Saturday, January 24, 2015

Manic Pixie Dream Girl

From the Wiki, the "Manic Pixie Dream Girl" was a term coined by critic Nathan Rabin to describe "that bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures."

A long time ago, when we were both so much younger, I knew a girl like this. She wasn't necessarily my "type", but I eventually developed a crush on her -- as did a lot of guys around her at the time. She shut me down as she shut down most of those other boys.

I got over it.

We remained friends.

She attended my doomed wedding.

We lost touch over the years, though I'd occasionally see snapshots of her life on Facebook. Not pics I'd necessarily linger on. Simply more posts of people living full lives while I lived my monastic life chasing dragons.

We met up again, at my 39th birthday. And everything changed.

There's more to this. Hopefully. It's complicated because I can't ever fucking have anything that's easy. But for right now...

... we're kind of crazy in love...

Thursday, January 08, 2015

Thirty-Nine

It's not that 39 is that horrifying of a number. It's just the last of the 30s. I've been obsessing over this like I never imagined I would.

I'm sorry, I do NOT have a positive attitude about any of this.

There are things I need to accomplish that I'm nowhere to close to accomplishing.

I am overwhelmed by what a cliche I've become. The person panicking about age, of all things. But it's more than age, it's everything. Being constantly surrounded by peers who are clicking past milestones. And here I am, taking a seemingly extended, leisurely detour.



SONGFACTS

Robert Smith wrote this song on his 39th birthday, which he chose not to celebrate. Instead of having a party, he shut himself off and wrote this song about losing your passion. In Pulse magazine, Smith said: "I think everyone, if they're old enough, at some point in their life has thought, 'Where did my passions go, what happened to my desires to change the world?' You have to work harder as you get older, because cynicism is like a creeping insidious enemy that can poison everything. And if I'm really honest, I have to admit that I don't have the same fire, the same desire to be heart, that I had when I was younger. But I think that saying 'The fire's almost out' in '39' is not a statement that I'm giving up. I'm just being open and honest about the fact that what's driven me to express myself in the past is just not there like it used to be. That's neither a good nor a bad thing, it's just a fact."

Thursday, January 01, 2015

Starting 2015 Right...

Turns out that party I went to last night was probably exactly what I needed :-)

So glad I went. Last night is the reason I take these risks.

These are two GIFs I made in the new year. I hope this year works out.

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

One last thing before I quit on 2014...

New Year's Eve. Last hours of 2014 here in sunny Manhattan. I am feverishly debating the risks/merits of venturing out to a party in Brooklyn tonight where I might know 1-2 people. That or continue to hide from the world. I hit the gym this morning for one last half-hearted workout of this year. Had lunch with a friend for one last time this year. And now I am listening to my roommate cough up disease outside my bedroom door -- and hearing Times Square tourists blast air-horns outside on the street -- while I contemplate what's the best/worst way to spend the last few hours of this year. There will be girls at this party. Everyone knows that the greatest lasting relationships usually begin at impromptu New Years Eve parties. I know that for the fodder alone, I need to go to this party. I'm just having a hard time turning the corner on this decision.

Here is a GIF I created sometime in the past few months:

AT-AT elephant.

2014 was a loss. It may not have been the worst year but it was, in many ways, the emptiest. Maybe I just needed to fucking lose an entire year like this, to take a breath and take stock.

More and more, I feel like I can't just keep trying to get some big corporation to LET ME make a movie. I need to just start making movies.

I know what I'm capable of doing. I need to make this happen on my own terms.

Here are two more GIFs I created in the past few weeks:



Mother and daughter hitching a ride.

All right, I refuse to torture myself if I decide to not go to this party tonight. On paper, it looks like something I wouldn't do -- which is exactly the sort of thing I gravitate towards. I keep going back and forth on this. It's almost 6pm. If I go, I want to leave by 8 or 9. Trains are going to be a bitch.

I've had more painful years than 2014. Years I've made less money. Years I've gotten my heart and lungs ripped out. This is has been a less turbulent year, but that isn't necessarily good. Getting your ass kicked at least means you're still fighting.

I hate making new year resolutions... but I need to fight harder this year.

Stay safe tonight.


Calvin & She-Hobbes.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Christmas Call with My Dad 2014


Part of having a new phone -- particularly an expensive one -- is enjoying new functionality. Not that using a speakerphone is exactly Star Trek tech but the iPhone 6+'s speakerphone works well enough that I can have these parent chats while I mess around on the internet, which makes it a lot easier.

Which is not to suggest that magically makes a phone call with my dad completely easy.

Excerpts from my Christmas call with my dad this morning...

M:
I just started work on this show. Do you get cable?

D:
Yes.

M:
Do you get Cinemax?

D:
What is that?

M:
CIN-E-MAX...? You know, HBO, Cinemax... [Note: we subscribed to HBO and Cinemax growing up.]

D:
(confused)
No... Dere is too much... I hab Netflix and I don't hab enup time to watch...

M:
Well, anyway, I've been working on the second season of this show on Cinemax called "The Knick".

D:
What is it?

M:
It's called "THE KNICK".

D:
What is it called?

M:
"THE..."

D:
"BA..."?

M:
THE... T-H-E!!!

D:
Oh, "THE"...

M:
(sighs)
"KNICK"...

D:
What...?

M:
The second word is "Knick" -- K-N-I-C-K...

D:
"K-I-N-C-K"...?

M:
NO -- K-N-I-C-K. KNICK!!!

D:
Oh... and what is it about?

M:
It's, uh... it's just about a hospital. You probably wouldn't like it. But it'll keep me busy for a while.

[END EXCERPT]

In addition to not having the greatest grasp of spoken English, my dad is terrible at basic social cues. Case in point, at one of the many dead silent patches we reach, I attempt to wrap up the phone call.

M:
(After long dead silence.) SO ANYWAY, I should let you get back to your breakfast. I just wanted to call and check up on you and wish you a Merry Christmas.

D:
OK.

M:
Have a good day -- and... I'll... talk to you...

D:
Do you hab any girlfriends?

If you missed that, the appropriate thing for him to say at the end would have been something to the effect of, "It was nice talking with you, thanks for calling, Merry Christmas, I love you..." Instead, he offers the classic Christmas sign-off, "Do you have any girlfriends?"

Three times, this happens. It's like the opposite of Call-Blocking. It's Hang-Up-Blocking. If you want to keep talking, then fine -- you could say, "Oh do you have to leave? Do you mind if we talk a little more? It's been a while since we've talked. What's going on in your life?" But he'll just lob out these random questions when I'm trying to wrap it up.

Okay. Merry Christmas, lurkers.