I have to admit, I really like Dave Matthew's music. I've never bought one of his CDs, never copied one, never borrowed one, but every time I hear his music I admire the amount of emotion he manages to capture. It's like Seal and "Kissed by a Rose"; you'd never think to own the CD, but if you hear it come on the radio, it's impossible to change the station.
As those of you familiar with my sporadic blogging on LiveJournal know, I am terrible about blogging regularly. I think it stems from a deep desire not to over-analyze myself, an activity that I became immensely good at as an angsty teenager which led only deeper into an increasingly dim rabbit hole. I've found, however, that I've enjoyed reading the blogs of friends a lot. It's an interesting window into the cracks and crevices of them that I don't normally get to experience. I get to piece together bits of them that they scatter around the web, combine them with the scraps I pick up in their presence, and come away feeling like I know them better.
Taking a page from Mat's "A Breath of Fresh Fire" (http://www.matblog7.blogspot.com), I'm not going to allow comments on this blog. I found that on LiveJournal I was writing to an audience, was censoring myself with readers in mind and thereby totally taking the fun out of it. Blogging is an inherently exhibitionist activity and I shouldn't be denying people the right to read what I really think.
So the past three times I've IM'd a friend of mine, he's signed off immediately without responding. Now, I know he's busy, and I could understand if I IM'd him all the time and was annoying the hell out of him, but frankly there's no other way to take it: he's being a dick and I'm starting to take it personally. In a way I feel guilty about it, for no reason other than I feel like I'm doing well, following my dreams, making money making movies, and he's abandoned that part of himself in favor of being like his friends. So, instead of feeling humiliated again, I've blocked him from all my IM names, blocked his e-mail address from all my e-mail addresses, and made a concerted effort to think nasty thoughts about him for 10 minutes, after which I went downstairs, ate a granola bar, and poured myself a glass of Diet Coke. I may not seem like it, but I am not a very nice person when I feel threatened. In fact I'm downright hateful.
I had a friend in high school who said the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was a small thing, but it was the drop that brought the tub through the ceiling. I made sure everyone in the school knew that I wouldn't be talking to him ever again. I laughed when his prom date ran away crying at the misery of being seen with him, I laughed silently at all the things that were wrong with him, that would always be wrong with him. I had my mom take the prom pictures and make sure to leave him out of the frame, with only his black-suited arm clutched to a depressed girl in a sagging red dress to remember him by. That's the way it's stayed.
Now, granted I've softened a bit after five years, but for a long time I hated him, wished for bad things upon him, spread rumor and nastiness as much as possible whenever his name was mentioned. Now I find myself resigned about it, but at least I learned that if I get cut, I bleed a lecherous blood that is hot with corrosive power. I don't just forget you. I burn you out of me.
So, yeah. Wow, see? Told you so. Anyways, I find myself rather anxiously awaiting to hear from Kitty tomorrow. She's debuting the "Apprentice" parody we shot, and I'm jazzed to hear if it goes over well. I worked on it for more than 40 hours over the weekend, not stopping to sleep. I did a pretty good job, I think. I wish I had a better microphone (or at least one with a windscreen), but other than that the production quality was pretty good. I haven't been able to even look at the Avid icon on my desktop. Too much of a good thing, methinks. It's like my piano teacher, Tony Caramia, said to me once: "Even filet mignon gets old." Not that I am unwilling to test his hypothesis, by the way, if any of you like to make steak, but it has the dull ring of truth nonetheless.
Margaret's coming over today to edit 'Hunt for the Holocron' with me. I'm sort of excited to see her, actually. It's like looking forward to a doctor's visit; there are going to be come cold surprises and things poked in painful places, but you feel like you've been thoroughly reduced to yourself again afterwards. Someone's seen your naked butt (sometimes more than seen), and you lived to talk about it. Now, I've only actually ever slept on Margaret's butt once, but I think even she would admit that she likes hanging out with me on occasion. I don't take her shit, at least not very well, and she makes me eat mine. Hopefully we'll get a chance to talk about that screenplay we've been tossing back and forth. I admire her. She's one of the few film-people I know who actually makes it happen.
Speaking of admiring people, Jessie is almost done with her program! Well, still a month or two left, but finally there is some light at the end of this blasted tunnel. I got to spend a couple nights at her house last week while her parents were away and it was just so.... natural. As soon as we had our own space we just fell into one another and didn't need to come up for air (though apparently that feeling of connectedness does not apply when I am wide-awake at 3 AM and constantly waking her up :) In her words: "Oh my God, she can have you.") Haha. Aww, it's so cute, we're planning our summer trip for this year. We've found some all-inclusives in the Carribbean that look promising. Thank God for the work from Kitty, because otherwise I would be ditch-poor and begging for frigging tuppence.
Anyways, wow, I actually do feel better. I didn't even realize I needed cheering up. Sweet.
