Dinky's Docket

Wasteland

2010-07-17T08:43:00.003-06:00

I was blindsided the other day. Caught completely off guard and got sucked in to watching a "reality" show. (I just can't bring myself to leave the quotes off that word.)

The offending--and I mean offending-rubberneck fodder was ABC's True Beauty in which, according to the network, "10 gorgeous people have no clue they're competing in an inner-beauty contest."

The irony knows no bounds when the hosts/judges on the show watch from behind closed doors as the contestants, who are competing for a position as the Face of Vegas, are given opportunities not only to show their prowess as spokesmodels, but are also put into situations in which they are tempted to be petty, dishonest, and downright snobbish. The hosts are really no different than the contestants. They are "beautiful" people themselves and it's implied that they have true inner beauty or why else would they be in a position to judge the inner beauty of others? Yet in an almost Clockwork Orangian scene at the end of each episode, they parade the faults of the fallen contestants before them for no apparent reason other than to provide some carnage for us at home to feast on. That seems at least as petty as the actions or inactions of the contestants. For instance, the last contestant to lose and get booted off the show and who was already in tears for having her dreams of being the Face of Vegas shattered, was forced to stand there and watch footage of her lying, cheating, and failing to help a pregnant woman with her luggage. In a truly awkward moment she said, "Can I go now?" To which the judges said nothing. You could almost see some uncertainty in the eyes of the judges who seemed like interrogators of a suspect who'd just "lawyered up."

The answer was, she couldn't go now, even though she had nothing left to lose and there was nothing to keep her there. We weren't finished beating her down for not having enough inner beauty. Here's another kick in the face for not being kinder to strangers. Here's one ostensibly to show how much better we are than you since you lied and cheated. Never mind that there's nothing "real" about this "reality" show.

It's a little disturbing watching the holier-than-thou, plastic-surgury riddled judges putting the smack-down on someone who just wants to be like them.

But this isn't limited to reality shows. There's a rubberneck quality masquerading as altruism in most TV shows today. Take Law and Order: SVU, a police unit devoted to helping victims of sexual crimes. Sounds like a noble idea. What's on screen, however, is every foul and deviant sexual practice you can imagine being catalogued for you in a titillating and grotesque manner. The show isn't about protecting the innocent at all. It's about shocking an audience who's senses are dulled to near incomprehension by the hundreds of other "ripped from the headlines" shows so they'll stay tuned through the commercials.

Television production values and even the writing have gotten much better over the years. TV execs have become adept at learning what the audience wants and giving it to them. It wasn't always like that. I've heard interviews with retired execs admitting that they thought they could tell the audience what it wanted and that's why most of the shows were so horrible.

But maybe what we want isn't so good for us. When Newton Minow was FCC Chairman in 1961, he said, "When television is good, nothing--not the theater, not the magazines or newspapers--nothing is better.

But when television is bad, nothing is worse." Now, almost 50 years later, the "Vast Wasteland" is only getting vaster.

This Just In: STFU

2009-11-13T08:54:00.003-07:00

The federal Government has just announced a new Scientific Task Force Unit (STFU) whose main goals are to debunk all the misinformation, misstated facts, mis-attributed quotes, and other moronic notions that seem to be circulating in unprecedented quantities.
"Since the advent of the internet," says Mikael Bleschevenitz, Chief Scientist in charge of STFU and former Dean of the College of Mundane But True Information at Stanford, "there has been more opportunities than ever before for the gullible to be heard." While normally a champion of free speech, Bleschevenitz says that we should be championing factual free speech. He added, "I happen to know from personal experience that a duck's quack echoes. I take my pet mallard, Sophie, to the Grand Canyon every year."

Be sure to forward this to everyone unfortunate enough to be in your address book.

Desire and Anxiety

2009-11-09T07:53:00.003-07:00

Anxiety filled every crevice. Every corner. It pushed on his chest from the inside making it hard to breathe. He could feel it foaming up from deep inside the center of his chest, expanding, making his arms and legs physically ache from the pressure. It made him want to cry, to let the tears spurt out as if from a fire hose.
He didn’t understand where it came from. It must be fear but of what? It happened every time he sat down to a project—writing a paper, drawing a commissioned portrait, editing a commercial. It was fear. Fear of not getting it perfect the first time.
It didn’t bother him quite as much when he was editing a commercial. The clients the TV station took on were so cheap that he didn’t care what he turned out. His buddies called him the turd polisher. That’s probably why he’d stayed at his job for so long—15 years now—because it was safe. He could polish turds with the best, and since no one paid any attention to turds, unless the stink was particularly bad, there was no real accountability. The clients who’d never done a commercial before thought he was amazing because they didn’t know what a better editor might be capable of given a greater budget and more time.
But when he sat down to write or to draw, he actually cared about what he was producing. He wanted it perfect. His life depended upon it, somehow. It was what he’d really wanted to with his life before he’d entered the advertising world as a lowest-tier tv editor. He’d wanted to be Ray Bradbury, then Tobias Wolf, then Richard Adams or a male Margaret Atwood. He’d also wanted to be Monet, Matisse, Degas, and even Warhol.
The force of his desire to create something that, at the very least, didn’t stink at all, and at the most, people would clamber to see or read or watch had always violently collided against this seemingly immovable wall of fear with him caught in the middle. He’d tried to reconcile the two, or to conquer the one and nurture the other (many times he wasn’t sure which he was doing to which). But he’d inevitably feel like he’d have to escape or be crushed.
He gave up the crazy idea of becoming a writer or artist for a time, feeling as if he were drowning in a sea of artists and writers who’d already expressed every idea humanity was capable of. But the idea kept pursuing him. Especially the writing idea. He went long, long stretches of not writing but it kept nagging at him, pulling at the hem of his shirt, needling him in the back of the neck. People had no idea he was a writer, or wanted to become one. Most knew he was an artist because he was always drawing. Drawing came easy and there was no pressure because he had no intention of trying to sell it or push it on others. No one saw his blog, though. No one he knew, anyway. He didn’t want them to. He only wrote because if he didn’t appease the nagging little pest every once in a while, it might irritate him to death.
He knew he’d have to write something substantial sooner or later, though. He’d have to brave the violent clash of anxiety and desire and either perish under the onslaught or come through it somehow a changed man.

Cheesy Song Day

2009-06-25T14:15:00.001-06:00

I'm working on a cheesy show so I thought it appropriate to delcare today, "Cheesy Song Day." Enjoy.

An Unfortunate Reminder

2009-02-23T10:26:00.005-07:00

Sometimes humility comes at a high price.

Last week I produced some tribute videos for my boss who died on Friday and they ran on the local TV station that I work for. It was a stressful day and I was hit harder than expected by the loss of this man. I received many compliments for the pieces and that felt good but I tried to keep it in perspective.

This morning that perspective was jackhammered into me with an email from a viewer which my GM passed on to me:

"I have nothing against ______________, but I was appalled to see a serious misspelling on one of the photos honoring him. I don't know who wrote it, but it was shown on ______. You may have heard from some other educated people in Utah. There's a photo of Mr. ________ with the phrase underneath - "He loved Utah. It's land, it's people." Everyone should know that the possessive form of "it" is "its" not "it's." "It's" is a contraction for "it is." This was terribly hokey and Utah doesn't need any more bad publicity. I have seen so many horrendous misspellings on ALL local news channels too. Just thought you might like to know. Sincerely ____________, Park City, Utah."

This has been a big wake-up call. Reading this email makes me realize that I'm as big a jerk as she is because I've been tempted to send out the same email when I see the very same mistake. But I never before took into account what extenuating circumstances might exist. For instance, there is a difference between a typo and a stupidity-driven misspelling or punctuation error. I find myself typing an apostrophe all the time when I shouldn't. That's what rewriting is for. In this case, I don't need a lesson in punctuation (what she has chosen to refer to as spelling) as much as a proofreader. And then there's the stress and shock of losing someone you respect and trying to do right by them by putting a tribute to them on the air in a timely fashion.

So I can't be too hard on this woman. I have been just as much of an asshole as she is.

Come on, Cyrano. Why her?

2009-01-08T12:22:00.006-07:00

I went down to my home office last night to work but realized I wouldn't get much done because my son had to scramble to get his project done for the science fair and that he needed the computer. It's a fact of life at our house that if something is due tomorrow, he's pretty much starting it tonight--usually after 7pm. Even though he had the whole holiday break to work on it. Even though his mother and I (mostly his mother) badgered him about it every day.

So the futility of getting any work done and the lack of sleep but inability to do so that came from working on late-night projects for the last two days drove me to our new HD television that pulls it's signal not from a cable or a satellite dish but from a pair of rabbit-ears. I flipped through all of the new digital stations (a novelty that's already beginning to wear off) until I landed on the long protuberance that I instantly knew to be the nose of Cyrano. It was a stage play and I was mildly intrigued so I put down the remote and watched. I don't know how much of the play I'd missed but I entered in the middle of a duel between Cyrano and some fop. The actor playing Cyrano was a delight to watch. I don't like "Thespians" much--I prefer the subtlety and range of film acting. But this was no ordinary stage performance. For one thing, he didn't feel the need to shout as his counterparts were doing, yet he still filled the stage with his presence. I was instantly drawn in, not the least by the deftness with which he brought humor into the scene. I knew that I was familiar with the actor but I couldn't quite place him. It wasn't until a few scenes later that I realized it was Kevin Kline. So the comedy finally made sense--the kind of sense that can be summed up in 4 words: A Fish Called Wanda.

But it was more than just funny. Kline portrays Cyrano's confidence in his fighting and poetry that's born from the resignation of a man whose appearance is less than ideal with amazing agility. I absolutely loved it. I also loved how the audience responded to him.

Then there was Roxanne. I didn't recognize her at first, either, but it didn't take long to realize that that was the beautiful Jennifer Garner sitting there, enjoying Kline's performance with the rest of us. Then she started to speak and the beauty drained away. I hate to say these things about her because I think she's a great actor but her stage performance can be summed up in five words: A Fish Out of Water. She was the opposite of Kline in every way. There was no subtlety. She overplayed and forced her confidence and this exposed an odd lack of confidence. She contorted her face and gestured wildly, shouting every word. It very nearly ruined the whole thing for me. I got to the point where I had to ignore her and focus on the other performances. Kline's made the whole thing worthwhile but I can't imagine how much better the production would have been if they'd cast someone else for his leading lady.

Great Ideas

2008-11-08T07:48:00.001-07:00

Journal Entry
November 8, 2008 6:48 am

I woke up more than an hour ago and have laid in bed in that dreamy, esoteric state that I love so much because of the creative powers it gives me. On those relatively rare occasions where anxiety hangs out in the background and doesn't assert itself, my thoughtful, expressive self becomes master and I solve all of life's problems. I come up with wonderful ideas and plans with exceptional clarity and focus. Whatever subject I give my attention to--a story idea, a journal entry, a talk, a way to help my kids complete tasks they are facing, or, as in this morning's reverie, polishing my resume--I have the answer in a few moments. And it's usually a brilliant and elegant solution to a problem I've been grappling with for ages.

Then I get up and all of that shoots down the drain with a sucking squeal.

That is why in many cases I don't get up until I absolutely have to. I can't bear to let any of the epiphanies--my babies, really--go. And some of them have to go. There is no way I can carry all of my breakthroughs and discoveries of the past hour down the stairs and to this computer. And even if I could, there is no interface invented to which I can attach my brain directly and transfer my thoughts like raw video. There's no firewire or USB connection in my head. The best I could do right now, for instance, is list the some of the topics and issues I tackled and try to reopen the channel and coax the brilliant ideas back into existence.

On the other hand, let's say for a second that I could do that; that magically or through some advanced technology I could capture (and make sense of) my thought processes of the semi-dream state. (After all, I'm not stupid enough not to think of keeping a notebook and voice recorder next to my bed for such moments.) There is always the danger that I was insane for a while there. In the past I have read--deciphered, really--the notes that I had jotted down in my altered state and I wasn't at all impressed with what I saw there. That could be intelligent, rational selection, or it could be the thug that my brain has hired as gatekeeper. I've got to fire that guy. There is this huge, musclebound, knuckle-headed, cretan that stands at the door of my mind with a clipboard he can barely read who refuses entry to anything not on the list. Since good ideas are usually radical breaks from what is currently accepted, not much gets on the list or past the bouncer.

Anyway, here is what I can remember of the issues that I tangled with this morning:

1) A great idea for a resume: Name. Heading: "Video Editor with over twenty years experience" List the responsibilities of my current job-14 years. Briefly list a few of the other jobs I've had in the broadcast field. List some of the freelance clients I've worked with. Include a less-serious section headed with some witty line about how it's not as serious but still important (I've forgotten the line) that has links to my drawings and to the "endorsements" of Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman. Somehow I've got to show that I don't really consider them endorsements, per se, but that they're pretty cool pronouncements of my talents and abilities anyway and are from A-List actors. (Of course, thatwould be apparent without me flogging the point.)

2) Blog entry about why, even though I'm a registered republican and I voted for McCain, I'm excited and hopeful about the prospects of having Obama as a president and how I get to see the influence of the Republican majority here in Utah on small children, my own included. For instance, while waiting at the bus stop with my son, I heard some 5th graders lamenting the change, saying that he's going to raise our taxes among other things. And my own 5-year-old daughter saw a picture of the President-Elect and said, "That's Obama. I hate him!" to which I replied, "Why do you hate him? We don't hate him, He's our president." "He said children shouldn't watch any TV!" Was her answer.

3) Blog entry about my unique position on race--how that even though I'm lilly-white and of European stock, I have a different perspective in that I have an African-American cousin whom I saw blatantly discriminated against by people who should have taken him under their respective wings. This entry could take the form of an open letter to him about how I think about him almost everyday and how I regret that we've been out of touch for so many years.

4) Now, see. I had at least half a dozen more that I can no longer remember. Stupid bouncer.

The Dance

2008-05-21T17:20:00.003-06:00

It seems I'm never too busy to have a little fun when the opportunity arises. Glenn Rawson is a radio and television personality and author in Utah and Idaho. As I was putting together the promos for his show I noticed that, using some of the shots between takes and the magic of television editing, I could actually loosen him up a little. Here's the result:

The Annual Post

2008-05-15T13:55:00.003-06:00

Once per annum around this time, I turn a year older. I can't seem to stop it. It just keeps coming. This year is no different. It brought with it no epiphanic fanfare or any type of life-changing realizations (unless you count that, fun as it was, I'm never taking the whole family to Tepanyaki Steak House again--too danged expensive!) In fact, it kind of sneaked up on me. It didn't hit me that I was having a birthday until just a couple of days before it happened. This may be due to the fact that my side business has taken off this year and I've been holed up in my cave for weeks concentrating on projects and deadlines and other people's lives.

Most of the projects I get on the side are retrospectives. This year I did three videos for the University. Two of them were for year-end events: The Athletics Department's Senior Banquet and Hall of Fame, and the College of Ed's Convocation. I spent days focusing on the lives of the Hall of Fame Inductees and the graduating seniors, examining their stories and getting them ready to be presented to others. The other video was for the the poli-sci dept. The department was honoring a local celebrity, a well-known pollster--and professor at the U--with a scholarship named after him. The video included appearances by an austere group of leaders and politicians, including US Secretary of Health and Human Services, Mike Leavitt.

I have done these kinds of retrospectives for years and one thing I've noticed is that they usually present a larger-than-life version of the person they describe. All of the interviews are with friends and family and the spectrum of their responses to the subject ranges from respectful admiration to downright gushy brown-nosing. Occasionally there will be a critical comment (and I'm not talking about the "Dean Martin's Roast" type of comment that's usually kept in for comedy) which is squelched immediately. In other projects I've even had to edit a few of those out of the raw video just in case it ever fell into the wrong hands. Sometimes I get to meet the subjects of these videos and get to know how much the video differs from reality. That used to shock me but now I realize that it comes with the territory.

This year was the first time I've been immersed in other people's personal history for so long, though. And it's made me lose track of my own life. Made me put things on hold. I can't tell you how much I looked forward to working out again. I couldn't do it because I was working around the clock and I was too exhausted to do it. But I'm back at it and it feels great!

Car Commercials

2008-05-13T23:31:00.002-06:00

I'm an artist and a video editor, but not necessarily in that order. The two aren't necessarily interchangeable either. Rarely is there any artistic value in my day job putting together television commercials. I've done many commercials over the years and many have been for car dealerships. I'm doing one right now, as a matter of fact. This one is for san diego used cars . The internet has really added a new dynamic to the whole process of buying a car. I can't stand dealing with sales people so the prospect of doing all the research for a car online, away from the pressure, is appealing. You certainly can do a lot of things online these days. I've rented movies, bought a camera for my business, bought books and music and a lot more. I haven't tried buying a car online, yet. Maybe someday I will. Like I said, anything that gets me away from those awful high-pressure sales people is a good thing, right?

And Another Thing

2008-05-13T23:21:00.002-06:00

Speaking of this whole probate thing, there seems to be a lot of firms out there who make it their business to help. For instance, the orange probate attorney. It's not something I've really thought about much, as I said. But there is a need. I think the thing to do, though, is to thoroughly research several companies online and what they really offer. Personally I wouldn't go for the advance. I'm more conservative when it comes to money. I think my mother did the right thing when she put most of her inheritance into investments. If there's a way to do that and shelter yourself from the taxes, that's the way to go, I think. That's where a good attorney might come in handy. I certainly want to be better prepared than I am so that my kids will be taken care of. It's something to think about.

Grabbing the Future Now

2008-05-12T07:05:00.002-06:00

I never thought I'd have the opportunity to even think about dealing with an inheritance. Then my grandparents died and my mother and her brother inherited a tidy little sum. I watched my mom and dad decide what to do with it and they made some good choices and some that didn't go the way they wanted. But for the most part it's worked out. My parents are going to live a long time--they'll probably outlive me--so I most likely won't have to worry about what to do with an inheritance. But there are firms out there that help with the probate process. If only to help you get your cash more quickly. I haven't done all the research so I don't know what they entail. I suppose that if you need your money fast and don't mind paying a fee for it, there's someone who's willing to help get you and some of your cash connected right away.

U2 3D

2008-02-03T11:17:00.000-07:00

So I saw it yesterday at the local IMAX theater. From the very start I was blown away. And I'd already seen it a couple of years ago, sort of. I went to a pre-feature content conference in Los Angeles at a historical movie theater in Hollywood and met the 3ality folks who showed us part of the film that they shot with U2 to pitch this film. They disclaimed the lack of quality, saying it was only a trial run but it was astounding. I felt like I was at the concert.

And that's the way I felt yesterday, during the first song, only more so--and, later, less so. The first song is Vertigo, a track that will get anyone jumping. The speakers were cranked, as the elderly theater manager who admitted me warned. (It had to be a warning, although he worded it as a promise of exciting things to come.) When I say it's better than being there, what I mean is that thanks to the cameras we go places that even the most high-priced ticket couldn't get you into. We hover directly over Larry's drum kit and weave around through Edge and Adam and Bono on stage. And though these are the same shots you see in a "regular" concert film, regular shots don't come anywhere near this experience. This is an entirely new vantage point. Being a drummer first and guitarist much later, I wanted to stay locked in that position over the drums. The 3D technology disappeared and I was actually there, watching Larry smack those drums in his easy style. Cliche though it may be, I really felt like I could touch them. The being there sensation took a back seat after that song, though, and I'm trying to decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I forgot about it and just sunk into the concert itself. And that's what you do at a concert that's really in a movie theater in Salt Lake City. I looked around at the other U2 fans sitting around me, and no one was singing. One guy way below me in the first row was dancing a little and mouthing the words, but other than that no one was moving much at all. I saw a few foot taps but not even any head bobs. I wanted to jump up and start shouting but everyone was so subdued that I even felt self conscious when I noticed myself tapping out all the drum parts along with Larry on my knees. At one point I stopped this and then I thought, who cares? I'm listening to one of my favorite bands--in fact I'm not just listening, but I'm there with them. I can move around if I want to. Another factor that let me loosen up was the fact that the glasses are like blinders on a horse. They're blocked off on the sides so you can only see straight in front of you unless you turn your head. You tell me...is this a Utah thing? Would theater-goers/U2 fans in other cities be so quiet?

Other than the surreal notion that you feel like you're actually at a concert but only virtually that made it seem less like I was actually there, was the film editing. I wonder if I'd feel this way if they had cut from shot to shot rather than using slow dissolves. The latter technique broke the fourth wall and let us know we were watching a movie. On the other hand, the word graphics animated on flat screens for the actual audience were flying at us in 3d space, even, at one point, swirling and weaving around the band members. It was so well done that it seemed like a possible effect at a concert making you wonder why they don't do it at venues. This is something the concert goers missed out on. Neener, neener.

The concert itself was amazing. Much of the content was edited out, I'm sure, to get the film down to an hour and a half, but I didn't go home feeling like they should have played this song or that. It felt complete. One of the reasons for this, for me, was that they played a completely unexpected Passengers song. Bono was even arrogant enough to try Pavarotti's part. I was part turned off by this arrogance, and part amazed that he actually pulled it off!

There are things you can get from this film that you can't get from the concert and there are certainly things that you can get from the concert that you can't get in a theater. Maybe the answer is to go to both. We all know that U2 need the money.

Rebirth

2007-06-15T09:22:00.001-06:00

I mentioned earlier that I turned 40. This has a different effect on people online than it does in the real world. While there are pictures of me on this blog, there's no way for people who meet me exclusively in this realm to really see me, how I dress, talk, behave (or misbehave) so there's no surprise factor. When I say I'm 40, you have no reason to think otherwise. In the real world, however, people are utterly amazed when I tell them. Many of them don't believe me. They think it's some kind of joke. Thirty seems to them the more logical scenario. This has always been kind of fun. It's why I don't mind telling people. The fact that I didn't get married until I was 27 and my kids are all very young reinforces the whole thing. It's all made turning 40 a tad more bearable but I'm waiting for the big switch to my appearance like when I turned 30. Around six months after my birthday I noticed I was 50 lbs heavier. I'd been 135-140 lbs all my life but six months after turning thirty and ever since, I've hovered between 190 and 195. And then there's my hairline. Every day the top of my head is just a little more visible. It looks like the stubbly field in back of my parents' house where I grew up. This concerns me because I swore that my full head of hair would not suffer the same fate as my dad's which, except for a long combover, was completely gone from the top of his head by his late twenties. I have no plans for a combover myself, nor to repeat his disastrous attempt to hide the barren scalp with a wig which was such a drastic change for him that those who recognized him just laughed in disbelief. (Mom, if you're reading this, there's no need to let him know what I've written.)

So I guess what I'm trying to say is you don't know what getting older is until you experience it yourself, and I suppose if I asked my parents or someone in the twilight years, I still don't know. As I said before, 40 hit me broadside but I recovered quickly with the help of an author friend of mind. I was feeling like 40 was the end of the line because I hadn't realized my goal of writing a novel before then. I told her this and she had some very encouraging words to say. For one thing, she told me she was going to check up on me periodically to see if I've been writing everyday. And she gave me a book, Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamont. After reading that and writing nearly everyday for the last few weeks, I feel reborn. 40 is the beginning. And I'm learning more about writing by writing everyday than I ever did in school or from all those books and magazines that I bought. In the trenches is where it's learned. You read other books and other writers' advice but you don't learn it until you write for yourself. It took me 40 years to learn that.

A Doodle for my Birthday

2007-06-02T08:00:00.000-06:00

I've been getting some nice feed back about my drawing on YouTube so I thought I'd draw another one on camera to show a little of the process. You can see it here. This one's a lot more involved than the last one I did. Click on the drawing to see it on a much larger scale. I have a writer friend who thinks I should illustrate childrens' books in this style. It's an interesting idea.

I let my 40th birthday slip by back on May 14th without posting anything about it here. It was a rough day: The day I could no longer deny that I'm old. My body won't let me deny it either. A couple of days ago my car died and I walked the 8 1/2 miles home from work. When I got home 2 hours later, my knees and my left ankle were killing me. I used to do 20 miles in the mountains in a day!
On the up side, I still look young. I was editing for a client a couple of weeks ago and she asked how I could work so fast. (I think I was using photoshop at the time). I said I'd been doing this a loooong time, to which she replied, "How long can you have been doing it? What are you, all of 25?" So at least I can pretend I'm not old when I'm out of the house. My 3-year-old daughter won't let me forget it, though.

Back from the Dead

2007-03-23T22:38:00.000-06:00

Last night: The clients are talking amongst themselves so I go in the other room to watch the DVD burner do its stuff. The video is 52 minutes long so the copies are going to take awhile but maybe if I watch it it'll go faster. OK, I don't believe that, but it's something to do. It's midnight and so much can go wrong still. I've already been up for three days straight to make the deadline and it absolutely has to be done tonight because I'm leaving for Idaho and my brother's wedding. We checked and re-checked the DVD project but when you change segments created in other programs and then re-import them into DVD Studio Pro, there's no telling what problems you can miss. This is week 3 of my work on the project and I don't want anything to be amiss.

Every day I've gotten up at 5 am and worked on it until it's time to go to work and every night I've stayed up late working on it. Then I pull the two all-nighters in a row. But it's still not as bad as last year. There were four all-nighters. I figured I was up for 102 hours straight with two 15-minute catnaps in all that time. It was interesting to see how my body reacted to it. Throughout that period my mind was clouded with a light haze, like looking through a dirty window. Most of the time I handled it just fine. I went to work and then came home and worked through the night until it was time to go to work again. There were times when my judgement was impaired, as if I'd downed a six pack in ten minutes, but most of the time I was able to function pretty well. My wife drove me everywhere because we never knew when my mind would shut down. It was like having epilepsy and waiting for the seisures to come. The problem with working like that is that there are invariably mistakes being made. I think I gave them four different disks before all the problems were finally resolved and I gave them the perfect one. That was delivered at a 7-ll at 1:30 am in the rain. It must have looked just like a drug deal. They were showing to the video to the parents, players, and coaches of the 15 teams in the club at 10am that morning. I waited all day for them to call me and tell me it was a disaster. But they never did. I finally called them and was told it was a raging success--be sure to send the invoice.

This year I was determined to get it done in two weeks with no all-nighters.

Whatever.

A large portion of the program is a collection of videos produced by each team. They are all of questionable quality and all on different formats. This year most of them were on DVD and that was great. But one was on High 8 and one guy even sent me a powerpoint presentation. In those cases all I can do is scramble to find away to convert it to what I need.

So I got the thing finished yesterday and gave them the disk, crossing my fingers that it would be perfect the first time but knowing down deep in my gut that it wouldn't be.

Sure enough I got a call with a bunch of changes. This time they wanted to be there with me. I'm all for that because we can get it right the first time. So we meticulously examined each segment after we waited for 45 minutes for one of them to render. Then, satisfied that all the changes were good, I opened the DVD menu project and examined them in there. They all looked good so we burned the disk and then made copies. That was another hour.

When it was done, we didn't even watch the disks. We were that confident.

I went home to crash. I wasn't going to get up for hours.

At 6am the phone rang. Two of the segments (which just happened to be the ones we changed) cut off at the end and would I please get down there right now and fix them.

I worked through my own personal fog and found the problem: The changes made the segments longer but DVD Studio Pro doesn't automatically adjust running time of the segments. You have to do that manually. I think I knew that but when you're drunk on no sleep the synapses just don't connect properly.

Well, the corrected DVD is in their hands and I'm in Idaho right now and the presentation is tomorrow.

I'll send the invoice on Monday and then I'll have peace until next March when it starts all over again. Only this time it'll be double: I have an almost identical project that I'll be doing for the University at the same time. I'm not sure how I'm going to swing that. But, hey, the money's good.

Vans

2007-03-19T16:43:00.000-06:00

Not the shoes.

Ok, so you heard me crying a few weeks back about somebody throwing a fire extinguisher through the window of my car. I had plans for that car. We were going to go places. (Sorry about that. Puns just happen sometimes.) Well, we bought a new--to us--van that the six of us can all ride comfortably in without having to strap one of the boys to the roof. (No matter how much they beg me to, I'm not gonna. Imagine what the neighbors would think when they flashed their winning bug-toothed smiles!) It's a silver Ford Windstar and we're all thrilled with it. I guess the neighbors aren't, though. The other day I came out to put the new license plates on only to be greeted by "Go Emo Kidz" and "bitch" written on the back door in black sharpie ink.
Now, I'm a peace-loving individual and I outwardly restrained myself. But I'm 99.3% sure who did it and in the recesses of my mind, I was taking my Louisville Slugger to their braided heads. I was able to get it off with some effort.

As for the Mustang, we're getting rid of it. We're keeping our other van, a green monstrosity that sucks gas but is useful for hauling video production equipment. The fact is, I'm too lazy to get a new window for a car that is drawing it's last few breaths anyway.

The green van has another useful feature: Ever since we took it to Jiffy Lube this last time, it stalls while idling. But it doesn't stall just any old time. It's only when the light you're waiting for is about to turn green. So you always know when it's time to put it in park, start it off, and get going. Of course, the people honking and swearing at you for not going soon enough are a great help, too.

Going Back and Back and Back and...

2007-02-27T13:12:00.000-07:00

I've decided one of the reasons I don't write very often here is because whenever I get an idea for a post, a thread of thought, a glimmer of something I could begin to be passionate about, I think that with all the blogs out there, it's probably already been covered--and much better than I could.
In the 70's when I was making my way through childhood, the fishbowl didn't seem so full. There were voices everywhere, but it didn't seem so hard to be heard if you wanted to. I know now that there were still plenty of sets of vocal chords out there, all trying to make their particular points of view known to the world but all I really have to go on is my perception then and it's as if the aquarium has suddenly become so crowded that not only can I make my little cry audible to the world, I can barely hear it myself. Some days I think I have no opinion or thought to begin with.
Then I begin to think about why many writers write--because the enjoy the process, or, if they don't enjoy it, they find that they have to just to feel alive. About ten years ago I set out to get an English degree because I thought it would make me a writer. Since I was in grade school I wanted to write and when I had to decide what to study in college it just felt natural to study English. People who know me might find that strange and say, "What about music? That's all you ever talk about!" I'd have to agree with them because there are a lot of things I'm passionate about and I've tried over and over again to get away from this insane dream of becoming a writer. But I always come back to it--not, actually, to the act of writing, but to the subject of writing and my becoming a writer. I know this doesn't make sense, but this is my blog and it doesn't have to.
The point is that I always come back and one day, I think, I will actually do it.

The Trolley Square Incident

2007-02-15T08:48:00.000-07:00

As you've probably heard a pretty horrifying event took place here on Monday. I sat down to watch TV and instead of Heros, a local news special report was on. I instantly recognized Trolley Square, a mall downtown here in Salt Lake, from the helicopter shot on the screen. There were several SWAT officers hunkered down with their weapons as herds of people were escorted past the mall. I soon learned that, as I watched, someone was walking through the mall shooting people.
My first thought was that I was glad my family and I weren't there. We don't go downtown very often but we've gone to the movie theater at that mall and we've spent time nearby. I just can't imagine trying to protect my children from a gunman or seeing one of them shot.
My next thought, like a lot of others here in Utah, apparently, was, "I should go get my concealed weapons permit." Of course I won't, but I thought about it. Like I said, others are thinking about it, too: There's been a surge in the last couple of days in requests for the permits. I'm not an advocate for gun control, but I decided a long time ago that I'd never own a gun myself. For one thing, I get so mad in traffic that I'm sure I would pull it out and shoot someone on the road for cutting me off or not letting me in to traffic. My 29-year-old brother has his permit and he almost always carries his 9mm around with him. I guess it gives him some comfort but I couldn't do it. Then there are the kids. I would never forgive myself if they shot themselves or someone else because I had a gun around.

I don't like talking about gun control and I didn't want this to be about that but I heard another point from a gun control advocate that got me thinking: If there are several people there with guns out, who do you shoot? When I first heard the report that interrupted my TV show, they were saying there were two shooters. We found out later that one of them was an off-duty police officer. So that comment makes a lot of sense to me. One of these times someone's going to shoot the wrong person.

When I heard that the shooter was Bosnian, my mind began to race. I hoped it wasn't someone I knew. A few years ago, when we were managing apartments, I became friends with a Bosnian boy who'd be around the age of the shooter now. He was a very nice kid who liked to help around the complex. He even tried to teach me his native language. I got to know his family, too. They were ostracized from the other people in the complex who hailed from that area because of their ethnicity. I remember thinking how sad it was that those people were missing the chance to get to know this family. So I listened intently for the name of the shooter, hoping it wasn't Slobodon. It wasn't. I was relieved.

My heart goes out to the victims' families and to the family of the shooter. It's awful that these things happen.

Worst Case Scenario: Goolies

2007-02-06T20:08:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine from work, Joe Borgenicht, has put together a very informative video that should help millions of people who suffer from being hit in the Goolies.
Watch it here.

A nice Suprise

2007-02-03T16:16:00.000-07:00

At 4am I was having some kind of adventure dream--you know, where you're Indiana Jones or somebody like that and you're on the track of some hidden treasure and you're in your underwear...you don't have that kind of dream, do you? Well, anyway, in my dream this alarm sounded. I figured it signaled some kind of trap and I pressed on in my pursuit. Then the alarm became the ringing of a phone and I woke up. It was my neighbor calling to tell me he saw somebody drive by our houses half an hour earlier and vandalize our cars as they passed. His car hadn't been damaged but the window in mine was shattered. I asked him if he'd call the police and then I went back to bed. Strangely enough, I wasn't angry or even disappointed; just tired. Soon our bedroom was filled with flashing blue and red lights. I put on some clothes and went out to see three Sherriff's Cars in front of my house. I walked over to see the damage and found a fire extinguisher sitting comfortably in the front seat, covered with glass. The deputy took it to see if he could trace it but I don't have any hope of that turning up any results. So I don't even have a fire extinguisher that I could sell on Ebay or something.
It was pretty heavy duty, the kind you find in businesses, so it was probably stolen.
I still wasn't angry at all today about it, not like I was when my stereo was stolen. But when I began cleaning it up a while ago and cut my hands on the glass, that's when I started getting pissed. I keep thinking I'm going to get some kind of motion-sensing camera for surveilance but I never do. I can't even say I hope they enjoy whatever it is they took because they didn't take anything. Completely senseless.

A Quick One

2007-01-27T03:17:00.000-07:00

Are you getting sick of these yet? I did this one really quick and videotaped the process.
You can see the video here.

Temple Hill Videos

2007-01-25T14:05:00.000-07:00

My friend, Dennis Lyman, has produced four historical documentaries on Utah and some of the Mormon Temples. I edited and directed three of them. Click here to learn more.

Another Meeting, Another Doodle

2007-01-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

This is the result of a six-hour meeting on Saturday. Someone there tried to steal it from me, but I'm lightning fast, baby. I scanned it larger than the others so if you click on it you'll see it in more detail.

Just a few of the things I can see in it:
a cabin; Mario(a friend of mine swears it's the bat signal); a mummy; a girl leaning against a tree looking down; a rose, an alien skeleton, a bus, a woman in a skirt taking off her jacket (this one's very subtle); a drawing compass wearing gym shorts; an old haunted house with a lot of junk in front of it; a jeep; a low rider; an upside-down mountain lion; a nose-diving goose; a star; upside-down hearts; an amtrak train; a barn; the dog/reindeer from the Grinch; an olive branch; a scale; a harp; a bust of some guy; a pot of gold; two safety pins; a stratocaster; and lots of other things.

A Couple of Doodles

2007-01-19T09:04:00.000-07:00

This is what I do during meetings when they think I'm taking notes:

What images do you see? I see different things every time I look and I drew them.

Ready to Rock

2007-01-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

Here's the new band. As you can see, we have a new Drummer. We're rehearsing, gearing up for the new world tour. There are a few hitches, though. We're not sure when we're going to start because one of us isn't potty-trained yet. I'll let you decide which one. Our booking agent is up in arms and some of the venues are threatening to pull out if we don't give them a solid commitment. The way I see it, our fans won't let that happen. We discussed it as a band and their mom, I mean our manager, has agreed that we just can't risk an accident on stage. So we'll keep practicing and we'll let everyone know when we're ready to get on the road.
Oh, by the way, if anyone can think of a good name for us, we're all ears!

2007-01-14T23:12:00.000-07:00

A couple more of my drawings. The brown one is Saint somebody and the boy is one of my sons.

I Don't Think So, Al

2007-01-13T08:54:00.000-07:00

This photo has been sitting here in my editbay for a while and I figured I ought to preserve it here with the others I've put up.
That was the day Richard Karn finished shooting an infomercial. He is a great guy. Very funny and very un-Al-like. I never ask for these photos. I always leave that up to my buddies who are in the picture with me and Richard. The only time I asked to have a photo with someone was Tears for Fears which you can read about somewhere in this blog.
A few weeks after this I was in Vegas at the airport looking through a magazine and I saw a full-page ad for the company he did the infomercial for. It was a shot of the whole cast and crew on our stage. It's funny how excited I get about these things.

I'm Listening to Music Again!

2007-01-06T15:56:00.000-07:00

I started this post a while ago and then I started to realize how much it rambles. I'm not sure anyone wants to know what I think about music, especially when my thoughts go on like this. But this experience I had rediscovering U2 has taken a lot of space in my grey matter and it even made me physically ill. Something that profound ought to be preserved for myself if for no one else. So here I go:

If there is one thing that's on my mind more frequently or more intensely than anything else, I would say it has to be music. I'm not sure I like what that says about me. I'd rather have it be my family, or God, something noble like that, but it's not. It's music. I might talk about how lost I've been feeling that last few years in another post but I've been thinking that this overwhelming disorientation in my life lately has at least some roots in the way I've been feeling about the state of music in the world.

Back in the 80's when I was in my late teens and early 20's, I was driven. I pursued my job in television with an exlusionary furvor. I pursued my art and writing, if not with the same intensity, at least much more than I do now. Music had really sparked me. While officially I was a goth/punker, I was into any kind of music that had what I considered were edgy, punk rock ideals. Many might agree with my definition but in addition to the obvious choices like The Sex Pistols, The Cramps, The Circle Jerks, 7 Seconds, The Pogues, I included Pink Floyd, Neil Young, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Doors, and (I know, I know) Prince and the Revolution. They were all--or they all had been at one time--pushing the limits and doing things that were outside the mundane crap that had been going on. I loved listening to that but I had two fall backs that I always listened to: Depeche Mode and The Cure. Anybody familiar with these two groups in the early eighties will agree that they are not the same bands they used to be.
Then, in 1985, a punker I knew gave me a cassette he'd recorded from LP. Actually it was from two LP's. One side was TSOL, which was just a little too thrashy for me and I couldn't connect. But the other side of the cassette changed me in ways I can't describe. It was "Under a Blood Red Sky" by U2. I was absolutely blown away by it. I wore the tape out listening to it. I had heard some of the songs much earlier on the radio, "Electric Co.," "New Year's Day," and "I will Follow" among them. I had thought they were cool but when I heard them, my relationship with music was much more cursory. I didn't pay a whole lot of attention. But this, the live, kind of ratty, unpolished, but huge sound grabbed me and threw me to the ground. I immediatly bought it on cassette along with all of their studio albums up to that time. I was disappointed. First of all, the cassette didn't have Bono's long ramble in the middle of "Electric Co." It was edited out. I vaguely remember it being something about clowns. The other disappointment was that the studio versions on Boy, October, and War, did not nearly capture the vibrance and spontaneity of the concert. I had come at these songs in one way and from the studio they seemed wimpy and dispassionate. I've gotten over that, though, and I wouldn't miss the chance to hear the other songs that didn't make it in the concert.
I was completely under U2's spell for years afterward. Unforgetable fire was a thrill because they'd finally done in the studio what they captured at Red Rocks. the Joshua Tree pierced me with its anthems. When the film "Rattle and Hum" came out, I was a cameraman for the local news in Idaho. Between the 6pm and 10pm newscasts, I went across the street to the theaters there and bought a ticket. I sat there by myself shivering from being immersed in the stunning live footage. Phil Joanu is incredible. I know that album wasn't a critical success but I loved it. U2 could do no wrong, except that Bono's God complex started to become apparent. I didn't really think about it at the time but, looking back, I realize that something didn't sit well with me. He had a message and he was forcing it down everybody's throat. And the message wasn't just political. It was about American music and values and it was a little pushy for an Irishman who hated the blues.
Then there was a break. I went on a mission for my church before "Achtung Baby" came out. Mormon missionaries live a somewhat cloistered life in that they don't listen to popular music or watch movies or, in some cases, read the news. All this is so that they can focus on their two years of work. It's actually a good thing and I wouldn't trade my experience for anything.

Of course I couldn't miss hearing the ubiquitous sounds of the band of Dubliners. But I couldn't immerse myself in it and I lost touch. The next thing I remember is seeing videos from "Pop" years later on M2 and if the door wasn't shut before then it was now...and locked. "Pop" sucked and the concert that came here to Salt Lake sucked according to my friend who went to it. So that was it. I didn't need to pay attention anymore. I didn't even know they had come out with "All That You Can't Leave Behind" until last week. I totally missed that one. When I saw their Ipod commercial featuring "Vertigo" my interest piqued, but not enough to get them back on my radar.

But it wasn't just U2 I lost touch with. Music in general was going down the tubes. Aside from the few standouts--Coldplay, John Mayer, and The Killers--music had lost its soul. I was dependant on old stuff to get me by: Pink Floyd, The Beatles, and a few others. I even started exploring genres I'd avoided, going for Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash, and the old delta bluesmen. But for the most part, I avoided music. When I got an IPod, I loaded it up with audiobooks. People would think I was rocking out when I was really sinking into a great book.

Then it happened. A couple of weeks ago I was in the library looking for another audiobook and I saw U2 by U2 among the new arrivals. It was a hefty book and I figured I'd do what I always do with books of that type. I've done it with the best: I thumb through it, looking at the pictures and reading a few pages but inevitably losing interest and returning the book. I've done it with Pink Floyd's book, Mick Fleetwood's, and many others. Still, I thought I'd give it a shot. I read until 3 or 4 in the morning every night for a week until I'd finished it. I'm just getting over a 3-day migraine as a result. But I've also rediscovered my favorite band as well as discovering a few other things along the way.

One of the reasons I fell out with U2 is I don't like liking bands that everyone else likes. If it's the lowest common denominator there must be something wrong with it, right? When I was first into them, hardly anyone else I knew was into them. Now it seems everybody on the planet knows who they are. Also, Bono seems to have this arrogance that I can't abide. That came through in the book, as well. His paragraphs were always 3 or 4 times as long as the rest of the band's. And he had the last word! But the rational side of me thinks that that is what it takes to become what he's become. Not necessarily arrogance but confidance, which he has in abundance.

A few more threads of thought formed inside my little old brain as I read. The band talks about the song, "One," how people play it at their weddings and how the band, having written the song would never have it played in such a setting. It's about breaking up, they say, not getting together. That got me thinking. It's not just the poet who writes the poem. It's the reader as well. They bring their own experiences to the work and make it their own. It doesn't matter who owns the copyright, no one owns the work itself. It's a living thing that starts breathing as soon as someone lays eyes or ears on it.

Ok. That's enough of that. Suffice it to say, my IPod's loaded with U2's music. And I have quite an advantage over the rest of the planet: This stuff is all new to me!

On a Winter's Day

2007-01-05T13:39:00.000-07:00

This is what it looks like outside my window right now. That's our half-dead plumb tree that drops purple bombs all over the sidewalk in the summertime, exploding their sticky mess in the path of passersby.

This is our half-dead willow tree that is a beautiful sight when it's showing off its green plumage except for a great gap in the very top which, at its worst, looks like a cancer-caused cavity, and at its best, an old bald man who can only manage to grow hair on the sides of his head.

The snow seems, oddly, to be a new thing at our house. There's a lot of excitement among the kids and grumbling among the adults. There's talk of Snowmen and Snow Forts and how our neighbor came and "mowed" the snow in our driveway, according to my youngest son. Little girl is bugging me to go out with her but she can't find her boots. This is the first real snowfall of the season but other than that, I'm not sure what all the fuss is about. We've spent a lot of time in the white stuff. I could ski almost before I could walk and in Idaho where I grew up, we could walk close to the tops of the power poles on the drifts. I guess it is a lot milder here but you wouldn't know that by watching the traffic. People around here get really stupid in the snow when they're driving. They think their monstertruck four-wheel drives will stop them on a dime on a sheet of inch-thick ice. They never learn.

My Fifteen Minutes Aren't Up Yet...If I Can Help It

2007-01-04T01:27:00.000-07:00

I've got a friend who's a movie reviewer with a nationally syndicated show. He's the one interviewing Robin and Dustin in those videos of mine. I put together the graphics for his show when I feel like it. I don't get paid for it so it's not something I'm really motivated to do. He's been bugging me for a new look for the new year and I've been putting a little effort into it here and there but that hasn't really helped me much because he's still nagging. If I'd just get the thing done, he'd get off my back for a while. So I found the kick in the butt I needed:
The concept is several of the stars he's interviewed flying by in slick looking boxes that assemble themselves into the "T" (the first letter of the title of the show) when you pull back wide. It's a mundane process because you need a lot of shots to make it work. While I was thus engaged, I noticed my camera in the corner and had a crazy thought. What if I took a shot of myself as if I were one of the stars and slipped my picture in there? So I set up the camera here in my edit bay and rolled on 40 seconds of myself talking to the wall. My shot won't be prominent. It'll come up in the distance but it will be clear enough for someone to recognize me if they're looking for it.

Don't tell my friend.

So THIS is Why We Lie

2007-01-02T15:20:00.000-07:00

This will go down in the annuls (not anals) of history as the best Christmas ever. This is not because I was swimming in presents--I wasn't. It's not even because I gave my wife the gift that made her jaw drop and brought tears to her I eyes--I didn't. It was because I got to live Christmas through my three-year-old daughter.

3:45 am Christmas Morning: I'm jolted awake by the sound of my Wife's voice shouting, "Get out of there. Go back to bed until 7:00!" The culprits? Dinky Jr. and his 8-year-old brother rummaging through the presents. As far as I know they went back to bed.

7:00 am: I'm awakened again. This time it's the sound of little boys whispering, "Can we go in there now?" I got up and tried to rouse Little Girl. As always, she wouldn't have any of it. She's a late sleeper. I pulled out the big guns. "Do you think Santa came?" She was up like a shot and heading toward the living room. Her body was up but her brain was still asleep and I had to steer her to keep her from bumping into the walls. She went into the room, looked around, and went right past her presents to the window. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "I don't see Santa," she said. I pointed to her presents and we explained that Santa had been there after all.

All morning long we took turns opening presents. Even before she had the wrapping off of most of them she would exclaim with joy about the wonderful suprise inside, and then she would say, "What is it?"

All week she walked around saying, "It's a wonderful Christmas!" until New Year's Day when her mantra changed to, "Is it Christmas?"

The Who?

2006-12-21T23:13:00.000-07:00

I've never been really into the Who--even when I was hanging out with the mods in San Fernando Valley, CA back in 1985 with our thriftshop clothes and peace symbols. Certainly not the way I'm into Pink Floyd, the Beatles, John Mayer or Coldplay (really the only four acts that exist right now--and yes, the Beatles will always exist!). But when my 10-year-old, Dinky Jr., and I got 20th-row floor seats to their show last month, I became a convert. So did Dinky Jr., I think. He recognized "Who Are You" which is the theme song to C.S.I., possibly the worst show on network television right now.
People tell me that this concert was nothing like the last time they were here, well over 20 years ago, when they were strapping young (well, at least younger than they are now) lads who could jump around on stage without losing their breath, but all I have to say to that is, I'm glad I didn't see that show. This one far exceeded any expectations I had. It was a tad loud (even Daltry plugged his ears at one point) for my taste but Dinky Jr. had earplugs in so I wasn't worried about him.
We were told that the show was being filmed for a DVD and I saw some cameras trained on us, so we might show up in it. Dinky Jr. is pretty cute, after all, and for a 10-year-old, he was gettin' down, as they say.
The light show was pretty good and I loved the images that appeared in the flat screens behind the band. I loved the nostalgia of said images and was touched by the last song, which seemed to be a look back to all they had been and a lament on the fact that there's only two of them left.
They're old men, sure, but they can still rock. Pete, if anything, has gotten better on guitar. I did notice, though, that on the intro to "Pinball Wizard," rather than playing an accoustic, he played a Strat through an accoustic sim pedal. What that implies is that his fingers aren't as strong as they used to be but that probably isn't true. He probably just likes the Strat better. At any rate, it sounded fabulous, perfect, and it gives me hope that the technology is out there that makes great sounds easier to create.
It was a smart move getting Zak Starky on drums. I didn't realize who he was until Pete introduced him. As soon as I heard the name, Starky, I knew. I hate to say this but it's the truth: He rocks harder than his dad!
You can't ignore the age thing, though. As we were walking toward the arena before the show, I told Dinky Jr., "This band was popular when your Grandma was a teenager!" Imagine that.

Jack the Dripper

2006-12-15T18:25:00.000-07:00

The Rat in this photo emailed this url to me. It's very relaxing and makes you feel like an artist.

A thought I had when I couldn't sleep...

2006-12-14T21:46:00.000-07:00

Since its earliest conception rock & roll has been about one thing: Excess. How far can you push the volume, the tempo, and the envelope. Nigel Tufnel's volume knobs that go to eleven ring eerily (and hilariously) true. Rock lyrics have been a symbol for how much you can violate taboos, sexual, racial, religious, among others. Then life began imitating art with the artists living out the extremes represented by the music. There have been excesses of alcohol and drugs, overdoses, suicides and attempted suicides, insanity, and even a surprising number of murders. Styles of dress have gone from one extreme to the other: Drugs and Alcohol to Straight Edge; Hair ultra long and ultra short (and ultra pink); Clothing suffocatingly tight to so baggy you could drown. And it goes on. The music has even gotten so excessive and extreme at times that very few could tolerate it. So whether you listen to Extreme or INXS or any of the countless other line-crossers out there, if you're into rock music you're pushing the limit.

2006-12-14T10:24:00.000-07:00

It's been a year since my last real post. A year. Worse than that (maybe "worse" isn't the right term...) I haven't drawn seriously for over 4 years. Four Years! But the forces have been gathering. An almost pre-war energy has been swirling around--the kind of energy you read about in The Lord of the Rings. Something's going to happen. I almost said finally, but that would suggest an end to the long creative lull I've had. That kind of thinking is destructive because when I hit the next wall I won't be expecting it and it will stop me for a longer period next time--or even for good.

All this isn't to say that I've been doing nothing. I've actually been extremely busy and, looking back at it, a lot of that effort has been well-placed...preparatory. To create there has to be something to draw from. I've been playing my guitar every day for over five years now. Last night I watched Clapton's Crossroads Guitar Festival on PBS and played along with most of the acts. (When John Mayer came on I put my guitar on my lap and just stared in awe at the young punk. How can you have a hero that's 13 years younger than you?) Inspiration was oozing out of the television and I was catching it in the palms of my hands. I started playing guitar about 5 years ago (I've been playing drums for 20) and I've never held any real hope or belief that I'd be any good--I just love it. What happened to me last night, though, gave me a little hope. I noticed that my finger know where to go for the most part. Armed with my basic knowledge of chords and structures, I'm able to intuit form and play along. I still have no illusions about being any good at guitar but there's a reason, now, to keep pursing my other creative goals.

I just read a paragraph on Mayer's Blog that says all this much better than I can:

"I can't really explain what happens when, as an artist, you get that message from the inside that says "time to make another one." One day you're sitting around, living off the fat of the land, and then as if from out of nowhere, it taps you on the shoulder. The slate goes shiny and clean. Those colors come back - it all starts as colors - then moods, then settings, then sounds, then words. And churning beneath that the entire time is the doubt; doubt that you'll find the rhyme, doubt that you'll ever connect that verse with that chorus, doubt that you have anything left to say that matters."

I can't make any predictions about how long this will last or how long I continue to post to this blog even. But something is in the works and for the first time in a long while, I'm feeling the excitement.

Hey! I'm in That!

2006-01-25T08:41:00.000-07:00

I was over at www.nytimes.com and I saw an article about the new Mars Imax film. If you listen closely you can hear my voice in the film. The sound for the scene in the control room where all of the scientists are cheering their success at having successfully communiticated with the rover was recorded here at the TV station. My co-workers and I are the ones doing the actual cheering and clapping.

Wait Up!

2005-08-08T09:06:00.000-06:00

I'm still, amazingly enough, riding the bike. I'm still enjoying the scenery. The cats are gone and it's still pretty secluded up there. The wildlife is the most amazing part about the ride. The other day I startled a hawk which flew over my head and landed on a telephone wire that sagged under it's weight. It watched me as I came closer. It was about six feet directly over my head when it flew off again. I continued pushing up the hill, wishing I had a camera. I looked back and it had landed on the top of one of the poles. I kept going and it followed me, flapping to the next pole and then the next.

Today was different. A neighbor of mine heard I was riding and wanted to come along. His bike is one speed because his derailer broke and he just took it off, so I thought he'd have a hard time keeping up. Fine with me, I'm not a racer--more of a meanderer. Boy! was I wrong. He cruised up the hills like they were flat, saying, "Lance Armstrong loves these kinds of hills." I had a hard time hear this, though, because I was so far behind him. Twenty minutes later (it's usually thirty when I'm alone), he was waiting for me at the top of the hill. I slogged up, sucking wind, and turned around, grateful for the rest I'd have coasting back down the hill. Back home, we talked for awhile, then he said, "Do it again tomorrow?" "Sure," I said, wondering how I was going to manage getting up at 6am again. So my pretend workout is becoming real. Scary.

Drawings

2005-07-29T17:48:00.000-06:00

I don't have my drawings site anymore. A few people have asked to see them so this will be the place for them (click to enlarge):

The Ride

2005-06-25T08:31:00.000-06:00

There was a little action on my almost-daily bike ride this morning. About three times a week I get up at about six and ride for half an hour. It's been going on for a while now but it doesn't seem to be having any effect on my physique which unfortunately looks like the guy in "Supersize Me" at the end of his thirty-day ordeal. It was just seven years ago when I resembled his before picture. I keep riding though, hoping that something will happen eventually and because it's such a beautiful ride and I feel rejuvenated when I'm done.

I take a dirt road on the edge of the forbidden wilderness known as Kennecott Property, home of the Kennecott Copper mine. It's only about thirty yards from 84th West, a rather busy highway, but it feels very secluded. On one rainy, windy morning I coaxed myself out of bed to make the trek, and I was very glad I did. A stunningly beautiful mist hung around the tops of the hills and the freezing rain soaked into my clothes and skin, making me feel alive. About a week ago, in much calmer weather, I nearly ran into two does. The trip always starts out up hill. I don't dare go down hill first because I'll never make it home again, so I ride for 25 minutes up hill, then I turn around and take ten minutes to get home. On this particular morning I was cruising pretty fast and, as I was coming round a bend, I didn't see the deer until I was almost on top of them. They hesitated for only a second then jumped over a barbed wire fence in tandem.

A few days ago I noticed a dead black cat in the road. It puzzled me because I've only ever seen one car on the road. I hoped it would decay quickly so I wouldn't have to see it every day, but I knew it would be there for a long time because no one goes there. Today there was a second cat, a long-haired white one of some sort, lying in the road. I'm not sure how this is happening. As I rode past, my calf started to itch. I scratched it and it itched again. I looked down and saw a large black fly making me his dinner. I swatted at it to brush it away and smeared it all over my leg, streaking blood on my hand. I was pretty squeamish because a friend of mine had told me the other day about watching the program, "Nature" about parasites and how this guy was walking in the jungle and was bitten by a black fly on the stomach. The resulting red mark grew in size over a few weeks and he found himself the proud papa of an inch long larva.

I kept going and startled a jack rabbit. I would have enjoyed this more, but I kept thinking I'd better go to the doctor. I'm not going to wait around like that guy. He even called the thing "George," for crying out loud! No Georges alowed in my leg, thank you very much.

Entertainment Journal

2005-05-21T22:41:00.000-06:00

You can read my articles for the EJ in PDF format. My lousy picture and bio are there, too. Let me know what you think.

Knock Knock

2005-05-11T19:58:00.000-06:00

Is anybody here? It's been a long, long time. I can't say no to any project that comes along--even if it doesn't pay that well--so I haven't had much time. When that happens, my contact with the online world suffers. It's amazing that I haven't been here for months and yet I still average nine visitors a day.

Let me just fill you in on what has been keeping me so busy. My business has really picked up--strictly word-of-mouth advertising. I'm working for a local girls soccer club that has fourteen teams, some of which are highly ranked in the country (one is sixth in the whole nation). They have me shooting a lot of their games. It's a good deal for them but it's getting me some exposure and practice. On top of that I have a great relationship with two producers in town who throw work my way every once in a while. I just finished an eight minute video for a title company seminar and I'm working on a dvd production of a play I shot by myself with two cameras.

The seminar video kept me up all night last Sunday. My editing schedule was frequently interupted by soccer games and other responsibilities so I found myself working all night the night before the video was due to be proofed. I pushed on through the night, catching the late, late, late movie, Pushing Tin, (it didn't impress me much), and a Tony Robbins infomercial along the way. At one point, I turned the channel to see that the local morning show hosts were up already. I checked the clock and it was 5 am and I wasn't ready to have my work approved. I kept going until 7 am and dumped it to tape so I could bump it over to dvd at work. There wasn't enough time to author it and put it on dvd at home. I got the boys up and took them to school and I went to work. Everyone at work has waited until today, when I look alive, to tell me I looked like death warmed over on Monday. I stumbled around all day drifting in and out of consciousness. Then the incident happened.

Now, I have a special place at work where I can pull a George Costanza--you know the episode where he has a carpenter build a place to sleep under his desk. Behind my editing console is a place where I can stretch out and catch a light snooze with no one detecting me. Sometimes people will come in, but they always see the room empty and leave. At about noon, the fatigue was becoming almost painful. It was my lunchtime and my next client wasn't due until 2pm so I crawled back into my cubby and drifted off. The next thing I remember, I'm standing up and shaking hands with my client. It's now 2:10 pm. I learned later that the scheduler had been looking all over the building for me until he found the photographer who knows about my hiding place. Then he went into the bay, hurrying lest the client come in to find me snoozing. It took him almost a minute to wake me and by that time the client had come in. "Did you find it?" the scheduler asked me, hoping to cover. The client didn't buy it. "What are you doing back there?" he chuckled. Luckily, I've known him for about six years and he likes my work, so nothing I do bugs him. I made his commercials in a haze, like I was still coming off a drinking binge. I'm not pleased with the result and I took twice as long as I usually do, but he liked it and that's all that counts.

I didn't go in yesterday but I was up late again last night finishing up the project. I did get some sleep, though, and I felt a lot better today.

The title company emailed a few changes, but it looks like I can wrap that up and get paid. Now I have four days to get the play finished and send out the invoice. Things might slow down enough for me to pay more attention to this blog, but, frankly, I hope not. I need the money. I want desperately to get out of "survival mode" as a former NBA player described my financial situation a couple of weeks ago. It's what's known as living paycheck to paycheck, and I can't wait till I'm done with it.

In addition to all of this, I've been writing for a local newspaper. I'll post the articles I've written soon. I actually get to invoice for that, now. I guess till now it's been a free gig but I'm told that they're making a profit (after only their third issue!) and they want to pay me. It's not much, but so what. I really enjoy it.

Well, thanks for sticking by me, the nine of you. I really appreciate it and I appologize for not giving you something to do while you've visited.

Busy Busy Busy

2005-02-26T10:07:00.000-07:00

The blog's looking a bit messy. I changed ISP's and I've been slow on the uptake. I had two weeks to get all the photos and other hosted elements off of my old ISP's server and I just didn't do it. So now I have to round everything up from multiple folders on multiple computers and disks--a task I find more than a little daunting.

On top of that, the downpour of opportunities has begun. My business is starting to pick up. In the 10 years of editing at a tv station in Salt Lake, I've made some pretty influencial friends and contacts and that's starting to pay off. The local girls' soccer club which is fourteen teams strong has asked me to produce a twenty-five minute video for them; I have other editing projects in the works as well; In addition I have written my debut article for the debut issue of the new Entertainment Journal distributed throughout Utah and expanding to other states(I have three hard copies of the newspaper to prove it) and I've been asked to do two or three more each month--I have a week to get the ones for april done; I'm supposed to be writing the video open and DVD sleeve for the fourth in a series of Utah historical videos right now. The producer told me just yesterday to "get off your ass," because he wants to start editing right away and we can't do that until I've written the open and sent it off to be read for the voice-over. (What he doesn't understand is that I really should be "on my ass" when I'm writing. I didn't tell him that.) All of these are paying gigs. All of them are overwhelming, but not nearly so as the demands of my kids who dug a hole in the yard next to our house exposing the sprinkler system. It was research for a book my 9-year-old is writing called Digging Holes. I've read the rough draft: "A hole takes a while to dig." Pretty good so far, though it needs some fleshing out, and since I won't let him do anymore research in the yard, I'm not sure the book will get finished.

My mom says my dad has been jumping on the mini trampoline since his treadmill isn't working. I think he's supposed to be resting but I know that he'll either long outlive me, or he'll exercise to death. There's no in between.

Dad

2005-02-16T21:26:00.000-07:00

My Dad has always been a little larger than life to me, invincible. Always very athletic, he has either run or worked out with weights almost every day that I can remember. A couple of years ago he retired from a job that required excellent health, a rare thing to happen. Very few people reach 65 in that position--security guard at nuclear testing facility--because they can no longer pass the physical training exams. But that was never a problem for my father. Even in my adult life my 5'6" tall dad towered over my 5'11" frame in my mind. I've always been confident that he'd outlive me. That's why the call I got a few days ago stunned me. My mother told me he had had a heart attack. He'd started having chest pains and decided to work them off by lifting weights. When that didn't help, he shoveled snow off the driveway. The pain only intensified so he went to the doctor. I wondered if I should make the drive up to Idaho Falls to see him, but every one was saying that it was very mild and I wanted to wait to find out what action would be taken before I used sick time so I could optimize the time I'd spend with him. Then yesterday we found out that there were far more blocked arteries then the one that the doctor had expected. He said it was more like six or eight. What's more, one of the chambers in his heart was no longer pumping. I told my boss that I needed the rest of the week off and I drove up here to Idaho Falls. I went straight to the hospital and found that he looked a lot better than I expected. He feels better, too. We talked for a long time. The doctor still hadn't come with the results of the tests they'd conducted this morning so my mom, my brother, and I went to dinner still not knowing what might happen. The news is better now, though. I just learned a few minutes ago that the chamber had sort of shut itself down to preserve itself since it wasn't getting any blood. His heart is still perfectly healthy. They still haven't told us whether they're going to perform bypass surgery but that a pretty safe bet, I imagine.

The shock is starting to wear off and this news has helped. I don't know what I'd do if I lost him, but at least I've been given a chance to tell him how I feel.

Supersized

2005-01-24T16:53:00.000-07:00

I've seen the movie, Supersize Me, twice now. Superb! It reminds me of Moore's style, which, while I don't agree with his politics, I like a lot. None of us at work are going to eat fast food anymore. We'll see how long that lasts.

It's not as if I'm not busy enough--maybe that I just like to punish myself--but I've been offered something on the side that I can't pass up. My emmy-award-winning, national-television-syndicated, film-reviewer friend is starting a regionally distributed magazine (Utah, Nevada, California) and has asked me to be the music editor. It pays next to nothing, if anything at all, but it's a great opportunity to get my resume going in the direction I had intended when I got my English degree. We're off to the Sundance Film Festival, press passes in hand to see one of the concerts that'll be there this week. I didn't know this, but music is big at Sundance, what with all the bands vying to get their music into films. I'm nervous. I don't fancy myself the best writer, but, as Norman R. Augustine said, "Motivation will almost always beat mere talent." Wait a minute...motivation? Oh, hell. I'm in trouble now.

Opportunity Knocks

2005-01-10T19:04:00.000-07:00

But I can't find the door. I didn't realize the consumer video business was so cutthroat. My buddy got a gig following a high school dance team through their season. The coach is a friend of his and when she found out he was doing that kind of thing now, she called up the company the school has always gone through to tell them she was no longer in need of their services. "You know you have to buy the state competition video from us, don't you?" they shot at her. "Your guy won't be allowed in there." We all scoffed at that. Who would keep a couple of guys trying to make an honest buck out of a state dance competition?
We're not laughing anymore. Apparently this other company has a monopoly. No one else is allowed to do business with any of the high schools in the state. How is that possible? What happened to the great American capitalistic concepts like competition and free trade? It looks like the only way we're going to be able to shoot the state comp is to sneak our cameras in and look like proud parents. I didn't realize there was a consumer video mafia in Utah.

Then there's the wedding video crowd. Weddings are huge business in Utah and it seems like everyone and their pet poodle is doing the video thing. There's a wedding expo every year here that costs $700 for a booth. That's understandable. I can deal with that. What I can't deal with is the fact that only five videographers are allowed in, and there's a waiting list with 85 companies on it.

Every novel idea I come up with already has 50 people doing it. I'm not into this struggling for the legal tender thing. Why can't making a living be easy: I do a video that I think looks good and people pay me. What's the matter with that business plan?

The Snow's Here

2005-01-05T08:51:00.000-07:00

And I'm going to pummel the local weather man who said we wouldn't get any down here in the valley. Yesterday my buddy and I were cheering him on like he was playing in the Ute game against Pitt. Then today I get up and there are three inches of snow on my car. Lying jerk. If you're going to make that much money to prognosticate, you'd better be right.
And why are there so many accidents on the roads when there's a snow storm like this one? Why do people who live in Utah, whose license plates say "The greatest snow on earth," think they can drive the way they would if the roads were spotless? I don't mind a little slowing--in fact it's necessary. But the roads become shopping mall parking lots because a most of these idiot Utah drivers think snow isn't slippery or that having four-wheel-drive will help them stop when they gotten themselves in deep crap. One guy hit the wall on the side of the freeway and another had stopped in the middle of the right lane and was standing outside talking on his cell phone. OK, that's enough of that.
Princess Rufflebutt is eating again! She'd lost two pounds last week, which, for a twenty-two pound kid, is a lot. That's almost ten percent! We found out that we've been exacerbating the situation by giving her milk. The throwing up stopped and was replaced by the worst case of diarrhea I've ever seen and we were making it worse with the milk. But she wasn't eating anything. I don't know how she's been surviving. The doctor told us to give her anything she'd eat and drink, even soda and cookies. We are and she is going to town on those things. I'm afraid she'll never eat real food again. She's her happy, chatty self again, though, and for that, I'm grateful.

Still on the Road

2005-01-01T23:02:00.000-07:00

Another mile marker passed. There's a theory circulating among a few of us at work that time seems to be speeding up lately, and it sure seems to be true. It seems like the millenium came and went just a few days ago.

2004 leaves us with a tragedy that boggles the mind. I can't believe that so many people have died in the Asian tsunami. It's hard to watch the images depicting all of the carnage. I can't imagine what it must be like to be there.

We're a little worried here at home; Princess Rufflebutt acquired some kind of illness a few days ago. For about three days she's thrown up everything she's eaten or drunk, and until today she hasn't wanted to eat anything at all. It's as if her tiny body has developed a sudden disdain for nourishment. All she wants is to be held by me and me alone. She doesn't want her mother, just me. I like the attention, but it makes it hard to get anything done. She's getting better though. She didn't vomit as much today as she has been and she's been playing and bringing me books to read to her. It's a relief. There's not much of her to waste away by not consuming anything.

The rest of the family is doing well, though. We had a great Christmas--Santa was very good to us--and I think 2005 is going to be wonderful. Happy new year!

Let it Snow

2004-12-27T22:06:00.000-07:00

Odin pointed out that my pictures of Downtown Salt Lake just before Christmas don't have any snow in them. Wow! He's right. I don't know why that didn't cross my mind, except that maybe I'm getting used to the drought here. When we first came to live here ten years ago, the winters were more like they were where I grew up: Snow that buried our car completely and took hours to dig out. I don't miss it. I like not having to shovel the driveway. When it does snow, I just have to wait a couple of days for it to melt. But, like I said, it wasn't always that way here. When we managed apartments, I broke my back shoveling the yards and yards of sidewalk. On the freeway, watching everyone else drive at insane speeds, it was I, the safe driver, who spun out, ending up facing the wrong way in oncoming traffic. Of course, I've never ended up at the side of the four-lane road, my car stuck in the white stuff, waiting for a tow truck.

Snow has always been a part of my life. I grew up on skis, though I don't do it anymore. I've never had to pay as my dad has always been on the ski patrol. Now that I do have to fork over the cash, it doesn't seem worth it.
Our yard was always piled high with snow in the winter. My friends and I would jump off the roof of our two-story house into the drifts and I would dig deep tunnels down in the trampoline hole and make forts. One year the tunnel collapsed on me and I spent nearly an hour digging myself out. Scary.

Now...I could do without it. I know I shouldn't say that, what with the drought and all. But there it is.

Merry Christmas!

2004-12-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

Downtown Salt Lake City is pretty this time of year. The family and I went to Temple Square (where the Salt Lake Mormon Temple is) on Monday night and I took a few photos. Dinky Jr. got his mug in one.

The Humor of Sarcasm

2004-12-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

Sarcasm as humor only goes so far. It's the staple of most of the relationships I have outside of my family, though. It doesn't carry much weight at home, but at work, an outsider could have no clue that my buddies and I love each other. We're constantly giving each other the bird and calling attention to each others' faults. It's all in fun. We know that. Until, that is, you add a few pressures to the mix. My last appointment of a long, migraine-inducing schedule today was a three-minute interview show--commercial, really--geared toward seniors. It's a simple three-camera live-to-tape shoot that I direct. Actually, I do a lot more than direct. Most shows have a director, technical director, cg operator, and tape operator. I do it all for this thing. It's nothing that will ever go on my resume but it makes money for the station so we keep doing it. It's one of the reason's I am known as the resident "Turd Polisher." We'll frequently have many starts and stops because the client being interviewed is so scared, or looks like a chipmunk. And today was no exception. The problem, though, was that I wasn't my usual professional self. I forgot to "black" the record tape all the way and when we finally finished the first good take, there was nothing to watch on the playback. So I blacked the tape. For your information, it takes more than three minutes to black three minutes' worth of tape. First of all you have to walk over to the tape machine and rewind it to the point at which you want to start recording. Then the machine starts a five-second preroll which takes a few seconds to set up and five seconds to roll. Then you have your three minutes. But you can't stop there. You need to lay some pad. Liking to be safe rather than sorry, as the adage goes, I like to give it a good chunk of pad. All told, it took about six minutes to get the job done. When I got back on the headset, and gave the standby, at least two members of the crew let fly with absurdities like, "how long does it take to black three minutes of tape?" and, "Don't you know how to do an assemble edit?" (I won't go into the the terminology here.) They were so persistent and insistent that my sense of humor vanished. Rather than letting go with expletives (I knew there were clients within earshot) I immediately shut down my emotions and issued commands in curt, daggerlike thrusts: "Standby. Ready camera one. One's up. Cue him. Two minutes." When it became apparent to the others how pissed I was, no one else ventured to say anything except twice, when I heard, in very hushed tones, "I love you . . . ." I didn't respond.
We finished the second take. I started playing it back. The video was great. The talent was talking. There was no sound. I had forgotten to route the audio back into the machine after blacking the tape. This time the cussing escaped before I could stop it, albiet it was whispered. After that there were other screw ups by the talent and the client, but they were all my fault, because if I hadn't screwed up before, they would have had the chance to now.
Finally, I was able to play back a whole take, audio and everything. I almost started bawling.
As for the crew. . . we're still friends.

Wedding Bells

2004-12-07T16:40:00.000-07:00

I'm officially a wedding videographer. This is the first one I've done and I couldn't have asked for a better couple to practice on. They're both very laid back and accomodating. Whatever I choose to do is ok with them--so far, at least. The trick now is to find time to edit it.

There were a couple of funny moments. It was very cold--20 degrees, I think--when the bride appeared outside for her pictures just after the wedding, and someone noticed that her shoes weren't traditional. She hiked up her wedding dress to reveal a pair of pink sneakers and long underwear. Later, when she threw the bouquet, she put a little too much oomph into it and launched it into the light fixture about 15 feet above our heads. If it turns out, it might show up on America's Funniest Home Videos. She got a new bouquet and threw it.

Long Time

2004-11-15T13:38:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile. I've kept a journal for most of my life and it seems like every other entry begins that way: It's been a long time, I should catch up.

I got my own production company going. It's called Runaway Productions. I've got the professional equipment and the business license and even some cards. So now it's full speed ahead. Except that it's not. A friend of mine who's known as a cameraman got the same camera after I did and he's getting jobs all over the place. I've yet to bill for one project. I handed one of my cards to M ar|< Eat*n, the former pro baseke+ball player, and he laughed at them. "Did you make these yourself?" he asked. Then he pointed to the line at the bottom that says, "over 17 years broadcast television experience," and sneered, "Oh, look at that, 17 years experience." I wasn't sure what he was getting at. I wanted to tell the 7-foot-four-inch jerk to get down on his knees so I could kick his ass. But I didn't want to cause a scene by hurting him right there in the studio.

On the home front, Princess Rufflebutt is getting so grown up. She's about 18 months old now. The other day she saw one of her brothers lift up the toilet seat and pee. The next thing we knew, she was standing with her diaper off next to the toilet, the rim up to her neck, trying to take a leak too.

In other toilet-related news, my wife told me a while ago that she found my four-year-old bathing right there in the bowl. He's very small for his age--not even in the running percentile-wise--and I guess it was a good fit.

Have a good one.

Movies

2004-10-11T14:10:00.000-06:00

My new favorite movies are, in order, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and "Shaun of the Dead." Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Video Student

2004-10-02T14:32:00.000-06:00

It's been a while. Sorry I've neglected all of my friends in the blogosphere. I've been cramming, trying to learn all this video and graphic editing software I have now. I've tried the user manuals that came with the programs but they're useless, having been written by someone who obviously hasn't talked directly to another actual human being for years. I can't afford the "Total Training" discs, priced to put an independent startup like myself out of business. So I've been struggling. It helps that I have 17-plus years of linear editing experience, and that I'm a computer geek by nature. Slowy, surely, the knowledge is coming. I want to be ready for my first project, whatever that may be, but, note to the universe, don't let that stop the projects from coming in. I'll be able to handle them.

This is all pretty exciting. Now if I can just start paying for it.

Music and Video

2004-09-18T18:01:00.000-06:00

Got the new Tears for Fears disc, "Everybody Loves a Happy Ending." There's a debate raging about it at the station. There are several of us who are consummate Beatles fans and for some of the guys, the extensive "references" to the fab four's music throughout the disc. Personally, I love it. I think it's a great homage, almost a new way to approach Lennon, McCartney and the others. But the other guys think it's too much of a ripoff, of blundering through sacred ground. I must admit that the orchestral wind-up on "Who Killed Tangerine" sounds almost as if it were actually sampled from "A Day in the Life." But the music is so good, I don't mind. Orzabal's lyrical prowess approaches genius. So get it, dang it!

I have my edit system all set up, the software all registered and paid for. Now I need a camera. In case anyone can help, I'm looking for a good price on a Panasonic AG-DVX100A. I was just in a hot auction fight on ebay over a DVX100 and I lost. Someone edged me out at the last minute and got it for a heck of a deal. All I can do is keep trying.

Quit Looking at my Cards!

2004-09-14T08:44:00.000-06:00

Our family has discovered Go Fish. We all gather in the living room, the boys sitting across the room by the wall after attempting to sit directly behind my wife or me to see our cards. We've changed the rules a little. Instead of asking, "Do you have any fours?" we ask for the number and the suit. It makes it a little more interesting. During the course of the game, there are nearly-constant accusations of cheating. It's hilarious. Last night we were in hysterics. It went like this:

Six-year-old J: B, Do you have the A of hearts?
Eight-year-old B: Go fish. Ok J. (Dramatic Pause) do you have the A of clovers?

At this point J would start screaming, "You looked at my cards! He's cheating!"

This happened anytime any of us asked for a card he had. And you should have seen hime when he guessed correctly which cards we had. He'd dance around, singing, "I got the card I needed." Of course he wouldn't pursue the matches and lose them all the next round. We also had to watch him closely to keep him from asking for cards he already had.

I never knew go fish could be so fun.

Editing

2004-09-10T22:28:00.000-06:00

I know, I know, I'm a slacker. Lately blogging has not been my top priority. Work is picking up and I have some added extracurricular activities now. After watching my friends who aren't professional video editors buy equipment and make gobs of money doing side projects, I figured I'd better get in the act. So I took a chance and borrowed some money and built a screaming Windows-based machine and editing software and a camera. So now I'm focusing a lot of my time to learning the software and figuring out how to make this equipment pay for itself. If anyone in the Utah/Idaho area needs a broadcast quality wedding video or anyone anywhere else who would like to send me their old home movies and pictures to be made into a fun DVD, email me. I can beat nearly any price.

Hopefully I can find time to keep this going here. It's been a lot of fun. But duty calls...

Go Away, Frances!

2004-09-02T17:06:00.000-06:00

I just wanted to say good luck, Florida. I hope Frances does an about face.

You Draw Some More

2004-09-02T15:19:00.000-06:00

I'm really getting a kick out of this You Draw thing. My favorite artists there include E.D., Lamb, and nikki mk. They're just great. I wish I could draw like them.

You Draw

2004-09-01T15:00:00.000-06:00

I've been dinkin' around over at You Draw. Click here to see what I've been doing.

A Blast on My Own Horn

2004-08-27T19:50:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I edited some commercials for a well-known wireless cellphone company. I don't think I went over and above what I normally do. I just tried to get the job done as well (and as quickly) as I could. Today I got this really nice email from my boss:

Dinky,

I wanted to pass on the very positive comments which I just received about you from [the client's name] of [the cellphone company.] [The client] got my number from [the account exec] and said that he wanted to speak directly with your supervisor to compliment you on the fine work which you did for them yesterday. He said that he has now worked with you twice and is totally impressed with the job you've done for them on both occasions.

[The client] said that you are very personable, a tremendous listener, thorough and very quick and efficient. They have been very happy with the product which you have been able to provide.

While I know that this is the kind of work which you do for all of our clients, I appreciated hearing it very much directly from [the client] and wanted to be certain that you heard about it as well.

Thanks, Dinky for this effort and for all of the others which tend to go unheralded,

[The supervisor]

That was really nice of him, don't you think? I almost started bawling.

Party Time

2004-08-25T17:31:00.000-06:00

Our station had its annual summer party today and I'm wiped out now. We went to the Olympic Oval to have our own little Olypmic Games. It sounded kind of lame at first but I sure as heckfire am glad I went. It was a kick in the pants! Our first event was curling. We had some instructors take us through the basics for about half an hour and then we had a shoot out. This was interrupted for some time, however. One of the sales associates was sweeping the ice to get the stone to go further when he went down, his face taking all the force of the fall. He cut his forehead open right at the eyebrow and a large puddle of blood formed on the ice. I think he also broke his nose, cut the inside of his lip, and nearly separated his shoulder. The paramedics were called and he went to the hospital to get stitches. I'm sure glad it wasn't me. Then we resumed our contest. Although my form was pretty good, I kept over shooting the target. While we were doing this, the U.S. Speed Skate Team as well as some Aussie Olympians were working out on the ice. They sped by us in tandem at unreal speeds.

Our next event was, of all things, dodge ball. Is that an Olympic sport? I was better at this. I helped our team advance into the semi-finals with two consecutive game-winning shots, each to the head. Apparently head shots are ok in the Olympics. After this we noticed the Skate Team was finished and a few of us went to talk to 1500 meter Olympic record holder, Derek Para. He was a very nice (and really short!) guy.

Our final event was the slap shot. We had to shoot at a target positioned in front of a hockey net. After a little coaching from my hockey-playing friends, I actually made a rather difficult shot.

After that we strapped on our harnesses and bungie-jumped on the trampoline the freestyle aerial jumpers train on.

In the end, our team won third place and each of us recieved a purple ball cap! Whoa, that's a little more than I can handle. We went back to the station to have a catered lunch and the prize give-away. The main course was a whole-roasted pig that they rolled into the room. It was smiling, wide-eyed, at everyone. The women sitting at my table were all disturbed by it. One of them, a reporter, had to change seats so she didn't have to look at it. Another one couldn't eat very much of it and got two desserts to satisfy her hunger. As far as I was concerned it wasn't great. I've been to a Tongan wedding and I used to have a Neighbor from Hawaii and they do the roasted pig thing much better. After I covered it with salt (which I had to dig out from my own stash) and spicy bbq sauce, it was tolerable. I had two helpings. I'm not going to let a little thing like lack of flavor stop me from gorging myself. After the lunch, they began drawing for prizes. The grand prize was a 21-inch tv. In the back of the prizes was a new golf bag ($199.00 retail value) with various drivers and woods in it. I have an instinct about these things. There have been three occasions in which I've known what I was going to win. Once in Idaho Falls I was at a company Christmas party. There there were about 3000 employees there. When they held up this stupid grandfather wall clock, I knew it was mine, and they called my name. Another time, at the place where I now work, there was a Chia Head in the prize stack. Something inside me said, "You're going to win that." I did. Today, I leaned over to my friend Di and told her I was going to win some of that golf stuff. I won the bag. Woo hoo, I guess. The only time I don't get the premonition is when I win something I want to win, or don't win anything at all.

I don't golf so if anyone wants to buy a new golf bag let me know.

In other news, Princess Rufflebutt's running a fever. She was sniffling a lot last night and she's really grumpy today. I've given her some Tylenol. I hope it helps.

My two oldest boys started school this week. I keep asking them what they learn but they don't say anything. Today I pressed my 1st grader and he said, "Either I didn't learn anything or I forgot it all." At least public school is free. I guess you get what you pay for.

Oh, one more thing. I stumbled on to this and laughed pretty hard.

Vacation

2004-08-20T18:01:00.000-06:00

We just returned from our vacation about an hour ago. We left for my Parents' house in Idaho Falls on Tuesday. I needed to use my some of my vacation time. I get so much of it that I have a hard time using it. It would probably be easier if we could afford to go to Disneyland or Hawaii or somewhere, but as it is, we just don't know where to go that would be exciting. Then last week I had the brilliant idea of going to the lake I practically grew up at. About twenty minutes from my parents' place is a small manmade lake that's about thirty feet at its deepest and maybe 3/4 mile across. As a kid, my friends and I would go up there almost every day during the summer and float around on the boat dock we'd managed to unhook from the bottom, hurl ourselves from the rope swing, and dare each other to swim across the whole lake, an exhausting feat I accomplished twice. I figured my kids would enjoy it, so we packed up and left. The kids loved it. They splashed around and waded to and explored the small, wooded island. Rufflebutt had a blast, too. We went there two days in a row. The kids wanted to go today, too, but it was time to get back.

When we weren't at the lake, the kids were jumping on the trampoline. For some reason they didn't like me getting on with them. In fact they seemed terrified. I just can't understand it.

We celebrated Rufflebutt's 1st birthday while we were there, not that she noticed.

During my time away from the lake I was lazy as, well, heck. I revisited some of the reasons we don't have cable at my house. I'd be watching tv all day long. TCM is doing "Summer Under the Stars" which I could (and did) watch most of my waking hours. The first day was Edward G. Robinson day and I gained a new appreciation for his ability. I watched "Larceny, Inc." which Woody Allen remade as "Small Time Crooks" without giving any credit to the former. It was a fun little farce, but my favorite was "The Cincinatti Kid" with Steve McQueen. It's smart and intense and unappologetically ends the way real life would instead of giving us a fairy tale. It's one of my favorite films now. I also saw bullets or ballots, a typical Bogie film, which was fine, and his last film, the inane "Soylent Green", a Charlton Heston futuristic blunder (see "The Omega Man" for comparison.), a very unfortunate swan song for Robinson.

The next day I added another film to my favorites list. It was Bette Davis day. I've seen very few of her films and haven't really formed an opinion until now. I saw "All This and Heaven Too" which I enjoy in spite of some cheezy optimism, and the soap opera "The Great Lie." But the best one was "A Stolen Life", the only film she produced. It didn't have the ending I would have wanted, but its a wonderful film full of subtle twists and great performances.

Wow. Did I do anything this week? Not really, but isn't that what vacations are for?

What a Day!

2004-08-12T21:32:00.000-06:00

The scheduler and my boss are both on vacation, so who does all the crap filter down to? You guessed it. First thing on the docket was a live production that I direct every so often. It's a three-minute commercial done interview-style and geared toward older people. It features products and services like hearing aids and assisted living, and the guy who hosts and sells the show works for a mortuary as his day job, so you can imagine how exciting the whole thing is. To top it all off, we had five shows, each of which had as the guest someone who is not used to being on tv. Imagine a deer...now think, "headlights." Great fun. That went for four hours. After that I had to field call after call about renting the sound stage and trying guess at what our rates might be. Then I edited a spot for a broadband company from footage that was shot in Georgia. That was actually fun. Tell me if you've seen the spot. I guess it has been running in other markets: A guy is talking about how slow dialup is and he crams a little kitten into one-inch pvc pipe. I don't care who you are...that's funny right there. So I got that one done and then I fixed another spot, and added a new logo to another one. Then I was on the phone again, giving people rates and our stage dimensions...I don't know how he does it. But I do know this: He can never go on vacation again!

Autograph

2004-08-10T09:40:00.000-06:00

You probably won't believe this, but someone's signature on a piece of paper doesn't mean much to me. That's probably why I have a gazillion autographs from various famous people at home. It does, however, mean something more when the autograph is a response to something I created or did for said famous people. And most of the ones I have at home are just that. They're either copies of drawings I gave them or cd's and posters of bands that I worked with on the music show. So there's something of value to me there. I don't understand why people will buy something for hundreds or even thousands of dollars because it's signed by someone else. Ok, maybe they did something that was really cool. But, you know, I don't even understand why that should make us react the way we do. I react that way too and I don't understand that about myself. I just watched Coldplay's concert dvd and it blew me away. I haven't felt this way about a band since 1985 when I was absolutely in love with The Cure and Depeche Mode. I just want to hang out with Coldplay and be their friend and smile a lot. How corny is that? But it's there. For some reason there is a need to tell someone you admire them. It kind of completes the circle, I guess. These drawings I do don't mean very much by themselves. It's something I can do, but it's something anyone can do if they work at it. But they allow me to give something of myself, however insignifcant, to someone I admire. So here is the wonderful actor Tom Cruise's signature on a photocopy of an insignificant drawing I did in my spare time for you all to admire. Neener, and again I say, Neener.

Stuck

2004-08-07T20:46:00.000-06:00

I know it's probably not a good thing, but Princess Rufflebutt is at the age when she cries a lot for nothing and we don't always rush to her aid. Most of the time she's just tired or bored and wants to be held. You can tell the cries when she's really in trouble and we're immediately there to help her. But the other cry, the aimless wailing and moaning, that usually goes unheeded and after a few minutes she finds something to occupy herself anyway. It was one of those cries I heard the other day coming from the kitchen. I was busy with something so I let her go on squawking the way she was. Finally I wandered into the kitchen and saw this:

Spud Days

2004-08-04T09:21:00.000-06:00

I discovered Blogging for Books at Buzz's. I thought I'd give it a go. And by the way, this is all true.

The mud sucked at my boots, desperately tugging at my feet so that every step was a greater struggle than the last. I knew that my demeanor was different, that all the other guys were chuckling at me. I wasn't looking at the plants. I wasn't looking at anything in particular. My head hung low under the weight of one of my migraines and the added oppression of the sun roasting my bare neck. The fact that the sprinklers were on and we were all soaked to the skin didn't help either. My whole body was chafing. The furthest thing from my mind was diseased potatoes. Not that I could have recognized one if I saw it.

Two weeks earlier we new guys were given an abbreviated lesson on how to spot diseases like leafroll and PVY. I really tried at first. Mike, my boss, a skinny, scruff-bearded guy, showed us what to look for. "See how these leaves are yellow and rolled up? You've got to get rid of it." I couldn't see it but I nodded agreeably like the rest of the guys and watched as Mike dug out the plant completely and then chopped it up with his shovel. I still couldn't tell any difference between it and the other plants. And then came the first test, which I failed miserably, of course. I went up the row searching for yellow, curled leaves, but they all looked like that to me. I started to dig one up and Mike screamed, "There's nothing wrong with that plant! Keep moving!" But, I thought, I'm just following the Roguer's Rule: When in doubt, dig it out. Of course if I did that, there wouldn't be any potatoes left to harvest. I tiptoed along the row a couple more feet and heard another yell: "What the f*** is wrong with you, you f***in' idiot! Get that plant!" I looked around for a minute and then gingerly began to stab at one. "No! Sh**, Kid! How the hell did you get this job?" and he dug out the plant behind me. I got a little better after that, though I'm not sure how. It was mostly luck. Every few feet I'd pick out a plant that I thought might be a culprit and jump on it. After three correct guesses in a row, Mike left me to my six rows. Some of the other veterans kept a watch on me for awhile and they were just a hateful as Mike, but eventually they got caught up in their own work and left me alone.

I stopped for a moment to dig out a plant, although I was certain I was fooling nobody. No one was talking. It was a particularly hot afternoon and we'd been at it since 5:30 am. The sprinklers should have been a comfort in the heat, but they weren't. There are few things worse than trudging mile after mile knee-deep in mud in drenched jeans. Why did I ever agree to do this? I thought, my eyes still on the ground a few feet ahead of me.

My dad was always on my case about getting a job during the summer. I usually balked but this summer my friend, Chris, and I were fed up with having no money. There were things we wanted, a boom box, for instance, but we were destitute. In addition, Idaho Falls was about the most boring place two teenage kids could imagine. Maybe a job would be just the thing for us. So we looked in the paper. There were the usual fast food jobs but those were boring and too much work. Then we saw a chance to earn $6.00 an hour (an unheard of amount when the minimum wage was $3.25). "Hardworking
individuals needed to work 8 to 10 hour days for the summer roguing potatoes," the ad said. We talked about it for awhile. What was roguing? Was it really that hard? We had both thought about moving irrigation pipe and it couldn't be harder than that. So we applied. The address was a single-wide trailer, a couple of miles from our neighborhood. It was Mike's house. The first thing he said to me was, "What the hell are you wearing a tie for? This ain't no office job!" I felt stupid. My mother had told me to dress up so I did. But, in spite of my tie and my neatly combed hair, Chris and I both got the job. We chatted excitedly about our new fortune and had the money spent in about half an hour.

The first morning was rough. I was used to sleeping till noon and now I had to get up at 4:30 am. I drove to the place we were supposed to gather and wait for Mike. The rest of the crew was already there. Most of them were as new as me but there were a couple who'd been doing it for ten or twelve years. As far as I was concerned, this was only for a few months to get me some spending money. There was no way this would be a career. Mike arrived and we piled into the back of his pickup and rode about 45 minutes to our first job. After an hour I knew I'd made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

I looked up and saw that we were coming to the end of the field at last. It was at least a mile long and we had gone back and forth on it, end to end, all day. I didn't have a watch but I was sure it was around 4:30. It was going to be a short day. We were finished with the field and there was not enough time to tackle another one. I made a decision right there. After two weeks on the job (it seemed more like a year), I was going to quit. I would call Mike on the phone that night and let him know I wasn't cut out for this. Chris was, though. He'd made friends with the rest of the crew and never seemed tired. He was going to make it through the whole summer.

I thought about the past two weeks. It had certainly been an experience. But I had never worked for someone so degrading before. On about the third day of being baked in the sun, I had decided to bring a hat to work. I was already singed to the point of not being able to sleep at night, so I thought it might help. The only one I could find was narrow-brimmed one my dad had. It was sort of like a fishing cap. I pulled the brim down as far as I could to keep the sun off me. In the field that day, it drew attention to me. "Where you get that ugly f***in' hat!" Mike said. And that day he watched me more carefully than ever, ridiculing me at every step.

On another day we were crop-dusted by a low-flying plane. I thought he'd avoid hitting us with the poison but he didn't. The roar from the engine reverberated off the ground, pulverizing my eardrums.

On another occasion we were on our way home when the pickup jolted upward, throwing us around under the camper shell. We looked out the window and saw one of the rear tires racing ahead of us. It bounced over a canal and shot into a field doing about thrity miles per hour. Then it reached the end of the field and shot straight up into the air. We waited for half an hour for Mike and Dave to retrieve it and "fix" the truck. The axle was broken but somehow we made it home. I think we averaged about 20 mph.

But the worst thing that had happened to me was the day there was a lull in the work. We'd just finished a field and Mike went to check on another farmer to see if he was ready for us. While we waited for him to return, a couple of the guys started to dig a large hole near the road at the end of the field. As they dug, someone else explained that there was a tradition among the crew. New guys were buried in the dirt up to their necks. I couldn't believe it. No one was going to bury me. But I was the only one they could catch. As soon as they grabbed me, I gave up. There was no point in struggling, after all. Two of the veteran roguers sat me down in the hole and held me while the rest of the guys filled it up. It wasn't long before they could let go. I was encased in dirt and I couldn't even move a finger. They said the custom was that the new guy had to get himself out. I started to struggle and the dirt gradually loosened. I tried not to show the panic. I'm not claustrophobic but I don't like people laughing at me. I finally got a hand to where I could start pushing the dirt away when Mike drove up. He got out of the truck and threw a shovelful of dirt on me for good measure. He laughed at me and I thought he might spit some of his chew on me, but he just said, "Get him out of there. We've got to be at the next field in five minutes."

I got to the end of the row at last and jabbed at a healthy plant, plucking it out and chopping it in half. On the ride home I endured the jibes from the rest of the guys in silence. "Dude, you looked dead out there. You could barely walk."

That night I plucked up what was left of my courage and called Mike.

"Hello, Mike? I'm not going to make it tomorrow."

"Why not? We need you. We've got three fields to cover tomorrow."

"I just can't do it anymore. I'm not the right guy for this. I don't even know what I'm doing out there."

Mike sounded pissed off. He told me I could come get my check on Monday.

My dad drove me over to Mike's house and I reluctantly knocked on the door. "Where the f*** were you on Friday?" He shouted.

"I told you I wasn't coming."

"No you didn't. You said your last day was today. We waited for twenty minutes. We were late for our first job and couldn't finish all of them because of you."

"Mike, I told you I wasn't going to be there."

"The f*** you did. Get the f*** out of my house." He threw my check on the ground.

Chris rubbed my failure in my face for the rest of the summer. I was a little envious when he brought home his new boom box with the three channel equalizer, but not when he showed me his shredded kegger boots, damaged from the vines. Apparently what I went through was nothing. It was spring time and the plants were still small. As they matured they covered the ground and grew waist-high. I'm glad I got out of it when I did.

Cruisin'

2004-08-03T14:51:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm a little disappointed. Tony gave my drawing of Tom Cruise to Tom himself over the weekend. The reason I'm disappointed is that he didn't do anything on video like Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman did. But he did autograph a copy of the drawing for me. I'll post it when I get it from Tony.

The Village

2004-08-02T20:43:00.000-06:00

The much-anticipated film was an over all success. I really wanted to see it and I hyped the thing up quite a bit for myself, yet, as always, I was ready to rip it apart at the first sign of weakness. I want things explained only when they absolutely must be and when they are, it has to be done with a masterful touch. Don't make me feel like you're explaining it. Make the details unfold naturally so that I'm enlightened to what I did not know as if I'd discovered it myself. That was the one weakness I found. But I liked the rest of the film so much that it was easy for me to dismiss that. The actors were amazing. Bryce Howard is going to be a star and should earn some awards for her performance as should Brody and Phoenix for theirs. The veterans William Hurt and Sigourney Weaver seemed to be just laying a foundation for the riveting performances of the younger actors.

I'd like to deconstruct the story (but I won't spoil anything) because after the stunning plot twists have lost their novelty, the story itself could use a little work. It is not well-propelled; the reason for having a story at all is a little unclear to me. As for the much-talked-about questions that are supposedly raised without explanation at the end of the film, I can't begin to fathom what they might be. As I said, everything is pretty well summed up.

That said, I still liked the film very much and it's worth seeing again. It's Shyamalan's first good film since Sixth Sense. Of course, I liked Waterworld, The Postman, What Dreams May Come, and Bicentennial Man a great deal too, so you're going to have to be the judge for yourself.

Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

2004-07-31T12:56:00.000-06:00

Mrs. Chickenshorts is not very happy with me right now. You see, I was absentmindedly singing my own twisted variation of the Elton John and Tim Rice song (up there in the title to this post) and I was overheard by my kids. It was completely innocent on my part (can't you just see the halo atop my cranium?), but now there's a disjointed chorus of little voices all over the house singing "Can you smell my butt tonight? Does it really stink?" Mrs. C just glares at me now.

Walk This Way Too

2004-07-30T15:14:00.000-06:00

I posted that picture of Rufflebutt walking so I figure I should post a picture of me that shows how she learned to walk so well:

Walk This Way

2004-07-26T10:49:00.000-06:00

I haven't talked about Princess Rufflebutt for awhile. She's growing up fast! She has just started walking a couple of weeks ago so I grabbed a camera and took some pictures of her yesterday and put them into this animated gif:

Water War Zone

2004-07-24T15:33:00.000-06:00

Five years ago today, just after we bought this house, I was outside enjoying myself in the sunshine. I've said before how the 24th is a holiday around here. So there I was, minding my business, when three or four of my neighbors walked into my yard. I had just met them days before and I would have thought they were there to welcome me to the neighborhood if they hadn't been dripping wet and carrying buckets and water balloons. Suddenly I remembered that there was a tradition around these parts. Every year on Pioneer Day a huge water fight breaks out in the neighborhood. I desperately bolted around the back of the house to the other side only to realize, too late, that they had me surrounded. Once I was drenched, and had spread out my wallet and it's contents on the concrete to dry, there was nothing to do but join them and spread my misery. We succeeded in coaxing another neighbor out of her house on the pretense that she was helping us to get yet another person out of her house.

It's been like that every year since, with me not prolonging the inevitable but just plunging headlong into the fray. But last year, I decided, was my last year. I had plans in the back of my mind to avoid the whole mess by packing up the family and heading out to the park for the day. Except that I forgot. Today I was downstairs playing my guitar and minding my own business once again when I heard a knock at the door. It was those dealers of a watery death, armed with fat, bubble-shaped guns, and buckets waiting for me to come up and face the unavoidable fact of living in this neighborhood. Only this time, I didn't want to. I told my kids to tell them I wasn't coming up. They came back giggling. My 50-something, grown-up neighbor, they said, was calling me a chicken liver. I said, "Tell them I don't want to get wet." I listened as my five-year-old went to the door and said, "My Dad's a chicken." I endured this a while longer, waiting as the ten or twelve aquaterrorists filled up at my hose. At one point I was able to sneak past the opened door and go upstairs to foolishly peer at them from behind the curtain. Finally, and with one last, "Dinky, you're a chicken liver," and a, "Tell your dad he's a coward," they were gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, called the kids together, and said, "Come on. We're going to the park."

A Beautiful Novel

2004-07-22T00:14:00.000-06:00

The kids and I just finished reading another book. This time it was North to Freedom by Anne Holm. The book has been around the house for ages and I never paid any attention to it. It belongs to my wife and she recommended it for our little book club the boys and I have had going. So the other night we went for it and I'm so glad we did.

Twelve-year-old David has spent much of his life in a concentration camp. He knows very little about the outside world and almost nothing about his parents. At the beginning of the story, he is given the opportunity to escape, which he does. The only instruction he's given, aside from how to get out of the camp and where to find some meager supplies, is to go North and try to make it to Denmark. He has no idea what is waiting for him there but it's all he has to go on so he makes the attempt. Along the way he makes some important discoveries about himself, about God, and about other people.

The novel was the perfect length but I found myself wanting more. I had become aquainted with this marvelous little boy and I wanted to spend more time with him. The lessons he taught all of us as we followed the tale will stay with me for a long time. It's nice to find a story that delineates the difference between good and evil. The book is intended for children and, as the word "Nazi" is never mentioned, the reader will most likely not equate the mysterious "them," as David refers to his enemies, to Hitler, which is just as well. As one reviewer says, "The ambiguity [tells] the lesson that evil [is] evil, regardless the political justification." The kids seemed to enjoy it, too, though not quite as much as I did. I spent most of the time in tears, hiding my face from the boys. They, on the other hand, when I had read the last sentence, said, "That was good. What's next?"

If Only I Could Write Like That

2004-07-20T08:55:00.000-06:00

This is beautiful writing. Like when you really like something, like a flower, maybe, because it's so beautiful and smells good. . . Oh hell. I can't even write badly. I'd be no match even for this contest.

Actually, I think the runner-up should have won.

Local Boy Makes it Big--Hmmph!

2004-07-19T10:19:00.000-06:00

Jealousy is a strange thing. This guy, Ken Jennings, didn't even exist a few weeks ago, and now I hate him. Just kidding. I'm happy for him. I really am. I've been close to the story because I do the promos for the show, which is on our station, so every week I'm reminded of how he's doing. I even know in advance of the general viewing public. I guess that makes me sort of special, eh? Nah. No one I know cares much. It is fun to watch someone from the area do so well, though. I don't even wish it was me up there. I couldn't handle the pressure. Unless every category had something to do with classic or alternative rock or Shakespeare (yes, you read it right, I'm a Shakespeare nut) I would absolutely suck. You could ask me what my name is and I'd flub it. So keep going Ken! We're rooting for you... you little jerk!

Cool by Association

2004-07-18T19:55:00.000-06:00

Wow. I post a few pictures of my new "friends", Tears for Fears, and suddenly I have 75 hits in one day. I'm used to about 25. Apparently someone has posted a link to my site on a Tears for Fears Yahoo group. Now I'm getting emails and comments from lots of people and I can't even go to the Yahoo group because I'm not a member. All I did was meet the band and now I'm famous...well, for a minute or so at least. Here's another picture of my good buddies, Roland and Curt, in case it prolongs my good fortune.

The Magic Kingdom? Not Quite.

2004-07-15T08:14:00.000-06:00

For those of you not from Utah or Idaho, we have our own amusement park here called Lagoon. Actually, I'm not sure who gets amused by it. I surely don't. It's a hack job of a Disneyland rip off; an immobile traveling carnival that doesn't go anywhere, only the barkers are not hardened criminal types, they're 16 to 18 year old kids whose purpose in life is to squeeze a little more cash out of people who were already robbed for parking money and the entrance fee. A family in my income bracket has to take out a loan to go to this park. Now that's amusing. One obnoxious young woman was shouting at us to pay her two bucks for her to guess our weight or age for a chance to win something worth about twenty cents. She kept on and on about it until someone behind us said, "We don't have any money," to which she replied, "Why do you come to Lagoon without any money?" I wanted to say, "We had some until you raped us at the gate!"

Then there are the rides. Every day we have to endure commercials about the new attractions like "The Spider and the Fly," "Cliffhanger," and "Samurai." The ads make them sound like they're worth the arm and a leg you'll be handing over to ride them. But take it from me, they're not. I love a great ride. I'll do anything--drop straight down sixty feet, for instance--but I guess I've been spoiled by the real parks. Since my grandparents lived in L.A., we'd go to Disneyland every year. Also, I was a child then and everything was bigger and more exciting. I want that experience everytime I go to Lagoon and I don't get it. I might be getting old, but if I have to mortgage everything I own to ride on some contraption, it better be the equivalent of a base jump!

When my mother called a couple of days ago and said she was getting our family tickets to Lagoon, the kids went nuts, of course. And that is one way in which I can enjoy Lagoon. My children are young enough that they haven't been on a real rollercoaster yet. I coaxed my eight-year-old on the Spider and, though he didn't want to go on it at first, it became his favorite ride. The kids had a lot of fun. They love Lagoon. But then, they aren't the targets of the greedy barkers and they don't understand the implications of an 8 ounce bottle of water costing six bucks. So Lagoon is 150 acres of magic to them. To me it's a vacation from which I need to take a vacation.

I Feel so Fresh...And Frolicky

2004-07-10T14:58:00.000-06:00

Scott got me the pictures at last! There's one of Dr. Covey signing my copy of his book, and one of our soundstage after a production. They painted it to look like a jungle. It was so life-like I just had to frolick in it. There's a closer shot of me doing just that. There's also another picture of the "Rockstar" and her guitarists and one of me running camera with some of the crew during her show.

Heros

2004-07-07T08:32:00.000-06:00

I've been putting this off because I've been waiting for the photo, but I can't wait any longer. Since I don't have my own camera, I'm always at the mercy of my friend, Scott, whose new, really expensive, digital camera always seems to be around. Unfortunately, this particular event wasn't as cool as, say, Ala*nis or Tears for Fears, so the photo's taking an inordinate amount of time to materialize in my inbox.

To me, though, June 22 was a great day. I was a cameraman on a satellite-broadcast of a leadership seminar. The series is broadcast from all over the country--wherever the leadership expert happens to be. I saw that Mikhail Gorbachev and General Tommy Franks are soon to be presenters on the program. In this case it was one of my personal heros, Dr. Stephen Covey. I've been reading his books for years. He was very engaging with us. He smiled a lot, made us feel at ease. After the program, he started pounding the floor with a staff he'd brought, saying that in the British Parliment that's what they do to tell other's they've done a great job, so he was applauding our performance as a tv crew. I took my copy of his 7 Habits book to him and he signed, "Leave a legacy!" on the inside cover.

Wow!

2004-07-06T08:30:00.000-06:00

This summer's movie line up looks like it's really shaping up. I just saw a trailer for the remake of my number one movie (if I had to pick a number one.) I had no idea The Manchurian Candidate was even in production. The trailer makes it look great. They had to change the story, obviously, and they don't try to hide the fact that Meryl Streep is the evil mastermind, as they did with Angela Lansbury in the original, because we've all seen it and it wouldn't work, right? So this means there's probably some huge twist ending. A better replacement for Frank Sinatra couldn't have been found. Denzel looks absoulutely terrific in the role.

Then there's the follow up to what might be my second favorite movie. I just hope the The Bourne Supremacy is as good as its prequel.

God Bless America

2004-07-04T22:58:00.000-06:00

Happy Fourth! No big fireworks. Around here when the holiday falls on a Sunday, they do all that stuff on Saturday. We lit our meager supply in front of the house tonight. Little fountains called "Junebugs" and "Glittering Jewels" and other awe-inspiring names. They didn't inspire much awe in me, though the kids were plenty excited. Fortunately, no one on our street obeys the restrictions on fireworks so we got to see some pretty cool stuff smuggled in from Wyoming. I felt like the whole valley was sounding off, trying to be heard celebrating freedom with explosions. After our tiny display was over I went in and watched the Boston Pops fireworks show on CBS. It was amazing. They put a lot of money into that. I wish I could have been there.

In ten days we get to do this all over again. We celebrate the 24th of July with almost more zeal than we do the 4th around these parts. That's when the pioneers allegedly came into this valley and settled it. Salt Lake City doesn't have a parade for the 4th but it has a huge one for the 24th. I've only gone to it once and that was when I had to shoot it for the tv station. I got yelled at for being in front of people who'd camped all night for their seats. I'll never forget that.

I have updated my drawings page. There are no new drawings there, just a new way to display them. It's pretty simple. I'm still in preschool when it comes to html. But I'm trying.

Napoleon Who?

2004-07-02T11:57:00.000-06:00

A few months ago my friend Matt took off from his job here at the station to work on a small independant film in Preston Idaho for a few weeks. He's done this before and we don't think much of it, but now it seems that he was working on a gold mine. The film, called Napoleon Dynamite, is taken from a short by the same director that I just watched a couple of weeks ago. It was funny but it didn't strike me as a film that might go anywhere. I just watched some clips of the feature from the electronic press kit (EPK) and it's hilarious. Matt's in the b-roll on the EPK and every scene in the movie contains a landmark that I recognize. And now I'm seeing the lead, Jon Heder--just a guy from BYU--everywhere. He was just on Letterman and the movie's getting a lot of press. I haven't seen the whole thing yet, but I'm excited about it.

For the Lack of Anything to Post Today

2004-07-01T13:09:00.000-06:00

Here's a picture of me editing with a client:

We'd Live on Ice Cream . . . On Coney Island

2004-06-30T07:52:00.000-06:00

This song keeps going through my head. I wonder why.

It's All Happening At the . . . Delta Center

2004-06-29T22:14:00.000-06:00

And I'm not there, which required a huge paradigm shift on my part. Simon and Garfunkel are playing in concert as I type this and I was almost there. My friend Scott bought a pair of tickets as soon as they were available for $300. But he wasn't satisfied. Section 7 row 11, isn't good enough. So, when he found a pair of 10th row center seats available, he snapped them up. Of course he'd be able to sell the other pair, right? I mean, it's Simon and Garfunkel, for crying out loud. That's something that was never going to happen again. Never mind that the price is obscene and exclusionary and elitist. He came to me, knowing I'm a huge fan, and proceeded to ridicule me because I wouldn't buy the tickets. I don't care who it is, I'm not paying that much to see them. It's ridiculous of them to think they're that special. I'll admit they're pretty special, but not enough for me to take food out of my kids' mouths or run up my credit card bill. The memory of a great concert only lasts so long and then I'm wishing I had it on video so I could recall what was so great about it. That's not worth $300 bucks.
So he began making the rounds. He hit up everyone he knew. Finally, last thursday, he took out an ad in the paper. He hit me up once more but not for money. He wanted me to give him some edit time for the tickets. I wanted a definate number of hours and we agreed on 30--a very generous settlement on my part: That's only $10 bucks an hour. The station charges $250 for my services and I ask at least $40 when doing freelance. So I was going to the concert. However, this all hinged on the tickets not selling. Frankly, I was secretly hoping they would sell. I mean, 30 hours? Come on. I came to work yesterday and he told me how many bites he'd had: None. Zilch. Nada. So I was still going to the concert. I had the tickets in my hand today and I invited my friend Steve to go with me. Then the great and awful thing happened. Someone bought his tickets. I was glad. Glad for me and glad for him. But still...Simon and Garfunkel. If they'd only lower the price about a hundred dollars a ticket. Hmmmm.

Tears for Fears

2004-06-24T18:25:00.000-06:00

I try to be professional at these things and usually I am. I never become a "fan", following the artists around and asking stupid questions like some little kid backstage at an N-Sync concert.
But there are times, like yesterday, when I'm so captivated by the musicians' abilities and my experiences with their music, that I have a hard time containing my excitement. Tears for Fears inspired that sentiment in me. The experience was an about-face from the one with A.M. The band didn't seem to need any "space".
I pretty much stayed in the corner, having nothing to say that I thought they would want to hear. But the other guys on the crew were chatty as always. My friend, Dick, couldn't get over the pianist's t-shirt, which had a picture of John Lennon spinning DJ-style at a double turntable, and Mike talked a lot with the drummer about the drummer's other band, of which Mike is a fan.
Everybody was quite friendly with us, and they were very accepting of the cameras, which were in their faces most of the time. Even when they cleared the room for the sound check and we all started to leave, they called to us camera guys and said, "Not you. You guys can stay and film it."

The sound check turned out to be a pretty painful experience at first. There were some problems setting up the board with all the mics and headsets needed to record the drums, bass, piano, and guitars.
It took about 45 minutes to resolve it while the 65-plus radio station listeners who were invited to the intimate performance waited in the atrium downstairs. I could see frustration on the faces of all the band members, particularly the drummer, Nick D'Virgilio (who also plays with the band, Spock's Beard), and Roland Orzabal, but it was definately tense for all of us.
The sound setup was entirely the responsibility of the radio station, not us, so all we could do was sit there and watch. But the wait was worth it when the soundcheck began.
They did parts of "Call me Mellow" and "Who Killed Tangerine" from their soon-to-be released Everybody Loves a Happy Ending. We were all digging it. Most of us are huge Beatles fans and the obvious influences of that band on this one were not lost on us.
After running through the songs and tweaking the levels a little, Nick asked about the order of the songs and, Roland said, "The same as yesterday: Mellow, Tangerine, Heaven, Everybody, and Seeds." Then he looked at us and said, "Let's do it." We brought the listeners in and seated them all around the band.

The interview was sparse, but that didn't bother me. I was there for the music. After discussing the breakup of Roland and Curt, which they were fairly open about, they kicked into the first two songs. Roland's vocals were amazing. The high notes were crisp right up into the falsetto. And Nick's backup vocals on "Tangerine" during the line, "It's not over" made me tingle.
After the show the listeners were lined up down the stairs, through the atrium and around the corner into the hall, where they waited turns for pictures and autographs. Roland and Curt were both very engaging and funny with everyone.
After 20 minutes or so when that was done and I asked them if they would be in a picture with the tv crew, Roland said, "You'd think we were famous!"
The thing that struck me the most about this experience after the last one was how accomodating they were to us.
They seemed very willing to be on camera and have access to the obvious promotional opportunity there is in having a local show about them broadcast. This is by far the best of these I've been involved with.
The pictures were taken by my friends, Scott Frederick and Bret Barton. I'm the one in the Utah Football T-Shirt.
Be sure to go out and buy the new album, "Everybody Loves a Happy Ending" when it comes out September 14th. Take it from me, it's going to be great if the three songs I heard are any indication!

Are You Ready for This?

2004-06-21T10:04:00.000-06:00

First of all, let me clear up some confusion. The rock star I met the other day was extremely nice. She even made little old me feel comfortable around her. She had an amazing singing voice and the guitarists were nice guys as well. I chatted with one about playing the guitar, which is a hobby of mine.

I made it sound like she was a diva but she wasn't. It was her "people" I had a hard time with. Here's a photo of her with our crew:

OK. Now that that's all cleared up, I can depress you all. This blog has really turned into a downer lately. But I've got to chronicle everything that's been going on. That's what I started this thing for anyway.

There's a kid in our neighborhood--I think he's about 22 but I've known him since he was sixteen. He's a great kid, very considerate, a HUGE sports fan, and just a nice guy. About a year ago he noticed his eyes going blurry. He went to several eye doctors and no one could figure out what the problem was. It kept getting worse and finally he was given an MRI. It turns out that he has a massive tumor that covers the whole top of his brain. They're starting chemotherapy now. I haven't been up to visit him yet. I was told he was coming home but they've kept him there for over a week now. I need to go see him.

Are you just totally bummed now? Wait! There's more!

Not living in Idaho has its drawbacks. I'm not up on all the news there. I guess my parents think I can pick up this stuff telepathically so they don't call, but I guess my dad and his twin brother have both been diagnosed with prostate cancer. In fact, my uncle has been undergoing radiation therapy for over five months. My dad doesn't want to go that way. He's opting to have his removed. He doesn't like the idea of having a glow-in-the-dark butt. They both act like it's nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, emotions don't flow easily from either of them.

Do you want to know what I got for father's day? Aside from all the lovely cards my boys gave me and the wonderful new shirt and tie from my wife (I love new clothes--before the washer has had a chance to take the life out of them), I got a huge, devastating migraine. It consumed the whole world for about eight hours. My body wanted to get rid of anything and everything I would put in it. I looked dead. I couldn't lie down and I couldn't sit up. It hurt to breathe. Pain relievers didn't help. Finally, my wife got me a Diet Coke and I sipped it very carefully for about twenty minutes. The headache went away after that. But it came back around midnight and I was up until 4:30am when it finally went away again. How's that for a nice gift?

Stick with Me, and we Might go Places...I Hope.

2004-06-18T22:32:00.000-06:00

Tension filled the building when I walked in this morning. There was a lot of anticipation but no one really knew what to expect. It had been over a year since we had been involved with one of these things and now there was the added distraction of having it at our building instead of at the radio station. We had worked that out with them because they were remodeling their building and needed a place to have their little live (in this case, almost live) interview with a rock band that they frequently broadcast. What we were to get out of it was the chance to video tape it and possibly ressurect the show we had attempted a while back. The only thing was that, now that everything was arranged, it looked like the tour manager for this particular artist wasn't keen on the idea of having cameras there. When you think about it, it is kind of unusual. Here's a big rock star who decides to do a promotional radio tour and suddenly she finds out that one of the stations has a loose comraderie with a tv station and would like to televise the brief performance. So I guess I can understand. That doesn't help the disappointment I feel when I hear something like that. Couple that with the fact that everyone keeps asking me about camera angles and lighting when I would rather leave all of that to someone else. They do that because I'm the one who'll be editing it and I know what I want. Yeah, right. I don't know anything.

Anyway, the artist turned out to be very nice and cordial. It was the people surrounding her that made her seem like a diva at first. I've experienced that before. Which leads me to a very sappy thought I had earlier. I've met a lot of celebrities and many of them have been very nice, but there are the snitty little jerks who think the world revolves around them. (Let me make it clear that this particular artist is not one of those.) These people have people who reinforce that to their face. They go for anything they need, they make sure the riders--the instructions to the venues including things like, "You must have only green m&m's and a packet of white BVD men's briefs"--are lived up to, and they tell them whatever they want to here. Sometimes that can be detrimental if one of these divas is on a creative path that the public just can't get their heads around. If no one is there to help them see their error they may just end up without an audience and without the money they're used to. Then what happens to the yes men? They disappear. There's no reason to hang around anymore. That's why I often wonder why my wife hangs around me. There's no money and no fame, nothing particularly special about me. It must be something a lot deeper and I'm sure there are times when she can't figure it out, either. What I'm trying to say is, I'm sure glad she sticks with me even though there's absolutely no glory in doing so.

We weren't able to shoot the whole performance. We were told to shut off the cameras in the middle of the first song. I don't know how we'll make a show out of it. You may have noticed that I haven't mentioned the artist's name. I don't want to alienate anybody with comments that might be construed as negative. If you really need to know who it is, email me and I'll send you a clue and you can guess or whatever. I'll post some pictures as soon as I get them, too.

Where Do They Get This Stuff?

2004-06-17T12:19:00.000-06:00

I stumbled out of bed this morning on my way to the shower when I heard my wife say, "Tell your dad what you told me." My six year old came to me in his underwear holding a silver gift bow to his crotch and said, "This is what they call a weiner wrap!"

Around the World

2004-06-16T08:54:00.000-06:00

My friend, Tony, gave us some free passes to an early screening of Around the World in Eighty Days the other day. We don't go to the movies much so I thought it was a great chance to spend some time with the kids. After waiting in line for a while, and passing through Disney's stiff security gauntlet who prodded us looking for cell phones and recording devices, we entered into the seething madhouse. The movie was far more than I had hoped for. Jackie Chan was great, as usual, and this time he didn't have to fight (no pun intended) for screen time and laughs with Chris Tucker, always a tedious thing to watch. The kids seemed to love it. My eight year old was laughing his head off at the slapstick and repeating the one-liners in my ear. After the movie my four-year-old threw a fit because we couldn't afford, even with my HUGE 10% employee discount, any popcorn. But aside from that, I think we all had a pretty good time.

Conversation with my Six-Year-Old

2004-06-15T22:09:00.000-06:00

Me: Do I look old?
Him: Uh, no. You kind of have a mustache but you don't look old.
Me: Am I old?
Him: How old are you?
Me: 37
Him: No. You're not old. Maybe when you're 93 you'll be old.
Me: That's good news. I won't be old until I'm 93? That's a long way off still.
Him: Well, you'll be old when you're 90.

Bummed

2004-06-14T15:26:00.000-06:00

For our lunch hour, I went with a buddy of mine who also works in televsion to visit a high school assistant principal to pitch him on an idea. We were both pretty excited about it. The idea was to videotape the student body throughout the year and edit a year-end video that we would then sell to the students. We were sure to make a lot of money. The assistant principal sounded excited too. On the phone, he told me it was a great idea. The students already put out a video like that every year but if a couple of professionals could come in and do it, it would probably sell a lot more copies. So we went into his office and had a chat with him. Again he seemed pumped about it and he was very nice. There were a couple of kinks that had to be worked out but we felt we could get past those. He set up another appointment for us to meet with the head of the production department and he gave us a copy of the dvd that they had produced last year. We looked at it when we got back and now we're both depressed. While not airable, it's still not a bad little video. And the coverage is amazing. They had cameras out at every conceivable event. Some of it was cheesy but there's nothing we can offer them without much more work than we want to do that they can't provide for themselves. The kicker is that no one buys the little gem. I may be giving up early, but it seems like we've struck out. I've got to get my future ironed out. My current job just isn't cutting it.

I also learned today that my next door neighbor, a nice kid who's very friendly and always waves to me, was ripped off this weekend. Someone broke his car windows and stole the stereo and speakers. He's in very low spirits. I feel nearly as bad for him as I did for myself a couple of weeks ago when that happened to me. I'd sure like to catch the people who are doing this.

Another Birthday

2004-06-13T21:38:00.000-06:00

My five-year-old turned six today. He got a lot of swag including an inflatable swimming pool with a whale slide. He seems to have enjoyed himself.

Did Anyone Else See It?

2004-06-12T22:29:00.000-06:00

I meant to say this before today but I'm a slacker. The episode of Trading Spaces that was shot in my edit bay aired today. In fact, it is on as I type this. It's fun to see the room in which I spend most of my time on a national program.

Finally! The Photos

2004-06-08T12:27:00.000-06:00

Here are the pictures from the day with Trading Spaces and Paige Davis:

Weather and Book Reports

2004-06-08T08:39:00.000-06:00

It's amazing how quickly the weather changes here. Suddenly it's in the 90's. A week ago we had 50 and 60 degree temps. The heat is the roughest for me at night, when I'm trying to sleep. I bought a little fan that clips to my bookcase next to my bed but all that does is blow the heat around the room. I'd love to get central air and redo all the windows but in our financial state, that's the stuff of fantasy. At work the temperature in my editbay hovers around 58 to 60 degrees. So I get used to the chilly air and then walk into an oven at 6 pm. I got pneumonia that way in Florida, going between air-conditioned buildings and the sauna-like, blazing air of Pensacola. So I hang out in our basement a lot. It's like a cave down there, all of the curtains drawn, and much cooler.

On to other things. A few months ago, the kids and I started something that we really look forward to each night. At bed time we go down to their room and I read a few chapters from a book. They're long books, too, but we've finished quite a number of them. So far I have read all seven of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe books, Tom Sawyer, and a few others. We just finished a fun book called The Thief Lord, a 352 page book in the style of Dickens. The kids had fun learning about Venice and its streets of water. Last night they were busting up at the end and we were all giggling about it. I recommend this great bonding experience.

Long Day

2004-06-02T22:58:00.001-06:00

I should be in bed, but I wanted to scratch out a few words about today before the memory of it dissolves into nothing.

It began early. At 5 am the alarm shook me awake long enough to reach over and silence the evil thing. I instantly dove back into sleep and in another instant the wretched piece of machinery was screaming again. This time my wife got up and some of the kids were awake so I couldn't get back to snoozing as eazily. We packed everybody in, got our "Sunday clothes" ready, and took off. This time I made sure the deadbolt was locked. (I must take a moment to say that I'm glad I didn't lock the car door the other day. I'm missing a stereo, but I'd have to deal with a broken window as well. So it was for the best.)

Everyone was hungry, so we stopped at Mickey D's. This put us behind schedule and stressed me out a little. We listened to the rest of the "Swiss Family Robinson" audio book. They sure had everything they needed just in the nick of time, didn't they. I got the book mostly for my kids, but I enjoyed it, too. I thought the language might be a bit overhead but they astonished me by actually listening to it. They even asked questions and speculated about why a certain event was happening.

We arrived later than we expected. When we got to my mom's house there was a note on the door that said, "We're at the church. Please join us." We spent another ten minutes coaxing the kids to change into their church clothes and then raced to the church. We weren't late. My dad's twin brother arrived at the same time we did.

The service was nice. A lot of very nice things were said about my Grandfather. I still can't believe he's gone. It's going to take some time for that to sink in. My brothers and I sang a hymn. We were also, along with our California cousins, the pall bearers. I, being ten years older than the next oldest bearer, let the other guys do most of the work. My back, with it's missing disk, and my hernia wouldn't hear of anything else.

We drove the two miles to the cemetery, and carried the casket to the plot next to my Grandmother's. After the graveside service we went back to the church and had dinner. I'd like to say that I got to know some of my relatives, but I mostly just hid from them. I'm no good at small talk and I just didn't konw what to say. I'm afraid they take it as arrogance or dislike. That couldn't be further from the truth, especially with my mom's brother's family. I admire them so much. They're all so well-manered and nice, but I don't know how to talk to them. I'm sure they think I feel I'm above them, too good for them. Oh well.

My four-year-old sat next to me across from my dad and his twin. My boy leaned over to me and said, "There are two grandpas." It's fun to see how each of my kids responds to seeing their grandpa's carbon copy. They call him Uncle Grandpa and often confuse the two.

After the dinner, we let the boys get some of their wiggles out on the trampoline. My parents' house is on a big lot next to a wheat field. There's a lot of space out there and I think that's why my children like it so much.

We blew yet another $35.00 on gasoline and headed back. I was afraid to go in the house, almost certain that I find everything gone. But it was all still there and I let out my breath.

People ask me how the funeral was and I tell them it was nice, but nothing compares to the brief time I spent with him just before he died. That was all the funeral service I needed.

Emotional Week

2004-06-01T14:08:00.000-06:00

My range of emotions is complete.

This morning my boy, the neighbor kid I take to school, and I all got in the car to go. I reached down to turn on the stereo and grabbed a handful of wires. The stereo was gone. I can't describe how impotent I feel. To want smash someone's face in but to not have a target because they left no calling card is an enormous frustration. I feel violated, to say the least. I'm doing my best to not take it out on everyone around me. I yelled at the kids to get in the car because they were fighting over the seat. It came out pretty harsh and they were silent all the way to the school. I waved to my boy and he gave me a half-hearted wave in return.

The stereo was a nice one that I won at a company party. It's the only possession I own that's worth stealing. Part of what's killing me about this whole thing is how stupid I am. I should have taken the detachable face plate off. I should have locked the car. I guess I just think more of people than I should. I expect them to treat my property like I would treat theirs. I keep looking down at the dash for the clock or to turn on the stereo and the feeling rush back.

So I can add rage to my list.