by a foreign stinging sensation on my arm. I finally opened my eyes and discovered a 2-inch long burn across the middle of my forearm, manifesting itself as a huge yellow blister. It took me a little while to wake up fully and to figure out that I'd fallen asleep with my laptop on top of me...
I can accept that the thing gets incredibly hot, even hot enough to burn someone, but to sleep through the melting of one's own flesh? Had no idea that was possible. Makes me wonder if I should get a dog or monkey assistant [assistant that is a monkey, not assistant to a monkey] to prevent such things from happening in the future. That or I could go to sleep the second I get home every night, but that would seem a terrible injustice. Not just to me, but to you, my loyal readers. So know that I risk life and limb to bring you this limited and questionably worthwhile information every couple weeks.
October 23, 2007
Days 1 and 2 of the editing class have been mixed. The instructor is a decent enough guy, and knows what he's talking about, but...not all have been blessed with the gift of teach.
He's been doing the equivalent of teaching someone the finer points of grammar without teaching them how to write the alphabet. Fortunately, there are 7 other people who do not share my bashfulness (let my biographers call this fierce independence) and get all my basic questions answered. One is from Spain, one from Israel, and one a former producer of reality TV who "got tired of lying to people, telling them they wouldn't look ridiculous on television."
Quibbles aside, I get plenty of hands-on practice! I'm worried that, while I'll have no problem picking up the technical skills involved, I may lack the specific types of creativity required for this particular art. I figure I'll give myself more than two days to figure that out.
One last note, and this is what really inspired me to write for you fine people this evening:
There was a guy on the subway who was a reading a comic book tucked into...a different comic book. I believe Superman was the verboten material, The Incredible Hulk the facade.
He's been doing the equivalent of teaching someone the finer points of grammar without teaching them how to write the alphabet. Fortunately, there are 7 other people who do not share my bashfulness (let my biographers call this fierce independence) and get all my basic questions answered. One is from Spain, one from Israel, and one a former producer of reality TV who "got tired of lying to people, telling them they wouldn't look ridiculous on television."
Quibbles aside, I get plenty of hands-on practice! I'm worried that, while I'll have no problem picking up the technical skills involved, I may lack the specific types of creativity required for this particular art. I figure I'll give myself more than two days to figure that out.
One last note, and this is what really inspired me to write for you fine people this evening:
There was a guy on the subway who was a reading a comic book tucked into...a different comic book. I believe Superman was the verboten material, The Incredible Hulk the facade.
October 11, 2007
October 1, 2007
Fubar
This Friday I should be celebrating having finally paid off the smaller of my two credit card balances, which was about 1/5 of my debt (1/15 if you count student loan (1/17 if you count debt to family (1/untold millions if you count debt that you normally wouldn't, like cost of clothes and diapers and food I incurred while growing, especially if adjusted for inflation)))
I haven't yet decided if I'll be celebrating by charging 3500 dollars to that just-cleared card to take a 4-week film editing intensive course at NYU, which would be thrilling in every sense except financially, in which sense it is just plain horrifying (runners up in my thesaurus hunt were "appalling" and "terrifying" - to me, horrifying has that throaty, yet wordless, sense of impending doom that seems to fit just right)
Leave a comment with your thoughts on the matter. [Yes, I do realize four days' notice for a blog that's updated every four weeks, if that, is short notice.]
I haven't yet decided if I'll be celebrating by charging 3500 dollars to that just-cleared card to take a 4-week film editing intensive course at NYU, which would be thrilling in every sense except financially, in which sense it is just plain horrifying (runners up in my thesaurus hunt were "appalling" and "terrifying" - to me, horrifying has that throaty, yet wordless, sense of impending doom that seems to fit just right)
Leave a comment with your thoughts on the matter. [Yes, I do realize four days' notice for a blog that's updated every four weeks, if that, is short notice.]
September 2, 2007
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles ... and 11 cats.
NB: Were I to delve into the true nature of this trip, I've no doubt this entry would devolve into the longest string of expletives in known human history. Given that some older people read this, not to mention strangers, I'll keep it to the impersonal, benign, but hopefully still interesting facts:
Mile 0:
Sit in car in Pacifica, CA and wait for passenger and dog to appear. Read Calvin and Hobbes 10th Anniversary book I picked up along with 3 small notebooks and a very inky pen.
Mile 2:
Stop at a mailbox.
Mile 12:
Stop in front of grandmother's house to say "goodbye, and "don't worry." Get ready to leave, then realize the keys are still in the trunk lock. Hope this doesn't destroy any grandmotherly confidence.
Mile 130:
Arrive in Lodi, CA (or near it) and meet a nice middle-to-older-aged couple who offer a place to sleep and Dr. Pepper, gladly accept. Sleep in an RV in their driveway with passenger, dog, and 11 cats.
Wake up, clean a month's worth of cat hair out of the RV, transport cats one by one to the car, learning how to lock a cat's arms (and how to get the shit scratched out of you when you don't).
Leave in earnest, all 13 passengers accounted for.
Mile 131:
Stop to clean up cat vomit from nervous cats. This will be the first of several occurrences within the first half hour, but the only one dealt with while not in motion.
Mile 257:
Stop for gas at a Chevron in Truckee, where Donner Party memorials and parks abound - try not to take this as a bad omen.
Mile 267:
Return to the same Chevron in Truckee, looking in desperation for the iPod I left on the back of the car. Nobody's seen it.
Briefly mourn the loss of the only instrument of entertainment/escapism/relaxation I brought with me - the car doesn't have even a radio - before even leaving California.
On the way out, accidentally leave behind a nearly-full bag of beef jerky. Spend the next five minutes wondering how many lost items that damned Chevron has claimed over the millennia.
Miles 567 - 570
Look with growing concern for the familiar blue signs that indicate an upcoming gas station as the gas indicator flirts with the E line. Receive all the blame for not stopping at the last one. Find one. Fill up. Continue on.
Mile 771
[All I wrote here was "Skull Valley Station," apparently I thought that would be enough to remember whatever happened there. All I can say for sure is that we got gas. Oh, this might be the place that had the pizza-slice-shaped, strawberry-flavored marshmallow snack - whaaat?]
Mile 969
Pull over to rest at 2a.m., fatigued from driving for 13-14 hours (depending on the time zone). Quietest cat decides now is a good time to hop on the dashboard and start meowing sporadically at nothing, other cats fight for position, some on my lap, and the vehicle is filled with the stench of cat feces (unusually smelly tonight, their owner tells me). The aural/olfactory/cat-claw-piercing-skin stimulation is enough to keep me awake for most of the next 45 minutes, when I finally give up and go to the trunk to pull out the last 4-pack of energy drink, one can of which promptly explodes with absolutely no explanation.
Mile 1,110
Stop at the Flying J, a big ol' truck stop with lots of truckers and trucks. Buy several different kinds of liquid energy and fuel up. Corral an escaped cat back into the car.
Mile 1,209
Pull over again - apparently 17 hours is my limit. Exhaustion overcomes cat distractions, sleep for a few hours. Upon waking, passenger becomes driver.
Mile 1,413
Stop for gas at another big travel center where the station attendant calls the car "Little Blue." Suddenly realize that there have been flip-open knives on sale at every counter since Nevada, including the one in this place. There have also been signs on the doors saying no firearms, three times the normal amount of chewing tobacco product and signage, and even some classy hunting-themed wall clocks.
Mile 1,729
Stop at Speedie Mart for gas. Loomis armored car driver eyes us with what seems to be undue suspicion - perhaps a car full of animals was involved in an attempted heist once, or something. Passenger decides to continue driving, but only until a Taco Bell is located - food has been forgone since a burger each at a Burger King over 1100 miles ago.
Mile 1,930
A Taco Bell is finally located, the feast begins. While eating, an adult softball team comes in, they are "The Outcasts." As time passes, their name seems more and more apt. One player, whose jersey says Midget on the back, reminisces about a good game they once had, saying, "At least we didn't lose by 33 that time."
The rest of the team looks like the cast of an underdog sports movie - there's the guy who's perpetually red-faced, the "nerdy" one who calculates shit, and so on. There's even a little girl named Emma May Dolittle. Wonder whether the team they played is eating some fancier dinner somewhere, wearing jerseys that say "The Winners" or "The In Crowd." Ooh, or "The Win Crowd."
Mile 2,535
Stop at a service plaza in Ohio, discover that Ohio lottery games are rigged, capture another escaped cat, continue on.
Mile 2,830
Arrive in Rochester, NY, 52 hours after leaving Lodi, CA.
Transport cats and stuff into house, then it's off to Amtrak.
Miles ?? - ??
The next train to New York City is at 5:47am, take it and arrive home in Queens at 2pm.
Items of little consequence:
On the plane, the seatback satellite TV featured both an hours-long 9/11 special and the episode of The Twilight Zone in which there's a gremlin on the wing of a plane.
Twice while parked, the car leaked a green fluid, there were also occasional sputters of the engine and at one point a squealing. All of these were ignored and nothing came of them.
While waiting for the Amtrak train in the pre-dawn hours, a black cat emerged from the bushes and walked across the tracks.
Mile 0:
Sit in car in Pacifica, CA and wait for passenger and dog to appear. Read Calvin and Hobbes 10th Anniversary book I picked up along with 3 small notebooks and a very inky pen.
Mile 2:
Stop at a mailbox.
Mile 12:
Stop in front of grandmother's house to say "goodbye, and "don't worry." Get ready to leave, then realize the keys are still in the trunk lock. Hope this doesn't destroy any grandmotherly confidence.
Mile 130:
Arrive in Lodi, CA (or near it) and meet a nice middle-to-older-aged couple who offer a place to sleep and Dr. Pepper, gladly accept. Sleep in an RV in their driveway with passenger, dog, and 11 cats.
Wake up, clean a month's worth of cat hair out of the RV, transport cats one by one to the car, learning how to lock a cat's arms (and how to get the shit scratched out of you when you don't).
Leave in earnest, all 13 passengers accounted for.
Mile 131:
Stop to clean up cat vomit from nervous cats. This will be the first of several occurrences within the first half hour, but the only one dealt with while not in motion.
Mile 257:
Stop for gas at a Chevron in Truckee, where Donner Party memorials and parks abound - try not to take this as a bad omen.
Mile 267:
Return to the same Chevron in Truckee, looking in desperation for the iPod I left on the back of the car. Nobody's seen it.
Briefly mourn the loss of the only instrument of entertainment/escapism/relaxation I brought with me - the car doesn't have even a radio - before even leaving California.
On the way out, accidentally leave behind a nearly-full bag of beef jerky. Spend the next five minutes wondering how many lost items that damned Chevron has claimed over the millennia.
Miles 567 - 570
Look with growing concern for the familiar blue signs that indicate an upcoming gas station as the gas indicator flirts with the E line. Receive all the blame for not stopping at the last one. Find one. Fill up. Continue on.
Mile 771
[All I wrote here was "Skull Valley Station," apparently I thought that would be enough to remember whatever happened there. All I can say for sure is that we got gas. Oh, this might be the place that had the pizza-slice-shaped, strawberry-flavored marshmallow snack - whaaat?]
Mile 969
Pull over to rest at 2a.m., fatigued from driving for 13-14 hours (depending on the time zone). Quietest cat decides now is a good time to hop on the dashboard and start meowing sporadically at nothing, other cats fight for position, some on my lap, and the vehicle is filled with the stench of cat feces (unusually smelly tonight, their owner tells me). The aural/olfactory/cat-claw-piercing-skin stimulation is enough to keep me awake for most of the next 45 minutes, when I finally give up and go to the trunk to pull out the last 4-pack of energy drink, one can of which promptly explodes with absolutely no explanation.
Mile 1,110
Stop at the Flying J, a big ol' truck stop with lots of truckers and trucks. Buy several different kinds of liquid energy and fuel up. Corral an escaped cat back into the car.
Mile 1,209
Pull over again - apparently 17 hours is my limit. Exhaustion overcomes cat distractions, sleep for a few hours. Upon waking, passenger becomes driver.
Mile 1,413
Stop for gas at another big travel center where the station attendant calls the car "Little Blue." Suddenly realize that there have been flip-open knives on sale at every counter since Nevada, including the one in this place. There have also been signs on the doors saying no firearms, three times the normal amount of chewing tobacco product and signage, and even some classy hunting-themed wall clocks.
Mile 1,729
Stop at Speedie Mart for gas. Loomis armored car driver eyes us with what seems to be undue suspicion - perhaps a car full of animals was involved in an attempted heist once, or something. Passenger decides to continue driving, but only until a Taco Bell is located - food has been forgone since a burger each at a Burger King over 1100 miles ago.
Mile 1,930
A Taco Bell is finally located, the feast begins. While eating, an adult softball team comes in, they are "The Outcasts." As time passes, their name seems more and more apt. One player, whose jersey says Midget on the back, reminisces about a good game they once had, saying, "At least we didn't lose by 33 that time."
The rest of the team looks like the cast of an underdog sports movie - there's the guy who's perpetually red-faced, the "nerdy" one who calculates shit, and so on. There's even a little girl named Emma May Dolittle. Wonder whether the team they played is eating some fancier dinner somewhere, wearing jerseys that say "The Winners" or "The In Crowd." Ooh, or "The Win Crowd."
Mile 2,535
Stop at a service plaza in Ohio, discover that Ohio lottery games are rigged, capture another escaped cat, continue on.
Mile 2,830
Arrive in Rochester, NY, 52 hours after leaving Lodi, CA.
Transport cats and stuff into house, then it's off to Amtrak.
Miles ?? - ??
The next train to New York City is at 5:47am, take it and arrive home in Queens at 2pm.
Items of little consequence:
On the plane, the seatback satellite TV featured both an hours-long 9/11 special and the episode of The Twilight Zone in which there's a gremlin on the wing of a plane.
Twice while parked, the car leaked a green fluid, there were also occasional sputters of the engine and at one point a squealing. All of these were ignored and nothing came of them.
While waiting for the Amtrak train in the pre-dawn hours, a black cat emerged from the bushes and walked across the tracks.
August 19, 2007
Get to know your tetrominoes
I - The Intermittent Hero: Arrives just in time to save the day - when it damn well pleases.
T - The Problem Solver: Cleverly fits into all sorts of odd spaces without ever complaining.
O - The Chunky Thumper: Aka the Stupid One, it unthinkingly clunks down onto the most convenient spot.
L - The Industrious Ant: Makes Tetris miracles happen by unflinchingly providing a solid foundation on which the other pieces can build.
J - The Indolent Grasshopper: A crude and backward imitation of the previous piece, lacking
the L's dedication and selflessness.
S and Z - The Niche King and Queen, respectively: Usually only helpful after a string of themselves make the game board a terrible mess of a mountain range into which no other piece can snugly fit, these two filler pieces serve very little practical purpose.
August 11, 2007
Astronauts Work in Space
Thank you, CNN, for helping me fulfill a lifelong dream of catching an unintentionally funny headline.
Food for Thought or: "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Generic Post Title/Clichéd Strangelove Parody"
When I was freeloading (growing up), I used to (unintentionally) irritate my mom to no end by eating all the ingredients of a sandwich piece by piece, without ever actually assembling them into a sandwich.
I think about that every time I grab some salami and cheese out of the fridge and fold it in half, or when I drink straight out of a carton or jug.
Those culinary traditions may have been born with me, but new ones emerge all the time. As a kid, for example, I thought licking peanut butter off a stick of celery instead of eating the whole thing was immature and wasteful. Now, it just sounds like a good idea ... or it would if I hadn't just eaten two handfuls of semi-sweet chocolate chips.
I think about that every time I grab some salami and cheese out of the fridge and fold it in half, or when I drink straight out of a carton or jug.
Those culinary traditions may have been born with me, but new ones emerge all the time. As a kid, for example, I thought licking peanut butter off a stick of celery instead of eating the whole thing was immature and wasteful. Now, it just sounds like a good idea ... or it would if I hadn't just eaten two handfuls of semi-sweet chocolate chips.
June 17, 2007
Marketable skills in [brackets]
Today I was applauded (two people at three claps each counts as applause, actually) for my ability to [hold a stuffed bird aloft for lengthy periods of time].
Yesterday someone finally knew the name of the song I make people "sing" for me when I [balance a chair on my palm].
A song with no words (or none that you know) is one of those few remaining things that's nigh impossible to look up. Typing "da da da da da da da waaaa waaaa" into Google doesn't exactly help, and even though it kindly asks "Did you mean to search for: da dada dadadada whaaaa whaaaa," that search produces about 126,997 fewer results.
In fact, I'm still searching for a song I heard once, but I only know one lyric: "California." No, it's probably not the one you're thinking of.
Yesterday someone finally knew the name of the song I make people "sing" for me when I [balance a chair on my palm].
A song with no words (or none that you know) is one of those few remaining things that's nigh impossible to look up. Typing "da da da da da da da waaaa waaaa" into Google doesn't exactly help, and even though it kindly asks "Did you mean to search for: da dada dadadada whaaaa whaaaa," that search produces about 126,997 fewer results.
In fact, I'm still searching for a song I heard once, but I only know one lyric: "California." No, it's probably not the one you're thinking of.
June 16, 2007
June 15, 2007
Naming the new
Online name picking, be it an email address, profile name, or in this case, url, is never easy.
I tried many combinations of letters that meant something to me, but most were taken by someone who posted between one and three times and then abandoned their virtual real estate. I suppose that taken-but-unused is far preferable to taken-and-vastly-better-executed-than-I-ever-dared-dream.
[pause for some drunk guy shouting outside]
Among some of my efforts:
• My first choice was taken by someone who sounds, in three ancient posts of fewer than 100 cumulative words, like a person I desperately do not want to be.
• A German word produced a blog with a single entry in Japanese.
• My Italian last name produced a Brazilian blog with an English title - but at least it seems to be frequently updated. And anyway, as a repeat victim of Googling, I'm doing my best to stay off that particular radar this time.
This all helps explain why there is little that impresses me more than an original and clever handle.
I tried many combinations of letters that meant something to me, but most were taken by someone who posted between one and three times and then abandoned their virtual real estate. I suppose that taken-but-unused is far preferable to taken-and-vastly-better-executed-than-I-ever-dared-dream.
[pause for some drunk guy shouting outside]
Among some of my efforts:
• My first choice was taken by someone who sounds, in three ancient posts of fewer than 100 cumulative words, like a person I desperately do not want to be.
• A German word produced a blog with a single entry in Japanese.
• My Italian last name produced a Brazilian blog with an English title - but at least it seems to be frequently updated. And anyway, as a repeat victim of Googling, I'm doing my best to stay off that particular radar this time.
This all helps explain why there is little that impresses me more than an original and clever handle.
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