As per usual, I don't have a whole lot to say right now. I'm currently blissfully buzzed thanks to my current drink of choice (rum and coke--thanks, Luis, for turning me on to these) and I'm about as caught up as possible with this website junk. If you haven't noticed my Toys@Work post yet, you'll see that I need to work on some fresh material ... and I will, soon. Although, I'm not really sure if Toys@Work is even worth it yet. If anything, it's the perfect example of producing something for the sole sake of my own personal interests. I enjoy the photo series and that's good enough to keep snapping the pics.
And speaking of motivation, I recently saw that Apocablog friend TheRagingBeaverCo hung up his videocam, citing personal reasons (having not made partner nor getting featured) and technical (his Pentium 4 computer was incapable of processing HD footage). Now, I should probably be doing him the courtesy of replying to his youtube private message, but fuck it. I'm buzzed and youtube email sucks.
1) If you're making videos for the sole reason of making partner and/or getting featured, then fuck you. There's way more inventive and creative people on the internet with greater respect for their art for me to pay attention to. If, on the other hand, you simply want to say "fuck youtube" and the stupid fucking impossible-to-win game they've invented, then I applaud you. IF, of course, you intend to still fulfill your creative destiny by continuing to produce content either elsewhere in your life or on the internet.
2) An individual's creativity should never be held back by their technical limits. If you don't have a computer capable of handling high-definition footage, DON'T SHOOT IN HD!!!! I don't watch HD on youtube and I would suspect that few bother with the feature. Furthermore, story is story whether it is HD, SD, or thumbnail. You make it work. And if you absolutely MUST shoot in HD, then pony up the cash for the proper editing hardware. Don't have the cash? Beg, borrow, or steal your way through it.
No excuses. If you can't hack it with a webcam and cheap PC, then you probably shouldn't be thinking of yourself as a creative person to begin with.
I've said enough to get me in trouble. 2.4 is after the break.
My drive home was interrupted with a quick stop at a convenience store where I procured two 12-packs of my favorite energy drink. My grand plan was contingent on a lack of sleep and my reasoning was that when I reached the end of the third day, I would be able to sleep for just about as long as I wanted.
The clerk at the store was a lanky, older man who had deemed it necessary to shave his scalp. No doubt the gentleman was under the impression that the style afforded him some level of "coolness". Trivial matters that surface-dwellers love to obsess over. He eyeballed my dual 12-packs of energy drink and made a comment that I'm sure he thought was witty. I automatically grinned at him and agreed with whatever he had said, all the while imagining what he would look like underneath the rays of my skin-melting sun. The clerk's heavily tanned, leathery skin broke out in boils and cysts that immediately began popping and oozing yellow puss. Parts of his flesh baked and burned charcoal black--other parts of his skin (around his eyes) merely melted away. His eyeballs clouded over and then popped, spraying a fizzing goo across the counter top.
The clerk, reduced to sizzling muscle tendons that wrapped around a charred and blackened skeleton, handed me my change and wished me a good day. I thanked him with a convincing amount of cheer in my voice. The thanks was not just for his assistance with the transaction, but also for being the subject of such a graphic and disgusting demise.
I'm courteous that way.
I left the convenience store with my supply of energy drinks and a grin on my face. Life was getting markedly better ever since I made the decision to permanently return to my dark lair. Because in making such a transition, I had given myself permission to free my mind of these superficial surface bondages and allow it to work the way my mind wanted to work.
As I continued my drive home, my thoughts turned to what had unequivocally been the turning point for my time on the surface. It had been six months earlier, and--as these stories generally go--I had been madly in love. Or at least, what I had thought had been love. Her name was Jenna and the entire relationship had been so improbably and serendipitous that I had myself convinced that it was the quiet and deft hand of fate at work.
Of course, I was horribly mistaken. I know now that these concepts of destiny and fate are nothing more than an idle fantasy that the surface-dwellers turn to as their ever-ready explanation to anything and everything that eludes their comprehension. Nevertheless, I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't found myself wrapped up in such inexplicable and petty nonsense.
The anguished musings of a jack-of-all trades creative professional based out of Longwood, Florida. Find out more about him here. You know, if that's your 'thing'.
Most of my production music is original but if I need something extra-special, I usually get it from AudioNautix.com: