Tag Archives: school

Video

Demo Reel

 

the Demo Reel that made me the multi-billionaire you all know, despise and envy today.

*with special thanks to DJ Izzum for helping to create the sick jams

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Weekend Checkout

Today, Ian and I are going to try and film my Senior Project, Take II. This time, well… it’ll probably still get fucked up, but you know what they say, “if at first you don’t succeed, it’s smarter just to quit.” Heading out for Ohio here in a few hours. I got my camera and shit out for the weekend. Everybody is working for the weekend, it seems. Everybody needs a second chance.

I went to the bar last night. I was a little plastered. My best college days aren’t behind me yet. In fact I think I’m getting ahead of myself. A lot of people I know are meek, and then they lose their inhibitions when they get a few pitchers into them. Well, I’m a confidant (re:arrogant) bastard to begin with, so it only gets worse from there. At least I have the smug satisfaction (as per my idiom) of knowing that I’m really not doing anything drunk that I wouldn’t have done anyways.

I like turning girls down. There’s something that really feeds my ego about it, and I look like a conceited jerk, when the truth is, I just don’t have the time to be getting phone numbers (re:obligations) right now. Somehow, “Sorry, I’m trying to focus on school” doesn’t seem as savoir fair as “Sorry, I’m out of your league.” At least in a bar setting. Nobody sees me in a bar and thinks I’m taking school seriously anyways. Srsly.

MadLibs

I have to fill in some details I neglected. I know that nobody reads this shit, but its more of a reference for me after I’m old and senile but certainly also rich and successful (and even more dashing than I am now, if that’s possible, with attractive grey streaks of hair on each side with still-dark eyebrows and a keen glittering wisdom behind acute and decisive eyes, but I digress). How else will I write my memoirs, o, that fine day?

My parents have recently moved to San Fransisco, that is, they are presently doing so, after a much-awaited transfer in my mother’s company. She was very nervous about actually getting the official letter, even though it was in the bag, and I told her that if she waited for six years, six days wasn’t going to be too bad. Still, I’ve always respected her officiousness and preparedness. I keep getting postcards and phone calls (which I’ve stopped answering), from ridiculous sounding places like ‘Carhenge,’ and ‘Albequerque,’ and… ‘Los… Angeles…’? Best of all, they are only four blocks from City Lights Books, Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s bookstore. Lucky shits.

Acid was… surreal. That’s redundant I realize but, well, it’s the sort of thing you can’t hope to explain to somebody who hasn’t tried it. I mentally prepared myself for encounters with demons, amorphous monsters and the Grim Reaper, all of which I can say I had, and none of it phased me. I talked to God. I had a good long conversation with him in which he told me what it meant to be God, and more importantly, what it means to be human. I saw the most fantastic things. I saw them in the most fantastic ways. Mushrooms have nothing on this, but comparisons are odious. Nothing frightened me, and I wasn’t ‘freaking out’ like some others, (and in fact took it in such stride that people were actually skeptical that I was under the influence at all), but I was concerned that my thoughts would consume me, and that my pen and notebook was the archetypical Knight’s defence against this. I wrote this:

The Demon of Thought I had Fought
But Not with Shield and Rapier.
But wrought with Pen, Peril-Fraught,
Brought Forth his end on Paper.

As well as a notepad full of paralogistical ramblings that only work out sensibly if you are on acid, or are a six-year-old child, or a woman. Then I realised that all of my discoveries and state of mind were simply the effects of a trickle of blood running out of a burned hole in the back of my brain and running down a bit of my spine. So I felt very upset about all the clever things I’d found out that turned out to be hooey.

Also, I am in chemistry class this semester. It’s very… trying. For example:

“To see why it’s called the periodic table, look at the graph of atomic radius versus atomic number in Figure 5.1. The graph shows a clearly periodic, rise-and-fall pattern. Beginning on the left with atomic number 1 (hydrogen), the size of the atoms increases to a maximum at atomic number 3 (lithium), then decreases to a minimum, then increases again to a maximum at atomic number 11 (sodium), then decreases, and so on. It turns out that all the maxima occur for atoms of group 1A elements—Li (atomic number, Z = 3), Na (Z = 11), K (Z = 19), Rb (Z = 37), Cs (Z = 55), and Fr (Z = 87)—and that the minima occur for atoms of the group 7A elements.”
-John McMurry and Robert C. Fay, Cornell University, Prentice Hall, Douchebags.

As well as all this, http://cwx.prenhall.com/bookbind/pubbooks/mcmurry2/chapter5/deluxe.html, which I assume means that either we’re all going to die, that we’re all dead, that I’m dead, or that I am going to die. I preferred my own chemistry experiment.

I also have to do two rather involved video projects. This is going to suck. Real bad. Like the dirty old man in the Grapes of Wrath. But, it will give me to solid things for my portfolio. One, at the very least. Always look on the bright side of life.

I don’t know what I want to do in 2006, let alone the rest of my life. I know it’s going to be awesome, because I am so awesome in every way, but I don’t know what form it will take. I look back and see that I’ve invented a few new sandwiches, several intriguing sex maneuvres, a litany of scripts and short stories that may or may not ever see the light of day, or even the outside of their Windows subfolder, and I also came to terms with how I feel about my father. This year I think I’ll work on being less of a cockbite to those around me, taking them for granted, and also on that whole, talking-down-to-women thing.

Hm.

First off. Women. Feh. I don’t get that shit.

Secondly, a really cool teacher passed away, who also coincidentally happens to be my roommate’s uncle or cousin or whatever. I mean, he wasn’t a particularly good teacher, in fact, he was a pretty bad computer teacher, but he was a real real kind of dude who knew about life and shit and we had a lot of conversational things in common. He came into Peppi’s a lot and he will be missed, even if I didn’t know him that well. Well, life. So it goes.

I’ve also been drunk since nine in the morning and have to be in chemistry class. here I go.

BTW. I think I’m an alcoholic now. Just so you know, LJ.

ZZZZZZZZ

New classes have begun and I am already banging my head against the keyboard, hoping against hope that my random head trauma will spell out something intelligible. Hey, look at that! It’s like that time I was chatting with somebody, I fell asleep, and coincidentally typed, ‘zzzzzzzzzz.’

I’m taking Filmmaking again, in fact I am on a ten-minute break from that class, a much needed one at that, and I really hope this turns around because I do not want my most interesting class this quarter to be Economics. Which, ironically, seems like its going to be pretty fun.

I had an idea for a short story, as well as a sort of hypochondriac character who may or may not be the MAIN character. Here is a short character bio.

“I had asked her out again, in the typical way, and she asked back what was wrong with me, so I started a mental inventory. I have two left heels. Not two left feet, just two left heels. It doesn’t really make a big difference when I walk, it’s just something that’s wrong with me. My incisors are a little too sharp, and I’m missing one of my wisdom teeth. It never came in. I had the other three removed, as per doctor’s orders, but that fourth just never came, and the dentist is at a loss to explain it. Still missing in action, or as I prefer to see it, AWOL. My cuticles are backwards. I can’t extend or distend my right arm the same as the left. There is a small chip in the bone of my left scapula. I sniff my nose after every three-hundred and forty-second word. I blink unnecessarily. I may have cancer, not one of the major ones, and not anywhere important, so I can’t really complain, but someplace, some time. Cancer. I can’t have pets to save my life, or preferably, to save theirs. I’ve never won a fight, but I’ve never lost an argument. I’m ambidextrous, but a nun in Catholic school beat the left-handedness out of me, so it lies in wait like a sleeping Dragon. I can’t quit a job. I’ve only had one and the fact that I haven’t been able to quit or get fired from it no matter how I tried goes to show that while some people can’t keep a job, I am afflicted otherwise. It just isn’t fair. I’m terribly employable, and it’s going to waste. I’m pretty good with words, having learned most of them, I’m just not good at using them together to form coherent sentences when I verbalize. Also, I flake. But I think what she was really referring to was the fact that I’m not good with women.”

This is based on a dear friend of mine, whom happily, is far away from me right now.

Destiny?

Woa. I am way behind in my Flash class, you know, what with the hospitalization and the slacking and all. I cannot even catch myself up because my assigments are all complicated and some bullshit. She does not accept late assignments. My only hope now is to just get really good grades on all the rest of the assignments and the finals and shit. Sigh. Yes. I typed sigh.

I do not exactly know what I am supposed to be doing with my life, all I know is that it isn’t Flash. It most likely isn’t any of this. Shit. My life is a U2 song waiting to happen.

A man has to be the master of his own destiny, even if he’s fated to do so.

This is where I come in

Well, I may be getting a job here today. It’s not much, but it relates to my major of Video Production and yay for me, doesn’t require me to work with food. Not that I don’t like food, I love food. I’m sort of a New orleanSpanishItalian food nerd. I just don’t like making food for customers who aren’t friends or even aquaintences or even appreciative and then smelling like onions every time you want to go out on a date. I’ll make food in the privacy of my own home or for friends or for a picnic or for a gumbo or chili cookoff, let’s say.

I like food.

But this job will be to transcribe episodes for air on AIPTV. I just sit and parrot into a word document what the people on the screen are saying because, lucky for me, most people don’t submit scripts for their video assignments. S’cool. That’s where I come in.

So I get to hone my writing, or at least typing skills, while at the same time having something that looks good on a Video major’s resume, and on top of that I actually get paid. Sign me up for that. Oh, I guess they did. (smirks real condescending and bragartly) Sorry. I don’t get to do that very often, sucking at life as I do.