Life
It happens.
The Rose Parade
0I’ve lived in the city of Pasadena ever since I moved here, back in 1994. Every year since then, I’ve seen every last one of the Rose Parades in person. It’s one thing to see the whole thing on television, but even today, HDTV doesn’t do justice to the pure beauty of the craftsmanship of the floats. It’s become tradition- no matter what, I’ll go see the parade, even if I had partied with friends to the wee hours of the morning the night before.
I’ll be there with my family.
But this year held a new challenge- with the parade being held on January 2nd instead of the 1st, my family didn’t have anyone willing to camp out for our spots on Colorado Boulevard (for example, my sister and her friends did it one year, and another year other families we share the spot with did the duty another year). My mother would have to do it alone. I couldn’t bring myself to leave an almost AARP-qualifying family member (I can totally make this joke here, because even after telling her the URL to my blog, my mom can’t be bothered to check it out. Mom, if you figured it out now, I totally had to do it. You know I had to.) out on the street overnight. I volunteered myself to spare her the pain.
So after waking up on January 1st to work at seven motherfuckingohgodthisisgoingtokillme in the morning, I proceeded to go home, nap, and drive out to the boulevard in the early evening to bundle up and sit out with my mother.
There’s something to be said about the whole experience, though.
The yearly tradition for those out on the street for the parade is to chuck marshmallows and tortillas covered in shaving cream at those cars brave enough to drive on the street. I sat there, in the california cold, just waiting, watching the festivities countinue ahead of me. Thankfully, I had my iPad, so I had a deluge of entertainment waiting for me. Those sitting in the reserved spot next to me threw tortilla after tortilla at cars, who retaliated with silly string (and in some cases) water balloons, which, more than once, almost hit me. I simply avoided the projectiles, and watched the videos I had loaded up in anticipation of the evening.
A hidden air mattress underneath me provided comfort for me once I got ready for bed. I hid my iPad under my shirt and jacket, and slept on my stomach so no one could take it from me (my fat ass being the best source of protection for it.). I was surrounded by chairs for the next morning, a few anemities scattered across a little plot I had called my own for the rest of my family and assorted friends to join me at the next morning. I finally fell asleep around 2:30-3 am in the morning, the sounds of blaring horns and loud talking neighbors blaring in my ears even then.
I woke up the next morning at seven in the morning, by my mother, who awoke me with her laughter and holding her iPhone to my face, taking pictures of me drooling in my sleep.
I begrudgingly woke up for the parade (wiping the drool off), only to fall asleep multiple times throughout it, nodding off random times even as marching parades blasted music past me.
At my point in the parade line is roughly about 2/3rds complete, so everyone marching already has a look of fatigue upon their faces (the spot where the television cameras are is right at the beginning, so everyone still looks cheerful there). My mother proceeds to troll them every year, screaming out “YOU STILL HAVE ELEVEN MILES TO GO!” (not really), and then proceeding to talk to someone on a horse riding on the pararde on how wonderful the movie War Horse is (honestly, I could go into a whole book on how my mother’s madness shaped my own. It would have to be an epic that would be longer than the Lord of the Rings to explain).
It’s an experience, time and time again, to see the handiwork of the hundreds of volunteers who make the floats. I reiterate-HDTV doesn’t do these floats justice at all- to see them up close and personal is some sort of magic for me still, 18 years later.
Will I sleep outside again? For the experience?
Nnnnnnnnnope. I’m good, thank you.
Turtles Suck
0Turtles are the worst pets.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my turtle- a now one-year old red eared slider by the name of Tosh. I had two turtles at first- Mac and Tosh. (Get it? Eh?). Mac had died from unknown causes early on, leaving me to look like a huge fan of Daniel Tosh.
But man, turtles are the lowest common denominator when it comes to pet owners. Yeah, you can’t play with them- just like fish- but at least fish look graceful as they swim around their tank. Turtles look like fat children with floaties struggling through the water as they keep swimming around. Tosh must be special or something, because he keeps trying to swim against the edges and never stop.
You can’t curl up with a turtle. You can’t pet them. The most you do is watch them as they relax on their artificial rocks. Tosh relaxes there until i make a sudden movement in my room before he dives into the water and tries to swim away from me, to no avail.
Yesterday, I woke up to watch him struggle to get onto his rock- falling backwards into the water, float to the bottom of the tank, and try again- for a good five minutes. He’s been able to do this before, but this morning, he just couldn’t figure out how he could do it. Which was strange, because this turtle has been able to escape. Totally serious- I’d work at my computer, only to turn my head to see him with his head up in the air, tipping his body over the side of the shell to fall out of it. He did so four times in a row, more than often finding him on the opposite side of my room.
They’re not the smartest things, but that goes without saying.
Walking into a pet store to get a new filter or turtle food always makes me feel like the lowest of the food chain of pet owners. People walking around with their dogs, getting cat food- I’m almost jealous of them as I have to remind myself over and over to clean his tank out again, or risk getting salmonella.
But watching that awkward little shit (that’s my sister’s nickname for Tosh) can be almost calming. And knowing that the lifespan of red eared turtles can almost go to 40 (yes, forty) years was at first an annoying fact (cursing my friend for giving me a pet i’d have to take care of past my mid life crisis), it became a reassuring figure, knowing I’d have a constant in my ever changing life, wherever that might lead.
So thank you Tosh, you little shit.
Revisiting the Library
0I went back to my old job a week or so ago. I was once a proud librarian/librarymans, working basically weekends at this job that offered me my first real experience at a position I sought myself (I was promoted from page to library clerk during my stay there). It was the first time I dealt with the public, dealing with problem patrons and the library fines they incurred over time. It’s been about 18 months since I had the job. I had stayed away for being bitter for being laid off. There were a lot of things I didn’t agree with, especially in upper management. I had plans to lash out at them, but with some time quietly gave me the chance to ponder the choice and decide against it.
So on my day off, running errands had me passing by my previous job. I went in and visited the library and my former coworkers. There were previous visits, sure, but this day, I spent a considerable time talking to people and observing my former workplace in a different light- from a workplace to a patron.
And its as if nothing has changed. Well sure, it’s only been about 18 months, but I had expected to see something… more to be changed since I was laid off. It’s as if it lived in a snapshot of time, and I was simply revisiting the snapshot, looking into it as if I were Alice peering into the looking mirror.. It felt like I had been laid off only a few days beforehand. It felt eerie, in a sense, to see the regulars still visiting the library, the same people picking up books, reading magazines, or using the computers there. As if nothing happened recently.
Children I remember seeing had grown older- but the same patrons still were there, greeting me as if nothing had happened. I went back to visit a chapter of my life that never changed, or if it had, I couldn’t see it my brief time visiting there.
And I still don’t know how i feel about it, to be honest. It’s frustrating to see what was a huge part of my life stagnating, but at the same time, almost welcoming to see it never change. I went through the stacks I used to organize as a page, getting a sudden urge to organize a western book that had been placed in the fiction section. I ultimately did, out of courtesy, but it was ultimately my own mind reverting to a much quieter time in my life.
In the end, visiting the library so far out gave me closure.
I came into work the next day eager to tackle the day’s challenges, knowing that in some way, the previous chapter of my life will always be there in one form or another. Because, in the end, it’s rare for changes to occur in such a sleepy little place.
Webcomic Appearances
0I failed to mention an appearance I had in a webomic recently! An old friend of mine, Robin Meyer put me in her web comic, Real Life Fiction. This used to be a regular thing for me- I appeared in a variety of friend’s webcomics in all sorts and forms. I suppose when I get my own personal site completely up and running, one of the pages will have to be appearances I made in comics. (Do check out Real Life Fiction- Robin is insane, but in an amusing, mostly non offensive way).
I’m working on a couple of long form blog posts, including one about my thoughts on the Mass Effect movie. I’ve had just a random assortment of things thrown my way as of late, but with some great news (I became full-time at my job! hooray!) I might finally be able to structure my time a bit more effectively to get things like my own site and writing (both screenwriting and blogging) done effectively.
Last but not least, I’d like to share a picture I have- my grandmother playing with my new ipad. She’s had two chances to use it so far- the first, she was beside herself laughing at Bebot, and the second, Garage Band. Getting used to the touch interface has been the biggest difficulty for her, but she’s been enjoying it so far.
Just seeing her smile like that made it worth it.
writewritewrite
0I’ve been busy writing.
My interest for a while now is to go into the filmmaking industry, in one form or the other. I’ve been writing scripts, in particular, since the sixth grade, so if anything, my hope is to become a screenwriter. It’s been something almost ingrained into my being- I can’t go a day without writing, without trying to come up with a character or how to try and compose a scenario or an objective for the next scene I write. Even as I work at my job, I think of what horrible thing could befall a character in one script (I’ve been quietly working on a zombie comedy series for a while now), or how to end another as the characters sacrifice themselves.
I’ve read so many books on how to write said screenplays. Hell, even in my freshman year of high school, I even had a teacher who was a screenwriter- he kept piles and piles of film scripts in the back of the classroom. I would sit in the back of the class and voraciously study all of them, quite happily, in fact (most of the time not paying attention to the class). I read the screenplay for Total Recall, front to back, before I even saw the movie there. I studied the styles of the writing, how characters were defined (or not). And thankfully, he pushed me to continue this passion.
Instead of playing games, or getting other work done, all I can think sometimes is to write a story, to get an idea out of my head and onto paper so it could just stop bothering me. I’ll write during lunch, during breaks, hell, I’ll write before going to bed, just so I have something new to think about before I nod off to sleep.
At the moment, I have two weapons of choice:
Celtx for shorter scripts and works I’ve been slaving on. I’ve all but given up on Final Draft, and to have a full featured, free app is nothing short of a lifesaver. Plus, it’s multiplatform, so I’m able to run it on my Ubuntu-based netbook.
Scrivner hands down, this is one of the best applications for writing anything, really. Novels, screenplays, you name it. Being able to create one file where all my research, all my notes, hell, even all my scraps of unused dialogue or ideas are kept nice and tidy in one file. My only wish for this program would be for the developers to come out with a version for the iPad, so I have no excuse to ditch the netbook and switch to an ipad for my writing needs.
I write multiple projects at once, often of different genres and styles. I’ve even written close to five or six full length films during high school, but my paranoia gets the best of me. I’m always worried about what other people would do to the script, how someone could judge me on it, how I will be seen for the actions and the ideas i put forth on paper. Sometimes i can go bizarre, sometimes I can go a bit dark, and there’s always that nagging voice in the back of my head as i write them:
What will people think of me for this?
I don’t know how to get over it- for now, I try to write more scripts, and in time, let more and more friends read them for feedback.
Who knows, living in Lost Angeles, I might get that break- that one person I run into who (with connections) could get my script read by the right people, and people could (maybe) think of me and my work (and not have me worry about how it would reflect on me). And maybe, just maybe make my dreams come true. In the meantime, I’ll keep writing, keep perfecting my stories, revision after revision.
After revision.
After revision.
The Last of LaFonda
0So I got attached to my car.
Who wouldn’t, after all the weird adventures I’ve had with it?
LaFonda was a 1992 Chrystler LeBaron- or as I liked to call it, “The Pimpmobile past it’s prime”. With it’s roomy red velvet interior, it looked like it tried to capture the same style of those giant boats of yesteryear. Either that, or I was driving a Russian tank with the turret removed. (I can’t take credit for that joke- I got it with some inspiration to a Simpsons episode where Homer’s pink sedan was described as being built out of old Russian tanks. With the way my car handled, it may have been true in my case.).
And I had so many memories with said car. I recall driving down the 101 freeway with five other friends, bobbing our heads up and down in unison to Haddaway’s “What is love”- so much so that the suspension jumped up and down roughly, making me swerve slightly to compensate for the abuse I put on the live axel suspension. It was a ridiculous thing to do, but as it was the first time i had people in the car, and as such, it became my first big memory with the car.
And of course, who could forget my incident with the Joystiq crew. It was my choice story to tell others what had happened with the car. Every E3 since then, I’ve told the events time and time again to members of the industry- most of which still don’t believe me (this past year, I’ve told the story about five separate times, each person still looking incredulous as I describe the events. Best thing is- only a select few still know who it was who had thrown up in the car).
LaFonda was always a choice car to be pulled over- with the peeling paint and well- overall shadiness- I have been pulled over more than once in the car in some more, quiet, suburban neighborhoods. In one occasion, I made it a point to ask the police officer if, well- my car looked shady. All he could do was to smirk nervously before wishing me a good rest of my evening.
But the good times had come to an end. The car had blown its gasket (literally). With a failing transmission, I was quoted at roughly $2.5k to fix everything. And even then, it was an old car. Parts were hard to come by. I couldn’t even look my mechanic directly when I asked him if it was worth it. And when I could, all he could do was to shrug his shoulders. It was a clear enough message.
I donated the car to charity- it was my only choice at that time, donating it to to the Convalescent Aid Society, a nonprofit that had supported my grandma by lending her a wheelchair when she first broke her hip (it’s a fantastic organization and honestly, it’s the least I can do for helping her). By the way, if you think of getting rid of an old car, donate it to charity- I found a nonprofit by the name of Cars4Causes that made the process as simple as it can really be.
When the tow truck slowly pulled away from the mechanic’s shop, all I could do was to record video of the last time I would see her.
Call me nostalgic. Call me a fool. But being attached to a car that treated me right- gave me so many memories- who wouldn’t be that… despondent?
LaFonda’s Interior
0
A picture of my car before I had it taken away by the tow truck from the charity. Used the AutoStitch app on my iPhone. I miss the car already- I’ll be writing a small retrospective of my time with my car.
Before that, I’ll be doing a writeup of my experiences at E3, 2011! I got in this year! Expect that next week.
Geeky Present
1The best presents are those made just for you- those that people go out of their way to make sure it’s utterly right for you in every sense of the word. Everyone has had one of these, at least. One present I received this previous christmas could fall into this category- an utterly geeky present I received from a friend I only knew through the internet.
Rebecca “Soap” Gunther is a talented artist, the artist behind multiple webcomics, most recently including Anathema and Amya. We became friends during my long winded stint as a webcomics reviewer, conversing with many artists on the Comic Genesis forums- where she started out her first couple of webcomics. She’s improved almost constantly on her artwork over the years and years that I’ve known her. You owe it to yourself to her work and see what I mean.
Even after I had quietly left the webcomics scene (it wasn’t so much of a leaving of the scene- more of fading out from the whole usual hubbub and drama that surrounded many of the webcomics communities I frequented), we continued our friendship, mostly on twitter and other social networking sites of its ilk. There isn’t a site that I’m on that I’m sure I’ll find Soap close by (seriously, Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter… we’re friends on most of ‘em). This line of communication continued through the holidays, when Rebecca would send out Christmas cards to all sorts of people she knew online. It was a tradition she did year after year, and I was fortunate to receive them time and time again, year after year during the holidays.
One year, Soap included a picture she drew and colored herself- a picture of my old online persona as a Sackboy from Little Big Planet (the character was originally Kon, a little stuffed lion toy from the manga Bleach. I have appeared as this character cameoed in multiple comics) . I loved the picture so much I had it on the wall above my desk. In response, I sent her a poster I got from a Resident Evil 5 release blood drive held in LA, knowing that Soap was a huge fan of the RE horror games. It was perfect for her- she responded in glee on Twitter, espousing words of thanks that I was more than happy to receive.
This year, she expanded upon the gift even further. She made what was once a drawing into an actual sackboy (or sacklion, really) into an actual sackboy. It arrived during a freak string of rainy weather here in Los Angeles, which had soaked my room with water so much so that I had started moving myself out of the room. I was stressed from moving (and work) that I almost didn’t notice the box on my doorstep, soaked completely to the core. I was able to tear the box apart with my fingers to expose the small present within. I knew what it was the moment I saw just the arm sticking out of its packaging.
I giggled in joy, and showed it to my sister, who admitted that while it was a great present, it was “still pretty nerdy” (living with a nerd, she’s become used to the random things that give me joy that she just doesn’t really “get”)
But I didn’t care. It was a present perfect for me, perfect for what I was all about. I bounded off to work with a spring in my step. And when It came time for me to move everything out of my room, the original picture and the sacklion were the first to be packed. They were the first things I unpacked when I moved right back into my room- resting beside my game consoles.
They were the best geeky little present ever. Thank you, Soap.
Where I have been.
0For the past four months or so, I’ve found myself to keep a low profile, in real life and on the internet. I had been going through a series of interesting… adventures, I’d say- the events of the past eight months or so (just look back in my archives, too much to say at this point) had me holding back from doing much on the internet, apart from some time on Facebook here and there. Tay hit me hard, much more than I would have imagined, but at some point, I have to pick myself up. I don’t know what else to say apart from that- I’ll keep this vague and brief for now.
As my life has found a sense of rhythm now, I figure it would be a good as time as any to retry to move into projects planned, personal and otherwise. My new job has opened up a whole new bag of opportunities- and finding a group of coworkers and people that motivate me and have become a great resource in of itself. Will this finally produce some content for me? Hopefully. Only time will tell.
I will be now participating, however, in something new for myself- Script Frenzy. It’s a competition for screenwriters to try and challenge themselves to try and write at least 100 pages of scripts in the month of April.
So in all sense of the word- write at least 3 pages of scripts a day for the next thirty days. I’ll post weekly updates for Script Frenzy here. I’ll be writing and starting multiple scripts and episodes of shows i’ve been jostling around in my head.
Wish me luck. I’m trying to be my old self again. Or as much as I can be.
EDIT: Shit i lied didn’t I? Anyways, I’ll be trying to get stuff written (or at least posted) bi-weekly here.
Day of the Dead.
0Today is (well, earlier today) was the celebration of Day of the Dead.I wrote about Day of the Dead before- about the celebration and the lack therof in my life. I wanted to honor those who had passed away to connect to my own lost roots as a Mexican-American- or at least, to my own heritage as a Mexican.
I hadn’t celebrated last year. To be honest, I totally forgot about the celebration, the festivities. I had nothing to celebrate, or really- no one to celebrate.
This year, I had someone to celebrate about.
On Halloween, I set up the ofrenda- or altar to the dead. my sister bought some virgin Mary candles from the supermarket, and I set them up along the tabletop, along with other smaller items traditional to the national holiday:
A picture of Taylor (along with some relatives and other people). Some skulls and festive skeletons to celebrate the occasion.
An offering- Taylor’s favorite beer, Natural Light.
I’m oddly proud of this makeshift ofrenda. Maybe next year, I’ll have to get a couple of those sugar skulls to make it truly authentic. Or perhaps I’ll have to put a little more effort into it- who knows.
Teresa and I both went to Taylor’s grave to lay down the flowers early this morning, laying down the (again, traditional) marigolds upon the graves. Even then, early in the morning, we drove by past rows and rows of graves, some littered with the same marigolds.
Just goes to show the tradition is still strong in the US.