Monday, November 19, 2012

what a scene.

Yeah, it's lame of me to make a post so long after my last. I realize this.

Really, I do.

But... I dunno, fuck you and your expectations if you somehow unrealistically had any. I gotta tell you, when it comes to me it's typically in your best interest to keep expectations Reeeeeeally low. That way I can keep you pleased with the least amount of work, and that sounds delicious to me.

Anyhow! Back to posting.

So. Finished the films. Scott's, my partner in Man and Camera, turned out well. I liked it, and I think it sets us up for more in that vein. I'm not big on the supernatural aspect, but I do love the lack of dialog. And our lead's very camera friendly face. That worked well, and I think we all had a good time getting it together.

Aaaaand then there was mine. Who'd have guessed. I'm not a writer, so, the concept of putting on something penned by myself was fairly frightening to begin with. You have to understand, I not-so-secretly (if you know me well, I suppose) loath putting on things like that. I love my own acting. Oh, how I love my own acting... There's no vulnerability in letting people see that. I'm proud and sure on stage. Now, writing, that's a different story. This is from a kid that used to leave the room to use the restroom in 8th grade when his teacher showed the taped presentations of Spanish speaking done by each student in the class. I can't tell you how naked I'd feel. Shamed, embarrassed, I'd flee a student or two before my part, and then would be back shortly after it ended. Not exactly smooth, but it was easier to deal with than watching. Fast forward to now, and I can hardly watch the film I tried to write, direct, and star in. I'm satisfied with the acting. My opposite in the film was amazing with what he had, though I wish I'd had more time to really impress upon him what I wanted out of the character. I liked my parts. But it... well, it didn't transfer well. People watching my failure as a director to notice how badly it was going, the failure to keep people motivated and working hard despite being burnt out from filming the day before. The lines weren't right, the story doesn't come across.

Watching it as unbiasedly as I could possibly manage, all I saw was a 5 minute film of two strange men talking in an abandoned building. I couldn't really make out the exact things they were talking about, as some of the dialogue just ended up jumbled or wrong, important snippits lost to editing or simply skipped by accident....

Let's put it simply. My film was a growing pain. I feel like I've learned a ton from it... And, first and foremost, it's that I need to never take on that much of the creative process as I did. Three phases? Jeez. I think highly of myself, I guess. Second, I should never write. Period.

But, enough with my bitching on that. I'm so very excited to steal some of Scotts time and see what we can do with a more substantial short film. The ball is already rolling on it, we have the script, we have a director, grip, sound tech, camera/film nerd, one of the three actors.... Basically, most of it's ready to go. We need to drink like fools and finish off our drunken e-mails, make some DVD's of the already finished films to send to the poor shmucks that gave us money. But, we'll get it done, and on track. I can't wait.

Also! I feel like I should, at least here, tell the world that I'm finally set up to finish my damn degree. Three classes at IUP. Just finished applying for financial aid, registered for the classes, I feel like an adult. I'm cleaning myself up and taking the steps required to get myself to the point I should have been years ago.

Sometimes the brakes catch.

But no worries. I'm getting it back into place. I feel pretty secure with my future at this point... Amazing friends, Lauren and I looking into moving in together after her current lease ends, degree finally getting finished, a good job with opportunities to move up just waiting for me to take them. The future seems really bright at this point, like that first step out in the early afternoon. You know, in the winter when the world is covered in snow covered in ice, and the sun is high without clouds to diffuse it, all that light hitting all that white. It makes you have to squint, but it feels right. The first brisk step into the day.

I really need something interesting to blast on here soon. I think I know what I'll talk about, too, if I can bring myself to write again.

Love you kids,

Fragile Art.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

always and never.

I'm feeling those things tonight... What are they called? Umm...

Fuck. Emotes?



If you want to very effectively put me in a half-broken with sadness, half sorta conscious of everything? Make me go through the things I hoard. I'm cleaning out the attic at my parents place, as I'll be living here for a little while and need a space for me to exist without feeling like a hobo, and I can tell you. I hoard, through them. There was So much up there, even after they cleared a decent chunk out. Old school binders and notebooks (from when my handwriting actually resembled that of a respectable adults, as opposed to the embarrassing scrawl I manage these days. Also, I knew math once. I really did.), gaming stations, stuffed animals and toys I used to spend hours making up stories around with my brother. Little scraps of the past, of my life. Things that have ended and past, and tease me. That's a typical thing, though, right? Yearning to return and do these things again.

Save points, bro. That's the one thing life needs. Fuck, I'd never have left my second year of college.

But, there it is. We move on. I did with each bit that was tossed in a discrete black trash bag, tied up, and set to go out to the trash. I give it a 4.3% chance that I rush down to the back porch and rip them open, clutching all those dusty relics to my chest whilst sobbing.

The thing that got me the hardest, which I didn't expect it from? My first cellphone. I know that sounds completely ridiculous, but you have to understand what that tiny combination of plastic and metal symbolizes. It's a portkey, but instead of just transporting over a distance, it takes me through time. That was college, when I still cared about it. When I was interested in my classes (to a point). When I spent hours on it, talking to only one person. I remember being completely conscious of how few minutes I needed, so long as I had unlimited time with at least one person. Remember the whole My Five thing? They could have set me up with a My One, and gave me 30 free minutes for other people a month. I started to text, and that was good enough for dealing with the rest of the world. Waking up to work out with Erick, remembering how he was the only other person with a different ringtone set up, and slowly growing closer to him. The little noise the thing made when it opened, and how it filled almost everyone with amusement when they noticed it. The waterdrop. Tost and Turned, when it felt so right!

Happiness changes, you know? Even then, it was different than the happiness I knew when I was a child, playing as different street fighter characters with my brother in our yard. That was happiness. Hours gaming with him, yelling and pushing. Not a hint of a dark cloud. But, later, oy. Everything was bright and exciting and right around the corner. Looking to the future, but with it as some strange, indistinct thing that you could mold with your mind. Nowadays, I sort of just accept the happiness I find. I have great friends. I have such major things just starting for me... Man and Camera, an easy career in hospitality that it looks like I could mold so easily into, a family that wants nothing but some of my time and an occasional call and hug. There are always dark clouds though. I recognize them and accept them, and do my best to realize it's just how life works. Things are very good, but sometimes I have to be reminded of it.

Growing up, amirite?

But, fuck it. Life is life. I think I'll be doing my best to finish up my re-write for that short film of mine. All this creative energy is flowing, and I should take advantage of it.

Fragile Art.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

*orchestra music from lord of the rings soundtrack*.

Yeah, I do think I'm funny.

Anyhow, look at me! Like I said before, a buddy of mine and I have come together to start working on short films, making a production dual called "Man and Camera." Honestly, being in the circles I'm in, and thinking the way I do, I'm actually a bit defensive of the name we chose. Man? Why Man? Look, it wasn't with any intent to be sexist. It was just the first name that came to mind that fit our ideals when it comes to film, theatre, and acting general. The focus is in the portrayal of the roles, not in the set, the plot, or anything else. That all will be managed with a "work with what you've got" sort of mentality. With that thought process, we're collaborating on two short films. We plan for them to be quite different, but with themes shared throughout. If you have any interest, you should check out our kickstarter!

But, honestly, I've been smiling since we finally got it accepted by Amazon and posted it officially. We were on Skype, video chatting and being goons, and you need to know this. The music we were rocking out to as we posted it? Singing and generally ridiculous? Cake. "Going the Distance." If that doesn't set us up for victory, I don't know what will.

An old friend of mine from my text rp days, back on B.Net, before I found DnD and acting, was the first person to pledge money. It was only a dollar, but can you understand how that made me feel? We hadn't talked in Years. He just happened to still be my friend on facebook out of sheer nostalgia and the fact that he's a witty, amusing fellow. But, nonetheless, we hadn't really communicated in any real way for at least 4-5 years, and he jumped to help me out. That means something, and trust me, I love and appreciate the help from everyone else, but none of the other donations have that same sort of "This is the least expected" feeling.  It had me feeling almost high. Colors were brighter, I was noticing just how beautiful PA was around me as I drove... Grah.

I'm too excited right now.

Fragile Art
"That's a lemon."

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

it's been a long hot summer.

The first thing that any good actor learns very fast? You always put on a good face for the world. No matter what is going on in your life, you smile for the rest of the world. They aren't looking to you to bring them down.

Well, you either learn that or you end up on one of two paths:

A) You flame out. It's just not so easy to get roles when you just fall apart.

B) You become known as a "Dramatic Person." Not really something that makes anyone excited to work with you.

Dunno really why I bring that up right now, but it was just something I was thinking about on my drive home today from the hotel. I left early, half because I knew I would have to be back in the morning, the other half because it was just painful to be there. I'm typically alright if someone's in a bad mood, so long as they don't make it infectious. An associate of mine was having a bad day, didn't care to talk about it, but at the same time did care to make it uncomfortable to work with them. And, so, I'm home an hour early and I refuse to feel bad about ditching them. I offered, and that's that.

The kickstarter for a couple shorts me and a friend are working on will be going up soon, unless there are some serious problems, so that's a good thing going on right now. I'm excited to see what kinda support we get, and to get to real work on this. It's sorta scary, you know? I want to get Really excited about it, but it's such a small venture. I don't want to invest so much into something like this. I want to keep it in perspective, because at the end of the day these are just our first work. At least, my first, his first while working with me. We're cutting our teeth here, not trying to break the world. 10 minute clips aren't going to make careers. We'll still have such an uphill battle to face, but dammit. It sounds so exciting. I'm getting to make those first steps.

I still have to get to IUP soon. I'm going to see if I can't force my friend to Force me to get on that, because I think I need the added motivation. It's something I have so little interest in doing. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm more motivated Not to do it, which is terrible. But it has to be done. I'm such a weird person. I'm so good typically at dealing with the "Fuck. Alright. Let's just lower our heads and bull forward. It'll be fine" kinda situations, and yet, this doesn't fall under that umbrella somehow. I just honestly want nothing to do with being graded over BS, with writing another paper that means absolutely nothing to me. College wasn't a waste in my opinion, but only through the friendships I made and the experiences I lived through.

'Eh, anyhow. Continue on with your night.

Fragile Art.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

dirty paws.

I'm amused how few are the times that the titles of these posts and the posts themselves have any sort of connection. Right now, Dirty Paws by of Monsters and Men. It's a delightful song. I suggest it, if you have any sort of respect for my taste in music (And I'd understand if you didn't. Mine is a varied set of tastes.)

Anyhoo. Life has been somewhat interesting of late, despite how I typically answer the social pulp "How is everything? How have you been?" "Why, I have been quite fine, old friend. You know the old phrases, work work work, so little time, yes yes?" Perhaps it's more than that. Yeah, work is just that... It takes up around 40 hours of each of my weeks, and I get a handful of cash in exchange to fuel my car, beat back my loans, and attempt to raise just a bit of hell. (I like to consider all the sweat that I build up whilst running as a physical manifestation of all the sin being expunged from my body. In the shape I'm in, there's plenty, and it seems just about right. Running, she's as cleansing as the summer rain, or the shower that typically follows the act.) It's not much, but it's enough for now. Gets my loans paid, and that's really what's important to me right now.

Of course, I really should be looking into that whole college thing again. I keep telling myself that I'll do it now, during these couple days off, but I keep finding ways to distract myself. It's in these ways that I most fear I'm like my father. Like my mother, I can lower my head and bull through most anything, even if it's just doing the same routine every day. She has her own sort of brilliance, but damned she is for her ability to take what she has and live with it. My father... He means well, I think, most of the time. But when I say that I am a creature of indulgence, ever happy to find and sate those hedonistic urges, I can't quite claim to me half of what he is in that regard. I'm a creature pulled in two directions. Duty and Pleasure, neither side of which I care to fall to. I don't want to be either of these. I respect my mother, but understand well my father. But both are so flawed, so held back by those vices or virtues. Has my mother ever been fully satisfied? Ever fully happy with her life? I know my father hasn't. One doesn't sink so far as he if he finds any sort of true happiness where he is. He goes searching far too far where he knows he has no chance of finding it. I don't want either of those. But I am made of them.

And I can see them both, every time I look into myself. I kinda wonder how that will affect My happiness. I try to do both at the same time, because I've never been the best at focusing, so there is a great chance that I'll never manage to fully think this through. What do I want? And how do I get there?

I can see the faint outline of a trail that leads in the direction of a future I want. But I Really need to focus for once. If you know me, though... I wouldn't make much of a bet on me managing it.

Anyhow! Ho hum. I'm sitting in Erick's new front room, with two of the most important people in my life, watching them both idly. Sam's writing poetry she may not show anyhow, but I'm a son of Bacchus. I'll most likely convince her to share. Erick is dressed well, putting finishing touches on something for his work. I'm not certain what it is, but I'm sure it would be interesting to read... But probably because I'll know he's capable of so much more. I can't imagine that any job ahead of him will ever ask for his full. I'm not certain if I find that terribly sad or if I'm content with it. He's got so much in there, I really hope to see it put to a real challenge to overcome someday. That would be glorious.

Pieces of me. I was just thinking on something like this the other day. I put up a little video on facebook of a recent jaunt into an abandoned building for a photo shoot. Watching it, I found that I could distinguish bits and pieces of my friends in everything I said, in every voice I used, the tone and inflection. Is that strange? I feel like I'm such a combination of people at any given moment. A bit of Mark here, some Lauren there... A shit-ton of Erick, a sprinkling of Sam. Alittle bit of Joe, some Dakoda and Sarah. Flashes of Katelyn, Diana. A hint of Lori. Is it part of my personality to do that? Does everyone do that, or just a few? And what does that say about me?

I like to think it's positive. I keep a bit of everyone with me, and everyone makes up a bit of me. There are worse things to be than a portrait of the people you care about.

This music is beautiful.

Fragile Art.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

nice to know you.

Screw talking about my fail film stuff (It's not really fail. I just haven't gotten a chance to really look into it more with my car in the shop. I swear to sweet Jesus that it'll get goddamn done). I think tonight is for something a tab bit personal, huh? Does it feel like that for you? Beautiful snow, driving with a good friend...

It honestly isn't often that I've gotten to really Talk with this guy. We can. And we have. But the real close, personal conversations are always so hard to broach, and I consider that a failure. I hate the idea that a social norm like "males aren't suppose'ta talk 'bout sappy stuff!" could have any sort of sway on me, but it really is hard. But, every once and a while, we break through and it really changes things for me. I'm talking a night of dredging up old feelings we've had for different people at different points in our personal developments that had left a real, solid impression. To be honest, anyone that I've shared real time with is someone that's affected me...

But some just did a better job. What can I say?

See, first, let's just go with my first girlfriend. Do you understand what I mean when I say, all these years later (read: watch me pretend that I'm Sooo far removed), I can still taste those first lips that ever pressed to mine that didn't belong to my family. No matter how long we've gone since we've lost real contact, I still can taste it. I can feel the electricity. I can feel the excitement. Talking about it honestly had me resting back in my seat, just reminiscing. We may not have been a good fit together in the least, but it was the first, right? That's what it is. That sticks, forever I guess, and I just don't mind that. I hope that, should I somehow inexplicably live to see 80, that I can still close my eyes and remember the moments shared in that old little pavilion, the bleachers, the park near her home that first Halloween that I'd found something so much more interesting than candy to take up my time. Those moments don't seem to fade, and I really do cherish them.

Or, the first love. There is such a difference between the first love and the first person you dated. Unless, I guess, you're lucky? Or, well, usually the phrase "First person you dated" means that there were others afterwards, so... Unlucky? Whichever it is. While that first person has moments etched in there, or maybe a smell or taste, the first love has so much more. That have entirety. They have feelings, they have range. You can be brought back by so many things, such a vast variety that it makes ones mind boggle. They sometimes come often, but it's the ones that catch you off guard that really, truly grab. It's like...

Having a ghost.

A first love, and lost, is having a ghost. It doesn't always hang around, but it does, from time to time, like to remind you that it's there. It'll send a certain smell, a type of food, a song your way just to give you the chance to frown or smile. A shopping center, a road frequently walked, the feeling of fitting. Hours spent just trying to squeeze a few more minutes out of a phone conversation. Pumpkins and pink panthers. Concerts. Warming hands. It's nice when it gets to the point where you can smile about it, and mourn it healthfully. And move on.

Then there are the mistakes. But, even those have their moments! Laying under the stars in a driveway, sitting on the side of a hill on an island of asphalt, the colors of an apartment bedroom, mounds of shoes. House.

Good ones exist as well, but... They're rare. Pictures and drives. Old chatlogs that fill up novels. Leaning on one another.

This is what life is. This is what it all boils down to, in the end. Did you enjoy it? Was it worth it? If it's not now, you still have time. Go out and fix it, find what you need! Until you're dead, underground, waterlogged, ashes, you have time. Love yourself, and find it within to love others. In the end, who cares what you've managed? The tangible things erode. The feelings, though, those last as long as those who matter do, and after they're gone, who the hell do you need to impress? Three generations from now, if no one even knew my name, but I left in my wake a roomful of people made happier by my existence, then damn. What more could I ask for?

Which is exactly why no one I love is allowed to die Before me. The rule is set, so I expect that you all comply for me. This is enough for tonight. Sleep well, internet.

Fragile Art.