I did NOT in fact miss the camp reunion. I am having trouble matching days and dates. Planning a wedding screws with one's wiring.
Network Stars (the Lucky Ghost album) went live on iTunes Music Store this past weekend, much earlier than I expected. I long to get some shows booked, and pray that all the clubs I solicited get back to me post-haste.
Gamefly (from which I rent videogames in order to avoid purchasing expensive, short-lived software that depreciates in value instantly) seems to have gotten confused about which plan I had and shipped me the new Tiger Woods golf game, despite my already having the full alottment of games in-house. This happened last year too, ALSO WITH TIGER WOODS. Strange, is it not?
Our self-cleaning litterbox broke and now I am back to being our felines' shit-servant, without the mechanical assistance I had grown oh-so-used-to. It is amazing how much dung two cats can create in a short period of time.
I updated Rounders last night for the first time in what turned out to be... 7 months! I honestly don't know how one-sixtieth of my life went by so quickly, but the last thing I remember is deciding to take a short break from the webcomic in order to finish the Lucky Ghost album. Turned out the break was not so short, mostly due to the myriad complications that can arise when you are trying to get a record finalized.. especially when you are self-releasing and have no idea what you're doing, in essence. I was never quite able to squeeze the volume I desired out of my humble Garageband recordings, so if you have them in your iTunes they might not match up with, say, the latest Radiohead in terms of audio punch and fidelity, but if you are listening to it on its own or popping it in your car CD player, I think it makes a lot of sense unto itself and is satisfying. I am not one of those people that can't stand listening to or watching what they create, and rather embarassingly listen to my own stuff over and over in some strange biofeedback loop where I try and get more familiar with my own brain.
I am on the verge of finishing a project at work that has consumed us for the last 12 months and is still something of a poorly-kept secret. Let's just say that I might be the world's foremost Jewish restorer of Leni Riefenstahl films. There was a lovely (though perhaps premature) celebration this evening to mark the occasion, though I was forced to miss the uptown happy hour reunion of attendees of my old Jewish sleepaway camp from upstate, the legendary Cejwin Camps. I often dream that the place has re-opened, and I'm not sure if I'm a camper or a counselor, and things are never quite right, but it is close enough because I loved the place so much and regret very much skipping the last year the camp was open so I could grow my hair long and play in jam bands with people several years older than myself. I would have been a C.I.T. that year (counselor in training) so it wouldn't have been quite the same, but I still wonder what happened to the self that decided to go back and if he's out there in another dimension I would like to arrange a memory sharing program. He can pick any year post-divergence to draw from. Honestly!
Cas suggested I look into using footage from the old Max Fleischer Superman cartoons, since they are in the public domain. It was fun to try and cut around the Superman/Clark/Lois stuff and emphasize the catastrophic nature of the proceedings. The animation in those shorts is really sick. The more I watch them the more detail I appreciate... the physicality of Supes (who seems to struggle more than in later comic book incarnations), the lighting, everything.
Last night I not only watched American Idol, but also felt compelled to vote for the first time. I dialed on behalf of monsieur David Cook. Seven times. Which necessitated hitting redial approximately 200 times in order to get through successfully seven measly times. I like David Archuleta fine... and will be happy to check in on him once he has some real life experiences, breaks up with his dad, and stops holding his right palm out and up as he sings, as if waiting for an apple.
The Hazzards' new disc is a must-listen. Three standouts include the afore-posted video, Hot For Hasidim, and Let's Get Boners. They all got in my head and perioded in it.
I told Stanley Kubrick he could use my idea for a robot movie as long as when he died in pre-production, he let me wrap things up.
Instead, the job went to Spielberg who added added wispy aliens and a contrived idea of what the best day ever spent between mother and pseudo-son looks like.
True story: I went back to A.I. to watch it a second time because I thought the problem with the film lay with me. There is a small but potent list of movies with which I have engaged in this transaction all ending with the same conclusion: it is not me.
The list goes:
A.I. Oh Brother, Where Art Thou
I know there are a couple more but I can't remember them right now. I'll get back to you on that.
Returning to the memory lane theme, Journey of the Robot was my culminating junior film. Here are some things I think of when I watch it:
1) My mom gave me the refrigerator box that became the core of the robot costume. 2) I stayed up all night making that costume. It's not unusual for me to stay up late, working on movie things but I can't think of too many other times when the thing keep me up was craft-related. I'm not much of a carpenter or constructor. But I guess I'm not the worst glue-gun wielder you've ever met. 3) The robot has a mohawk when realized in human form. Much like Spielberg, what once seemed unique and specific now seems like lazy contrivance. Why would a robot dream of having a mohawk? 4) I like when Ted whispers in Ben's ear just before Ben strikes the robot. What does he say? 5) Abby is easily disappointed. Not a good trait in a scientist methinks. 6) I forget what the robot's heart is - something from a stereo I think. Maybe a blender?