Chris Squared

Mon, 27 Apr 2009 06:31:05 GMT

-We stood there and watched the sun set. For twenty minutes, it was silent walking around. I was surprised at how little of the Country was left in me. I could spot the deer, but the creaks and occasional rustle had one hand on my knife and feeling painfully exposed. If something went wrong, which was a distinct possibility, I was far, far from anything resembling normal.

-The ride back was quiet. I watched the city glitter past. Riding in cars is still a luxury. How can these people not get smacked by the beauty?

-She had the hiccups, from downtown all the way to Harlem. I found it charming, but I couldn't think of something to say, other than the paper bag trick.

-Need to drink more water to flush it all out.

BURSTFEED

Sun, 26 Apr 2009 18:44:59 GMT

Not dead. Not much time though.
-Work is crazy. Getting crazier. And paid.
-Clandestine night ops. Not sure if I can explain any of this. Ever.
-Fucked sleepwise. Hell, the whole home situation makes me want to swear and destroy. Glad no one is around when I get in.
-Twittering helps capture moments, thoughts. Hard to string all of this together into one entry/clump.
-No more time. About to get into something I don't know if I can get out of.

Stand by.

Bleed out

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 05:11:47 GMT

The internet is slow tonight, but there is nowhere to go. I'll be brief:

-pretended to be a photojournalist, twice (surprised at how effective it was)
-saw three people from my past in a single night
-had a fever, which burned out somewhere in the night
-spent less than 60 dollars at Comic Con
-disappointed myself with the photos taken, or more the lack of photos taken
-starting work extra early on Monday, bracing for it
-annoyed at my lack of trust with anyone attempting to get to know me from the internet

Where things are

Thu, 22 Jan 2009 06:24:46 GMT

I feel so wired that the only thing I can do right now is sit as still as possible and hopefully suppress the energy to a point where the pill kicks in and I can attempt to get some sleep.

-Working on a feature film.
-Said work is internship.
-Still, this is a feature film.
-Featuring people you have heard of.
-Have enough money in the bank to roll for a few months on nothing.
-Ate a chicken pot pie wrap. Pretty good. Probably tasted better now that I have a paid lunch.
-This isn't all that great, as I now work in the most expensive area of the West Village, where every would-be Carrie Bradshaw would dump a small fortune without batting an eye.
-Prepping for a wild NY Comic Con. When I die, they will discover a library of autographed books. Hopefully it will make someone out there rich.
-Reading Charlie Houston's work again. Touches on a lot of bad blood (sorry, pun) and personal pain. I don't know why, but his work leaves me feeling raw and desperate.

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 05:04:37 GMT

The dry air cuts my throat. I wake up to that feeling, that raggedness, as though I were back in New Mexico.
The melatonin is wearing off, so I can move about. Something is nagging, though, and I don't feel 100%. Still, gym day is going to be gym day.
I fuck around, killing time until finally going. It doesn't go well, but I ride out most of my post-gym limp by kicking back and reading more of The Poison Ape. I'm enjoying the author's pacing, quickly outlining the players and the setting, and letting it run off.

The snow is nice, but the wind isn't. I'm on a ramble, going south east, mainly killing time.

Eventually, I get back, and try to work/write/play. It doesn't go well.

You Look How I Feel

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 05:55:58 GMT

I see a model on ModelMayhem that made me laugh. I want to message her that she looks exactly how I felt during the last six working months. Perhaps I'll arrange to shoot something with her when I get back to Texas.

Coyote dreams

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 04:03:39 GMT

I look up just in time to see the coyote crumple underneath the car's back tire. I try to look away from it as we pass it. Its mouth agog. This was Christmas Eve, and It set the tone.

The only other notable was a dream I had, where I went to Paris to assist in a murder investigation, but fell in love with the lead detective. It was an odd dream, as it had a proper ending, with me making a teary, on the knees, apology to the detective, as I jeopardized her case with my methods, but it was moot as the killer was announced to have committed suicide by cop while in pre-trial custody. All that said, it was her embrace where the dream ended. Was it an act of forgiveness? Of a need for me to stay with her? Ambiguity.
And then I wake up to the coma.

Six Months of Christmas

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 19:44:55 GMT

Imagine this video with the most insipid Christmas music playing on the soundtrack. Think Paul McCartney's Wonderful Christmas Time.
This is the best representation of my life for the length of this project. It's over now, and I am floating in unemployment, wondering why we spent so much time for a little piece of puff filler.
I don't think I want to work on another animated project again if we have the same issues with pipeline (how things are created) and deadlines (you can't change a holiday's date).

The Circle Unbroken

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 05:45:57 GMT

The shots are not done, the masters not proofed, and we still do not have the final soundtrack working. And the superteaser is not long enough. And the timecodes will be wrong. And the duplicated frames will have changed.

And we are done.
And it is almost over.
And the promo people are driving me up a wall.

ColdDarkLong

Mon, 01 Dec 2008 05:30:58 GMT

I lose sleep, or rather, my body wakes me up, soaked in sweat. Thoughts start bullet pointing
-Dehydrated. Need water
-Bruise? Muscles in leg knotted up like a mosquito bite from hell
-45 minutes. Until I will be late.
-Weather? (rain? wind? snow? nothing?)
-Work? (right framecount? did the export happen? will the last...)

Nothing much to report. Nothing happened over Turkey Day, a small pie was eaten, someone's leftover turkey was eaten the day after.
Can't say I have slept well, but a little gentle medication may help. Need to hit these last days hard. Cover every base. Leave nothing to chance.
What will hurt is when this stops, which will be unceremonious and abrupt. And all I will have is a credit on a passing puff of entertainment you may miss if you are on a hundred other channels. And I feel more distant than ever, like this were all a screensaver on a nearby computer.

- Escape From LA, Cold Prey, started The Last Picture Show, Closely Watched Trains, The Mindscapes of Alan Moore, Cloverfield

Fatigue Marathon

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 04:13:20 GMT

The walk helps. If I had a shorter commute, I would not be prepared for it. Today, though, it helps keep my nerves from screaming. My hands tremble and I am reminded of yesterday's fast. This will not do. The cold, though, will. Numbing. Reminding me of the fact I need to be elsewhere. The dream gutted me, a simple but effective nightmare scenario of my current employment. I woke up screaming or shouting. It's hard to say, as my throat dries in my room, which is directly above the boiler room. It's 0400, my phone says, which means I only got around two hours. I spend another four hours feeling the work related needs coiling around me, but that was probably the adrenalin, which always comes out when I have nightmares.

I work, or rather, survive, dropping tasks as new ones appear. I don't take the stairs, I don't exert myself. Keep the calories, keep the fatigue from getting took great. This is a siege mentality. Walking the streets helps, mostly. The pressure is gone. I'm just another person, going anywhere, without anyone noticing. And then someone will glance at me, smile, and it's feels like I'm a fugitive just spotted. So yes, the walk helps most of the time.

I am out of employment on the 21st, working on an animated special for a network, and reading Albert Camus. This is who I am.

/Wedding

Sun, 14 Sep 2008 02:43:21 GMT

So it happened. Another of my close Texan friends done got married. I seem to come back here more for these than for family related events. Texas remains as I left it. This saddens me, but only for a moment, and then I realize that I am leaving it again. Not much to say about it, I don't like the tone of these weddings, the pressure, the mundane quality of the actual event, the reminder of my spectator status as they all go on with a new chapter of their lives.

It feels like I am watching another person be set adrift. Or am I adrift?

P.S. There were no drugs stronger than caffeine at the wedding.

Wed, 13 Aug 2008 03:27:57 GMT

Saturday drips by unbearably slow. I watch Electroma (too goddamn long, but too goddamn striking to write off), In Bruges (swearing! gunplay! coldcocking a canuck who had it coming! little people!), and Rambo (kinda Ghost Recon with Stallone's face representing man's inhumanity toward their fellow man). I hold off on eating as the plan is to eat at the Two Boots Pioneer and then get in line for the free screening of the non Jack Bauer adventures of Kiefer Sutherland not tackling Christmas trees in MirrorssrorriM.
The eating part would be our fatal flaw, as we stood in line only to discover that we had waited too long, and were shooed away with about four people in front.
We bounced from there and walked through the east village, through St. Marks, and decided to hoof it to the 23rd street 7-11. There, with one slurpee flavor pouring out like a fountain, I created the old favorite, the workhorse of frostee/slupees...the cherry and coke blend. And it was good. We drifted to the NRW stop, while in transit I pointed out the automated bathroom shenanigans that happened recently.
For friggin ever later, we're at the times square stop, which is the fork in the proverbial road. My plan: walk to the A/C, hope to catch a D at 59th, and worse case just stay on. Paul's plan: take the 1, which is physically closer to 59th, etc.
For some reason, past 1am in Times Square is somewhere between a parade and Mardi Gras in terms of motherfuckers waiting for the train. The only good thing about this human traffic jam is that your odds improve on bumping into someone you know.
Adam, is in fact, not dead. It took about a year since I last saw him to let that sink in. He's not dead.
We catch up, introduce Paul, and jam ourselves onto the train. I barely make it, and silently applaud my decision to not bring a bag or backpack on this adventure.
We get off at 59th while Adam stays on, and get on a slow local train.
We walk up the hill to get to our place, and I start forming the rest of the night's plan.
Pop a melatonin pill. Eat a bit of the ritters sport chocolate. Slam the green tea. Play Star Trek Legacies until dawn.
And I did. At least, until around 3am.

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 00:24:41 GMT

I miss that view, from the kitchen in Brooklyn. It overlooked our patch of green that counted as a back yard and beyond that, the adjacent houses. But you could see things past those houses, steeples. I don't know why, but it was always heartening to see a sunset or sunrise from that window. The occasional squirrel skittering by our power cables. It's a nicer view, I think, because it wasn't a street view. From the second floor on Gates, you could see only people in a relaxed state. They were home, and it's hard to get bothered by that. Laundry would be hung, occasional hoops were shot, and if you were lucky someone would be grilling something good smelling (this is probably me and my then ramen-only diet altering the memory).

I miss that view, that sedate view, but not that part of Brooklyn. The guys across the street who literally stand around all day, eye fucking anyone not part of their cool kids club, the family which decided that in lieu of air conditioning, they would reside immediately outside the door to our apartment building. By immediate, I mean that they were blocking anyone going in or out of the place.

Blood Everywhere

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 04:04:48 GMT

The fever dream has two parts, the first dealing with the coordination of four people against some massive thing with an insane amount of joints. This meant getting as close to a joint as possible and letting the other limbs strike at it.
The second involved some impossible contest to find the uses of a flat pattern of cardboard (for storage? clothing? coffin?) with a little help from a second party. It did not go well, but this was the period of time where the fever was breaking, and somehow that translated into forward progress in the dream.
I woke up around 3am, then around 8:30am. Due to my illing, I had managed to set my alarm for 11:30am. Unfortunately, next door in the kitchen was particularly busy, or perhaps the fever had heightened my light sleepiness. I could hear every pan, utensil, every goddamn time the faucet was turned on. I was angry but in a state where I couldn't do much about it. I tried getting an early start to the day, only to pass out in the living room, which (much to my surprise) was a quieter place. Not serene, but quieter. You still hear every footstep, the fucking faucet still can be heard, and the occasional sounds of the sidewalk.
I covered my head with my hoodie (which suggested I needed to warm up), and tried to sleep on the newly acquired couch. It almost worked.
Almost.
So instead I popped a few pills, went to the new workplace, and was quietly thankful that I did not require me to talk to pretty much anyone.
Tried to not exert myself, nor strain. Minimalism. And it seems to have worked. My fever was long gone, the ache and sinus issues are minimal, and my throat seems to be crawling toward recovery.

Hooray for modern meds.

Something like productiveness

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 11:44:51 GMT

I'm back to unemployed. This is a weirdassed feeling.

Zombie Strippers
There was a surprising amount of effort put into this trashy, low budget film, but it still feels labored. A lot of philosophical thoughts get name checked, but it's mostly background static between pole dances. One decent kill: "I like your tongue." I'm starting to wonder if the resurgence of zombie films is worth it. There's only so many squib and gunshots added in post production we can handle.

Halloween (2007)
Not much of interest here. Rob Zombie continues to doggedly follow his vision of being a terrible writer/director, which leaves the audience at his mercy/kill list. Why add a background to Michael Myers if you're not going to let it build the character? MICHAEL HAD A BAD CHILDHOOD?! MOMMA WAS A STRIPPER?! Golly, that explains how he grows to be seven feet tall, wears masks, can take more damage than any human, and hasn't said anything in 15 years.

The Sweeney - Season One
John Thaw made a career of solving crimes on screen, but mostly here he scowls like a bastard, chainsmokes, and drinks his way into stopping high profile robberies. Some of the mysteries are good, some silly, but Thaw acts as an anchor, Joe Friday with a little more resentment.

Truck Turner
Isaac Hayes as Shaft-like guy, with a little bit more Rockford Files thrown in. A schlubby bail bondsman just wants to make a little bread, pick up his girl when she gets out of jail, and get his cat to stop pissing on his clothes. Things don't work out, but we get a class act in great actors, solid music, and a whooooole lotta pimps.

Simultaneously

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 04:45:21 GMT

I want to take a pill to go to sleep, but I don't want to squander the time I have this weekend. This boring, dull weekend.

I don't like the weekends.

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 01:12:17 GMT

I beat Metal Gear Solid 4, which had managed to feel like a satisfying ending despite a lot of issues. Snake goes through hell in this game, and what happens in the end feels like he goddamn earned it.
Then there was the finishing of The Man Who Heard Voices, which only started to feel like it was building towards something 4/5ths of the way through.

I'd talk about Battlestar Galactica, but due to the earthshattering degree of spoilers it would involve, I'm going to have to pass on it. Venture Brothers, though, is playing for keeps in the best possible way.
Both shows were available to view online before their broadcast times, which leaves me feeling a bit empty. You see, aside from looking forward to these shows, my only other option for the weekend was to decide if I wanted to see Potentially Crappy Comic Book Film About A Character I Could Care Less About or M Night Shymalan's Career Is Imploding . Both were getting thumped around by reviewers I took seriously.
All other options involved the spending of money I don't really have, so I have been sleeping excessively, eating little, and wondering when exactly the weekends dissolved into this.

There was going to be more here, some deeply personal emotional roiling that is eating me up, but you probably don't want that. All I want this evening is to hear the rains again, perhaps with a little more thunder. It's just enough to comfort me without the past's undertow.

Can't. Sleep.

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 06:53:53 GMT

Posted pics of Nina's hairletting. First semi-official Thing I was asked to record by way of my camera. Still haven't figured out the best way to shoot in low light.

Reading: The Man Who Heard Voices

GIMMIE A SIT-REP

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 05:04:14 GMT

Watched: The Devils, Buck and the Preacher (IT NEEDED AN ENDING, SIDNEY)
Wants you to watch: Foot Fist Way - the story of a tae kwon do instructor that hasn't realized that he peaked in 1991
Wants to watch: The Fall, Operation Filmmaker, Dreams With Teeth
Will watch: [REC], Truck Turner, Grizzly Park
Wants to eat: Nothing, I'm stuffed!
Reading: The Player of Games, by Iain M Banks
Will Read: a friggin pile of books
Drinking: Joe's Tea
Back to Texas: Probably a little before and a day after September 13th
Looking forward to: William Gibson on the 16th! Hideo Kojima (maybe)! Ice T this weekend (srsly!). Aimee Mann! Clean(er) clothing! Venture Brothers every Sunday night!

Is it a felony if you are pretending to care?

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 16:37:10 GMT

I forged an already forged document. 12 times. It was a rush job and no one seemed to care about the legality of it. It's these shit tasks that eat at me. Where all these do-or-die, all or nothing tasks fall upon the person who has the least invested in the project. Filmmaking, is such a slow motion process, with reams of paper, forests cleared out in the HOPES of a break, a sale. But I'm just a janitor, just keeping the space clean and proper.
It's driving me up a wall.
The solution is to obviously latch onto an idea/project/pitch that I actually care about, but for the moment that area is empty.

TOOK M'BOY! WE HAVE TO GO BACK! BROTHA!

Fri, 30 May 2008 14:58:02 GMT

Thoughts on Lost:
-While I did like how this season finale started with a direct continuation of last season's flash forwards, I thought it quickly misfired.
-What was the point of bringing Michael back into the fold only to have him discover that he is not Explosion Resistant? That's it? All we get now are occasional cameos in ghost form?
-Would an extra week of work on the explosion SFX gotten a tiny digital Jin in there? We saw that people were freaking out, life vesting up, and him running on deck...
-Assuming his whispered words were not "I killed a man in Australia", is there anything significant James "Sawyer" Ford could have said that would get a puzzled reaction from Kate?
-When Ben said "All of Them", did he also mean Walt?
-While Desmond's storyline has always made for cracking good episodes, his sudden Good Ending was, well, sudden. Almost too much so. There was so much going on in this episode, but a good deal of it involved having to show what we already know.

"He's not the same, not like how he was."

Tue, 27 May 2008 04:32:25 GMT

Watching El Cid right before watching Indiana Jones underlined something that has been moving in the back of my mind.
It's not just that people age, but situations do as well. The environment of the characters shifts, and for some, this is almost imperceptible because we watch them for a brief period of their lives. Now slap 20 years on your character, and see how the world has changed them and vice versa.

Memorial Day weekend was a bust. More or less an excuse to stop shaving, sleep 12+ hours a day, and not finish The Yiddish Policemen's Union. The only point of interest was getting Harlem Wing & Waffle delivered (which was a quest of sorts thanks to shitty delivery) and roommate Erin's violently ill reaction to whatever was in her meal. Decent waffles, syrup, and chicken on my end. Can't say it would be decent enough for a return order, but at least we tried.

Chaos Engines Need Chaos

Tue, 13 May 2008 05:34:30 GMT

It feels weird, actually taking steps towards realizing an idea. I've been circling certain artists, awkwardly trying to slip them a note "Would you like to work on something (pro bono)? Circle yes or no"
I've been stepping it up as I can't put my heart into anything at my day job. It used to be a joke, when I told people my job title, I'd play it down by saying "It's a nice way of saying I'm the janitor." But lately, with the lack of any of our ideas in development that capture my interest, I've been on the sidelines, organizing office supplies, helping with the IT (I hate Filemaker and all it entails), and depositing company checks.
So I attempt to peck at scripts, write down plot points, but mostly troll around 4chan and any other place that can keep me momentarily sustained with random content.

"I WAS THE ONE WHO SURVIVED!"

Fri, 02 May 2008 16:17:40 GMT

I ask him about the missing pounds of plastic explosive, mostly on a lark, as I was bored and wanting to share the knowledge of its disappearance. We spoke of it in dry, deductive reasoning terms. It wasn't a concern, more of a curiosity. What does one do with that much plastique?
It was somewhere in 2007, probably early on, and I was just trying to reconnect with my friend. The city has a way of making you feel like some leaf swept down a stream, so every person from the past makes you ignore the distance that has passed. I bring this up as it has begun again, that non-ironic discussion of violence, but luckily in video game form.
Yes, this is about Grand Theft Auto IV.

What struck me was how the game underlines the anti in the antihero, Niko Bellic. He's a bad man but with few of the standard tics. He's quiet, unassuming, and rarely gets pissed. His mission isn't so much about becoming a crime kingpin, but crawling out from under the past. He'll do anything for money, and that has included murder, slave trading, and drugs (all before the game begins). His actions, that the player undertakes as missions, make the world more corrupt. Any attempts of real justice within the system is considered an annoyance, and swiftly dealt with (the one rare honest lawyer pursuing mob prosecutions, etc). There's always someone willing to rat out someone else, and the paranoia only grows as Niko's contacts begin to thin out.
Liberty City is a funhouse mirror of how we must look now to the rest of the world. Paranoid, deranged, and driven by darker currents.

Tangent: Niko's cousin, the dopey Roman spends a moment describing his dream to Niko, and we realize that his ideal world is to be normal. He wants to be settled down, run a small restaurant, and a family. And then I press A to continue my attempt to spray bullets at the police while in mid corkscrew jump, diving from a flaming car.

It's my birthday and all I want to do is drive myself deeper into that corrupt world.