February 23, 2013

Winter is Awful

Thankfully I live within the boundaries of "acceptable climate to be happy year-round," and so the issues I encounter regarding temperature are virtually nonexistent. Rarely, if ever, do I encounter a day where it's either so hot or so cold that I seriously consider relocating (although those days come more frequently in the summer than any season) so in that respect winter remains satisfactory, as long as I'm either inside or outside and dry.

I'll get down to business; snow is a terrible thing. It's the worst thing. I envy those from regions where there is little (I say 'little' because I worry that I would tire of its absence if it didn't appear maybe, oh, once a year) of this white menace and would prefer my immediate vicinity to take a hint from the wisdom of others. At the very least, my city needs to make the conscious decision to smarten the fuck up and kick this snow out.
Breaking it down goes as follows:


  1. Initial snowfall - One of the worst parts of the process. I can't garner wages during any form of precipitation. Trying to film in the rain is arguably worse, but snow also tends to attach itself to my camera and stay there, melt, and seep into mechanisms unseen. It also seems to enjoy falling slightly past the brim of my hat, immediately swooping upward and placing its ass ever-so-daintily upon my eyeball while my eyeball is open and trying to look at a thing. Snow is like James Bond, if he were very small, and a dick. If I ever meet Sean Connery, I'm going to tell him to tell M to stop hiring snow as a form of warfare against me. I'd tell her myself, but I'm afraid my harsh words might rattle her into a heart attack. You know, because she's old. Snow is hard to gauge for personal efficacy since you may think you can still accomplish outdoor tasks, but once you get out there, you realize it's just as aggravating as if it were a tornado.
  2. Flurries - Every time I hear the words "snow flurries" in a sentence like "there's going to be snow flurries," I load a shotgun. I have several positioned strategically around my house, in such a fashion that I can fire one and the others will simultaneously erupt into concentrated explosions, the shrapnel aimed directly at my head. Snow flurries are like Satan's way of saying "I told you this place fucking sucks." Don't go outside, unless you enjoy the feeling of tiny icicles penetrating everything that isn't wrapped in buffalo hide. You can't open your eyes if you're walking at all against the direction of the wind, so you can't see shit, and it's cold and wet. More on "cold and wet" later.
  3. Cold and wet (or, I Told You So) - The area in which I live grants us the luxury of extreme regional cold followed by moderate regional warmth. This means that the thinner layers of snowfall promptly freeze, coating everything in an innocent layer of frictionless, transparent surface. When you step foot on this surface, you get a one-way ticket to "Being Cold and Wet" Town; Population: Assholes. Perhaps you fall on more of this substance (which, if you haven't figured it out by now, is ice), which gives you a free transfer ticket to "So That's What My Brain Matter Looks Like" City. Or, inconveniently, you fall into a puddle of wet shit or a local snow bank, which effectively ruins whatever your mood was previously and makes everything you're doing three or four times more irritating. Cold and wet is probably the worst thing that winter brings.
  4. Slush - This is one of those red flags that indicate when the Earth is sick of our shit. There exists a substance that, when mixed with dirt, becomes cold, wet, sloppy, sticky dirt. Those of you claiming that mud also fits that description can fuck right off, because it's not at all the same thing and you know it. Well, perhaps you don't, so I'll fill you in. Imagine a thing that you hate. You loathe it. Imagining this item, object or condition alone causes you distress. I bet it's slush. It's always slush. Some dick has the nerve to reproduce, and spawns a child who, with insurmountable genius, decides to pile it all together and jump on it with gusto. The slush flies everywhere, and if you're nearby, you die immediately. Slush will kill you.
I know I left my general "hate everything to some degree" principle off the list, but that's because it's more of a rule for living than a seasonal nuisance. These are all reasons why winter is awful. Maybe I'll turn it into a video, since these posts receive anywhere between zero and virtually zero views.

February 16, 2013

'The Comedy' - A Dark Cinematic Journey

Nominated by me for best pitch black comedy of 2013, because I run the awards show with an iron fist and a titanium erection.
It's constant.

If I said "Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim" to you, you'd probably think of things like Awesome Show Great Job, or Check it Out with Steve Brule, or their movie. I would wager that a very select few, connoisseurs perhaps, but a small group nonetheless, would think of The Comedy. That's because this isn't Tim and Eric.
Well, it is, but it's not...fuck, you know what I mean.

It's unfair to call this film simply by that name alone, and rarely does one cross paths with a piece that succeeds where The Comedy manages to do so. The phenomenon of multiple experiences is more prevalent in dark comedy, which is why I flock to it like a hornet with a pollination fetish (get it? ...Because he wants to get all up in that business twice as hard as the average spore-carrying insect), and while I'm rarely disappointed, being pleased with the time spent and being blown away by what you spent it on are two things entirely separate.

Tim Heidecker plays a character who, with his group of like-minded friends, lives in a world that would be so horribly depressing if they were to halt and take it seriously for more than five minutes. They make light of their surroundings, attempting to carelessly glide through existence as if it were a constant show.
That synopsis is too optimistic.
Instead of 'film,' this cinematic masterpiece could be more descriptively characterized as "a series of snippets depicting the life and interactions of a group." These interactions are frequently heartfelt, full of jest and a sort of oxymoronic heavy lightheartedness. This is comedy for the self-loathing and sorrowful. In short, it's beautiful, and I would never go back.

This is probably the first film I've seen that so seamlessly tethers such heavy-handed depression, improvisational humour, love, loss, loneliness, impulse, ecstasy and terror. It's important that one doesn't try to determine what they're getting into until they're too far in to return. Only when you're balls deep in this molasses, can you achieve any understanding of why.
There is no erring on the side of caution. Everything is turned up to 11, thrust forward head-first in roller coaster fashion. It travels quickly between curiosities, sometimes even dipping into pure horror.

I think a fair-sized portion of the reason why The Comedy is so effective has to do with its relatability, and its realism. There wasn't a time, through the whole movie, where I couldn't imagine it really happening. Each interaction is tangible; the atmosphere that the movie creates comes right out and joins the viewer.

If I had to summarize these paragraphs, it would be as such; The Comedy reproduces a wide variance of emotions, and I was glad to be there for all of them. It's self-indulgent and self-deprecating.
I love it.

February 08, 2013

Internal vs. External Pressure (or, Why I'm Unemployed)

I'm not talking about gastro-intestinal bloating, pregnancy or having rocks put on you until your eyeballs propel from your skull with enough speed to decapitate local farmers and horses. When I speak of "pressure," I refer to the stress upon you from those around you. Be it your workplace, scholastic environment, parental desires, deadlines, etc., most tasks, to me, become more difficult when there's an outside source grilling you to complete it.
It's for this reason that I would prefer all of my deadlines and requirements to be self-imposed.

If I'm getting some shit done, I'll do it at my own pace, god damn it. That was hostile. Well, it needs to be. I'm only a procrastinator in the face of necessity; there is a rebellious spirit here that exists solely in order to make an authoritative counterpart frustrated. Subsequently, if I'm given room in which to stretch my arms, work at my own pace and complete things in an order that makes sense to me, I find that any work is not only easier, but much more enjoyable.
One of the beneficial things about making videos for a channel you own is that any schedules you've created are just that; created. By you. I can defy this weekly format any time I see fit, possibly even revert back to my routine of "I'll upload a video when I'm good and damn ready. Apparently, I'm ready to upload five today and none for three months and you'll like it. Forever. Until the end of time. Which ends when I say it does, also." Thankfully for everyone, I've found a rate of production that challenges my creativity without putting too much strain on my fragile and useless cranium.
In addition, I'm currently afforded opportunities that allow me to work this creativity whenever it strikes. I woke up at three in the morning with an idea not too long ago, and once I was finished stroking it lovingly--the idea, not whatever you're thinking of, you sick fuck--I put it to work for me. Like a hooker. I guess my point is that when you're free to do as you please, you treat your ideas like hookers.

Wait, that's not right.

Individuals who work a job they dislike in order to provide for their futures or assume some level of status are doing something that I've never been comfortable with. It may be a deficiency, and I wouldn't be surprised if there's some shitty section of my head that constantly waves its dick around instead of doing what I've been imagining it to since my conception. However, in the absence of rigidity imposed by those who expect you to follow direction and nothing else, it's possible to get just as much, if not more, work done in the same amount of time one may be committing to something less mentally fruitful. The difficult part is carrying that forward upon an avenue that's lucrative. Needless to say, I haven't given up on that yet.

I commend those who work boring or awful jobs that they hate, just to support their ideals wholly; I'll probably have to bite that bullet some day. The part I'm excited for is when I shit that bullet out, because I'll load it into my nostril and blow it onto whatever canvas I choose to adopt. Then I'll sell the lead back for twice what I made swallowing it.
Not to mention, that metaphor involved actual shit. That was a life goal of mine. See? Sometimes it's easy.

Moral of the story: do your own work, for you, and you'll feel better about doing it.