Archive for August, 2008
Wednesday, August 27th, 2008
SHIT!
So the movie is still happening. In fact it’s been taking up much of my time, and I’ve changed jobs, so that’s not helping me write useless blog posts to waste your time and life.
HAH!
Axe is currently working on the Outline of the movie, while I’ve been tinkering with Treatments and scenarios. We’ve been close for a long time, but only in the sense that once you reach the trade winds, you can get to mexico eventually, whereas before, you might blow all the way to hell and die of thirst.
It isn’t even a question of close now, it’s basically done, we’re just trying to fit the pieces together in a way that we don’t hate ourselves for. This movie business is fucking harder than they let on, at least the way we do it.
Which is the way that doesn’t suck donkey balls.
Crom out.
Friday, August 1st, 2008
I should have gone to PAX…
But didn’t. And I suppose, in the scheme of things, I could still go, I would just have to jump ship and haul ass to Seattle. I don’t have the money. I don’t have the time.
But I can recall an age when those considerations were meaningless and stupid; bygone days where I quit my job after a moments pause, in order to continue the 24 hour marathon of Quake and Syndicate Wars. Or driving through a blizzard to take a friend home for christmas, and when the car slides sideways, I don’t fret…I just turn into the slide and wait for traction to return, humming along to the Nazareth playing out of the radio.
Now I have “responsibilities”. This is a watchword that our parents used with great frequency, and it’s often touted by the establishment. I don’t think anybody should be deliquent in them, but sometimes I wonder if we should blast a few of them out of the water. Days like today, days where I realize that a finite chunk of my existence where I could be enjoying intercourse with stalwart gaming peers, vinyl clad punk girls, and technical elite, has been traded with sitting in a dimly lit room, inputting numbers into a machine that is as thanksless as it is a bitch to operate. It makes me long for a stub cigar shoved into my clenched teeth, while I annihilate someone with a thrice-barreled machine gun. Looking after my mother’s plants instead feels somewhat empty by comparison.
Now I could be one of an infinite number of men who’ve reached a point in their lives where they discover that nightly binge drinking in their underwear, while screaming at a television screen showing the explosive adventures of an enviable, well-hung hero has been replaced with a 10pm bed-down, and steamed vegetables with skinless chicken. The result of which is a stronge urge to purchase a frivilous motor-vehicle containing no more then 3 wheels, and to drive said into the brush with an intention of acheiving no less than 25 feet of vertical flight for a period greater than 5 seconds; an attempt to capture the serendipity and care-free joie de vive encapsulated in every Social Distortion lyric ever sung. But I don’t think I am.
I think the image of “growing up” in our society has been concretized by the pop-culture as a picket fence, sub-urban lifestyle, with 2.5 kids and a VW Toureg in the driveway. Whenever somebody comes along and suggests that a grown man could be just as happy, playing the drums till 2am every Friday night, while consuming a six of his favorites, and eschewing the notional validity of starting a family, everybody starts questioning his sanity, or evoking the deadly “Mid-life” analogy that is so popular. You’re either a loser, or a lonely asshole: society possesses no in-between.
I’ve wandered from the path I started on; lamenting my failure to reach PAX this year, but I think my point is that next year I’m going to make it a point or driving there two days early, drinking a quart of Wild Turkey, and attending the Convention with vigor and brazen-rakish-hellfury. Perhaps the most important thing about having responsibilities, is knowing when to stop giving a fuck about them.