28.10.03
sunday, at the park
Well, my little boy was at
Central Park last Sunday, eating Sponge Bob Square Pants treats and running amok amidst dead leaves and grass. I was hoping more leaves had already turned, but it looks still pretty green. Central Park is like a patch of oasis in the middle of high rise cement and glass. It amazes me how large it actually is (843 acres!) and how they were able to preserve it under the impending buildings surrounding it. I've seen it in late summer, early spring, but never fall. Tavern on the Green looks gorgeous during a late summer evening, with all its lights on, and people rolling in for their dinner reservations. Cyclists, runners, in-line skaters, dancers, assorted performers, lawn bowlers and dog walkers populate the various areas all throughout the day. There are lakes, beautiful buildings, The Met and other structures that make great subjects for photography, film and writing alike. I'm sure it's just as beautiful during the fall. I would have liked to have been there last Sunday, but I was relegated to the (finally) cooling desert air, attempting a game of softball after two years of not playing the game. Bruised my right heel, so I'm presently a gimp as I shuffle and limp back and forth to the warehouse and my desk at work.
It takes more than a day to explore all the park has to offer. I've only ever walked through, using it as a short cut to get to another street and as a respite from walking on the cement sidewalks on the busy streets. I'd like to however take a few days to have a close and thorough look at Belvedere Castle or the Shakespeare Garden for example. I can't imagine there being a zoo with polar bears and the like, although I can imagine The Penguin and some such creatures living in the dark underbelly of the sewage stystem. It is still Gotham after all, and I've never seen the city as one reflecting light, hope or optimism. It has always been a dark beast, the hotspot of dashed hopes and desperate lives. So when one sets foot in this park, all the darkness seems to sink to its lower depths, and an emerald gem sparkles in the sun, "amongst towers and temples".
24.10.03
on the turntable
A Twist of Marley, tribute to the king of reggae, with a jazz verve. Lost my disk last year, but I had to get another because I couldn't bear not to hear it again. It's been spinning all week, with the likes of Patti Austin, Jonathan Butler, and Maxi Priest among them.
On other turntables, I'd like to see a Gershwin songbook in either reggae or electronica bossanova versions.
23.10.03
mountain high
The morning was quiet, almost still except for a heat haze gathering off the flat, dry lake bed below. Sound seemed muffled, as if one were watching landscapes on television with the sound really low. My eyes pan across the sand brown vistas, the arid ridges of mountains darkened by sharp shadows already, so early in the morning. Insects did not stir, and I wondered how they would even survive the desert heat. It seemed not a thing stirred, except for myself and moving clouds above, casting shadows then wiping them off clean, revealing sharp jagged lines of white, bone, clay and celadon earth.
My foot slipped and the soft sound of small rocks rolling down the gorge broke the stuffy silence. Then a bird flew past, frightening me with it's vibrating wings, fluttering a hundred times a minute. It squaked and the sound echoed through the still air. I looked around and above me, searching for more signs of life. Then the buzzing of flies began; the ground began to move with ants going to work, laughter, loud yet indiscernable voices in the distance. The morning had broken its silence, and it seemed life began the day as capriciously as I had.
21.10.03
on the turntables
Lounge electronica. Nothing soothes more and puts you in a loungy mood. I'd rather have my gin and tonic sitting down with lounge music and conversation. Makes me think of the Korova Milkbar in the
A Clockwork Orange film, where naked women painted in white pose as tables, but with less violence and destructive behaviour; less thoughts on dystopia and the opression of free will.
There's certainly something there for me in electronic bossanova beats and cool titilating female Portugese voices, coming cooly over the headphones, heading straight for the relax meter and turning the notches down a bit. It certainly puts a
groove in the moment.
waiting for things to read
At last, I shall soon get my hands on various "Pinoy Komiks" (can I call it that? Don't throw your shoes at me!). Thanks to
Vin's Comic Quest store, I've been able to find
Carl's Zsa Zsa because I'm such a gushing fan of his work (and he autographed it no less, I'm floored!),
Arre's Mythology Class, and
Isaw Atbp. from Vin himself et al. I hope to also finally get
Dean and
Nikki's The Lost from that someone who was supposed to come here but did not/could not (unfortunately) because of damn bureaucracy.
It's rather funny - I'm inundated with books, with walls, shelves, public libraries, amozon.com, and Borders stuffed full of gorgeous wonderful reads that my Pacific-side friends would die to read, yet I crave for their own writing much more. I think there's something in reading someone you know - a certain satisfaction that they are capable of entertaining you, knowing how they developed as writers and how they started out with large imaginations and later carved out and honed that imagination, giving it bones, structure, flesh and making it into perfect works of sculptured art.
20.10.03
things to do
Having some time alone finally got me to do some much needed things that I otherwise wouldn't have had the time to do. The first thing on my list was to revive an old computer and bring it back to life. It was easier than expected and I got it up and running upgraded to WinXP no less. However, I had to switch hard drives as I did botch up the original drive with the operating system on it because I downloaded some upgrades that fucked it up - we know how that goes. Now, I just need to install the Service Paks and it should be ready to go.
Saturday night was a foray into the former life that I once knew. Caught the tail end of the Yankees/Mariners game with some friends and took a late night start to a long night in a dark smokey club with a gin and tonic in hand. The velvet rope was at work at
Opium with about 3 or 4 surley door men/bouncers in suits looking like the Mafia. One of our guys was already behind the rope, working the club and was trying to get us in through the front of the line, free of charge. But the surley guys didn't want our group in, told us to get into the line, and the line was beginning to snake down and around the Forum Shops at Ceasar's Palace. Finally our guy got his friend the DJ to come out and let us in. Surley Man #1 was an unhappy camper blurting out in a pained, deep voice, "IDs please!" Inside: thumping dark halls and scantily clad women in platform boots dancing on bar counter tops and ledges. Similarly scantily clad women and men in tight apparel were working the room in full club gear, a lot of chit-chat going on - sort of like a networking session. It looked to me like people trying to close deals and make the sale with a lot of drink buying going on before the night was over. Exchange business cards, with the old adage, "I'll give you a call". I'd forgotten the ludicrous price of mixed drinks, and the ridiculous banter being yelled above the music. Certainly isn't a place for talk, but for dancing, so dance we did until early morning into next day's hangover. I'm no longer equipped to do this sort of thing, takes a toll on the old ticking body; yes, age happens.
Did some reading: Craig Thompson's
Blankets, which I agree with the blurb was "...painfully honest". A coming of age story that illustrates the trials and tribulations in a young boy's life. There's a lot of saddness in it, yet a lot of strength and coming through the plague of peer pressure, ostracisim, and a less than normal home life. Makes one think how much of it is Craig's own; where reality leads to fiction, and where fiction ends and makes its way back to his reality. A good and interesting read, though I wouldn't own it, which is why I LOVE the public library.
I'm itching to see
Lost in Translation which sounds less vapid than anything else out at the moment, except for maybe
Kill Bill. I'm also awaiting the marathon screening of LOTR, though I highly doubt I would spend 10 hours to view all three in a row. One a week would suit me fine, just to keep things fresh and in the moment before the final
Return of the King.
Another Monday, and I'd rather be home reading, or watching movies instead of figuring out how to afix header lights to a booth and create new graphics for it. Now that I have all this time on my hands, there's too many things I want/need to do and I still don't seem to have enought time. Rationing.
17.10.03
airports and short goodbyes
I hate airports when I'm the see-er off. I love airports when I'm the one venturing out, to another destination, a change of time zone, a different city. But I hate being the one left behind to say goodbye and pathetically waving from a distance as I see people walking off toward their gates. I also hate long goodbyes. Most of the time, when I drive people to the airport, I do the least by dropping them off at the curbside check-in to their airline, kiss, hug, wave good-bye, then zoom off without hesitation.
So this morning, I was the see-er off and it was a not so short goodbey. Dino needed some help to check in because Dylan was around. So we had to park and walk. Fortunately, there was no crowd. Found a parking spot close enough with still an hour left on the meter. Check-in was fast as was making our way to the gate. Hapless and unable to go beyond the gate entry point, I waited and watched as Dino remove his watch, phone, spare change and dump it into a tray, and the old security guy telling him to remove the laptop from his hand carry bag, remove it from its sleeve and dump that into another tray, and remove the child from his stroller and walk him through the metal detector. After which he proceded to pick up his loose stuff, and re-pack his laptop into his over-stuffed bag full of toddler jackets, hats, mittens, raisins, apple juice boxes, apple pies, sandwiches and two baby bottles full of milk; don't forget the diapers and baby wipes. Travelling with child is somewhat a challenge, especially when you're a lone adult. But at least a concession - a choice seat near the front, if not up front, and getting on the plane first without lining up with everyone else.
I know I'll be on my phone to New Jersey at least 5 times a day for the next two weeks. I miss them already.
16.10.03
long week; flying high
Thursday plods along. A bit better now later on in the week, despite insipid idiots loitering about the office. The week has crawled with mounting deadlines and projects that are in mid-air and a dozen others still waiting to get off the ground. There's a million press releases that have to be written, pictures to be re-taken, a trade show booth for COMDEX to re-design, carpets to order, a Flash movie loop to create for the new flat panel monitor that will grace the face of our disgracefully old and falling apart booth, and of course the usual spam to bombard.
One of those weeks you would wish was over, yet not really because my dearest and nearest, husband and son, will soon be flying over 3000 miles to the East Coast of New Jersey. Vanishing for 13 days, so savoring the last day I get to spend with my terrible soon-to-be-two year old. He's still flies free until his second birthday. But, we dread his airplane behavior. The last time he flew was at 6 months, where he comfortably fitted on my lap. His voice level was considerably lower then and he didn't know about
Whine and
Tantrum. These days, both
Whine and
Tantrum are his best friends and follow him wherever he goes, especially in department stores, grocery stores, restaurants and all sorts of public places where people can hear very well, and see clearly to whom he belongs. Sometimes
Scream and
Shout tag along if he's in a grumpy mood. Ah. Well. Such is the life of an about-to-be-two, with four of his best friends. I still love him and have found ways to distract his four friends when the need arises. I hope his father has practised as well for the upcoming 5 hour trip.
13.10.03
irate
It really pisses me off to have to work with and around lazy people. I'm sure every office has one - the lazy bastard that is capable of looking for the information he needs all on his own because it already exists somewhere in the system, but will come to you in hopes that you will dig it up for him to save him the time to look for it himself because he will have to, gasp, use his brain a little bit. Add to that, their immanent lack of foresight and really, they're just doing enough to get by, without the extra effort. I complain because when someone, a cog, that is part of the machinery as a whole behaves this way, it just sort of negates all your efforts because they're simply incapable of turning their own wheel, grinding the machine to a stand-still. Plus, irritating the hell out of you in the process.
10.10.03
safety first
The Catholic Church is now rejecting the fact that condoms helps to prevent the spread of AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases. Their proof: a rise in condom use, yet a rise still in STDs.
Did it ever cross their mind to check the studies and see if those using condoms are not necessarily the ones contracting STDs? Did it ever cross their mind that a rise in promiscuous and unprotected sex might be the cause of a rise in STDs?
If they reject condoms because they believe that its use may lead to promiscuous behavior because a man may feel protected against disease and unwanted pregnancies and thus goes on a sexual rampage with inumerable women, that may be acceptable. But to blame condoms, the thing itself, and saying that it does NOT prevent disease is unacceptable. I understand they want to reject any method of birth control outside of abstinence. I understand they want to curb human promiscuity which
may lead to the spread of disease and unwanted pregnancies, and that may be their dogma.
But to reject an aid in the prevention of the spread of disease and blame the thing itself as being a symbol of promiscuity (and thus spread of disease) is beyond me. The thing itself is not to blame, only the man or woman who would do something to endanger or compromise themselves or others is.
7.10.03
happy birthday
It's my father's birthday today. Happy Birthday! He wants a new computer. I told him I'd get him some new programs to go with the new computer, whoever's buying it.
educating the masses
I never thought it would happen here, but it seems with the onslaught of technology and the "Information Superhighway", we are just being bogged down with unrealistic amounts of information that we have to revert to Third World communciation media. I'm talking about pictures here. Like comic books, like information pamphlets with drawings instead of words. Who'd have thought America would stop reading, for non-pleasure anyway?
I suggested doing a series of editorials. Well, not "editorial" in the strict sense of the word, since we are going to be using much more illustration and images, much more than words. Think: Birth Control pamphlets, How to Use a Condom pamphlets, or How to Clean Your M-16 with the buxom vixen showing you the steps comic book-type pamphlet.
It seems we have to make paragraphs and sentences shorter these days.
Much shorter.
It seems people have less time to read. It seems people have stopped reading altogether. Our sales staff breeze through e-mail. Then when you ask them about a very important e-mail you sent that you wanted answered, they say, "I haven't read it yet, I'll take a look." Or they come to you asking how a product works, then you say "I sent that info to you three weeks ago in an e-mail", which they didn't read. So how would you get a sales team to sell 3000 different products with an average of a hundred products being added to inventory every month? By doing a comic-book pamphlet thingie on a single (although back-to-back) page. More pictures. Less words. Broken down to elementary level so that they can understand what a cable does and can do in the "real world".
2.10.03
revisting comics
After setting foot in the comic kingdom once again with
1602, I went off to the local library to scour what they may still have in graphic novel format of past TPBs. I say scour because most of the time, the library databases will tell you that, yes it is indeed available, but alas has been stolen or is at another branch and you therefore need to request the title to be sent to the library near you. And, even if the database indicates that said comic is available, upon searching the shelf, you simply won't find it there. Then you have to enlist the aid of library staff and they will do their best to hunt across shelves, return book piles and the like and will sorrowfully tell you that the book seems to have gone missing and that they shall further investigate, and meanwhile, sorry, but maybe you could go to another library where they DO have it? Or, borrow another title that's just as good, but not really the same.
Well, my last trip proved fruitful. I came away with
Lucifer,
Reinventing Comics,
Prometheus,
Three Fingers,
Shade the Changing Man, and some other titles which escapes me now. I've read some and some I liked, some were awful and I thought, who on earth let these people write, or much worse, told them that their story was any good? It sounds quite judgemental, and perhaps I didn't read it too well (I'm guilty of zooming through comics and missing quite a bit which I realize when I go back to read it the second time), but really,
Shade was just a hodge-podge, slop-on-top, trip to psychedelia. I thought it was such a waste of reading time, I was quite disgusted that I actually made myself read it through to the end. I must have caught it mid-series, even though it was collected in a TPB. Maybe I needed a background issue. But I just thought why write a story like this? An alien sent to battle human madness as it personifies itself in the city of lights, L.A. that is. So, O.K. the storyline could work. But there were so many elements that seemed so contrived, that I felt were put there, just because. I don't really agree with that school of thought. I like to think each element has reason, has purpose for being there, that it will eventually tie into the whole of the story like a neat little package tied up with string. Loose ends bother me. To no end.
Endless Nights
Last week, I was finally able to get my hands on
Endless Nights. I read a few stories. Then I stopped. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I felt like I had to eat a salad because I was compelled to, when in fact I was craving for a large juicy steak, mushrooms on top and a nice dolop of garlic mashed potatoes.
Well. There are 4 more stories to go. Perhaps there is a main course hidden somewhere in there, and hopefully a lovely plate of dessert as well.
practice makes...good
I'm finding that consistent writing, writing mostly about anything, keeping this blog for example, is an excercise in improvement. Also, reading - anything - the gamut from the Wall Street Journal online to countless other blogs across the Internet universe does a world of good.
It just occured to me that writing, reading and communicating with others who do the same is like practicing at something to get better at it. As with athletes, the more you train, you'll eventually see an improvement. But obviously it's not only in the training alone. There's also a need for tactics, for method, for some thought behind the physical output. I believe the same goes for writing. It would be useless just to write and write without thought behind it, without saying something important, useful, or interesting at least.
So. I don't mean to say my writing has improved. Not yet. But it certainly is now easier to come up with things to write or ways to write certain things. The brick walls I used to hit seem a bit softer now, they're more like dry walls - still a bit painful, but at least I can get through them.
