Sunday, March 27, 2011
And Then There's This ...
A few misfit clips I've shot that needed a cozy home ... in your heart. Enjoy?
Friday, March 25, 2011
Butter On Yer Bagel
Every time I write something about updating this thing more frequently, or tell myself to get on the damn thing and write a blog entry more often, I slip into some sort of creative coma and return only to apologize and rebuke everything I've previously written. So, here's another one of those. With lagniappe.
Thankfully, the parade season has come and gone. Having lived in various parts of Louisiana for a number of years, the magic has all but died, and the result is that I look at parades as one long, excruciating traffic nightmare. I enjoyed riding in one parade, and drinking enough to dissolve those unnecessary portions of my liver. I repeated the feat for St. Patrick's Day (which I generally don't celebrate), because of a work function. As stated in my lame mission statement, I'm continuing to work on my upcoming radio show, and try to drum up freelance work on top of my normal soul-sucking responsibilities.
Trying to do the podcast more often, but that's still proving to be a kick in the teeth. Here's the deal: I record the Radio Wazoo podcast from the radio station in the French Quarter where I work 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Going back on a weekend night and spending it recording feels like an extra day of work, and it keeps me from feeling like doing the damn thing at all. I recently (finally) got a much-needed raise, so I'm hoping to invest in some home recording equipment that will allow me to do the podcast in a more free form. Maybe I'll do little mini-updates that aren't whole shows. I don't know. I kick around useless ideas more often than I care to admit.
Beyond that, the radio show I'll be doing will be posted as a "podcast" of its own on the site, so hopefully that'll matter to a couple of people.
My problem is that I can create things all damn day long ... but, I'm terrible at the technical aspect of things, the marketing aspect of things, and the business aspect. Which is why I will remain deep within the sad, crusty margins and might as well be making dream catchers and giving them to old ladies.
I'm thinking about getting a dog. As I've gotten older, I've become selfish and cynical. A part of that is realism and ambition, but sometimes I worry that it's overboard, and I'm on a runaway train to becoming a bitter old coot in gardening pants, tearing up Nerf footballs that land in my yard. I'm thinking that getting a dog might soften me a little bit. Maybe force me out of the house more, make me more affectionate. It might be good for me. I basically live like a 28 year old child. I work at a fun job that feels like playtime, I live alone and don't pick up after myself as often as I should or cook as often as I should. Maybe being responsible for a beast will make me grow up a little.
Then again, that's a 10 to 15 year commitment. That's long. I can't even commit to where I might live in a couple of years, buying new things, or even committing to dinner plans a week ahead of time. It makes me feel tethered. What the hell will I do if I've got a dog? Do you know how long I'll be in the fetal position crying if that thing finally up and dies when I'm 42? I don't know if I can handle that. My trick to avoiding pain is never allowing its foot in the door in the first place. I'm an emotional coward in that way.
I don't know what's what yet. I'm rambling.
Another update coming soon. Something different. I'm sick of this "me me me" self-indulgent crap. This is just me keeping the fingers moving and having absolutely nothing to say from the onset. Public mental masturbation. Glad you peeked in when I opened up the trench coat here. Hey .... if I'm going to waste MY time, I'm glad I could waste yours as well.
Thankfully, the parade season has come and gone. Having lived in various parts of Louisiana for a number of years, the magic has all but died, and the result is that I look at parades as one long, excruciating traffic nightmare. I enjoyed riding in one parade, and drinking enough to dissolve those unnecessary portions of my liver. I repeated the feat for St. Patrick's Day (which I generally don't celebrate), because of a work function. As stated in my lame mission statement, I'm continuing to work on my upcoming radio show, and try to drum up freelance work on top of my normal soul-sucking responsibilities.
Trying to do the podcast more often, but that's still proving to be a kick in the teeth. Here's the deal: I record the Radio Wazoo podcast from the radio station in the French Quarter where I work 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Going back on a weekend night and spending it recording feels like an extra day of work, and it keeps me from feeling like doing the damn thing at all. I recently (finally) got a much-needed raise, so I'm hoping to invest in some home recording equipment that will allow me to do the podcast in a more free form. Maybe I'll do little mini-updates that aren't whole shows. I don't know. I kick around useless ideas more often than I care to admit.
Beyond that, the radio show I'll be doing will be posted as a "podcast" of its own on the site, so hopefully that'll matter to a couple of people.
My problem is that I can create things all damn day long ... but, I'm terrible at the technical aspect of things, the marketing aspect of things, and the business aspect. Which is why I will remain deep within the sad, crusty margins and might as well be making dream catchers and giving them to old ladies.
I'm thinking about getting a dog. As I've gotten older, I've become selfish and cynical. A part of that is realism and ambition, but sometimes I worry that it's overboard, and I'm on a runaway train to becoming a bitter old coot in gardening pants, tearing up Nerf footballs that land in my yard. I'm thinking that getting a dog might soften me a little bit. Maybe force me out of the house more, make me more affectionate. It might be good for me. I basically live like a 28 year old child. I work at a fun job that feels like playtime, I live alone and don't pick up after myself as often as I should or cook as often as I should. Maybe being responsible for a beast will make me grow up a little.
Then again, that's a 10 to 15 year commitment. That's long. I can't even commit to where I might live in a couple of years, buying new things, or even committing to dinner plans a week ahead of time. It makes me feel tethered. What the hell will I do if I've got a dog? Do you know how long I'll be in the fetal position crying if that thing finally up and dies when I'm 42? I don't know if I can handle that. My trick to avoiding pain is never allowing its foot in the door in the first place. I'm an emotional coward in that way.
I don't know what's what yet. I'm rambling.
Another update coming soon. Something different. I'm sick of this "me me me" self-indulgent crap. This is just me keeping the fingers moving and having absolutely nothing to say from the onset. Public mental masturbation. Glad you peeked in when I opened up the trench coat here. Hey .... if I'm going to waste MY time, I'm glad I could waste yours as well.
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