i guess i should explain this blog a little, first. it didn't start off as a blog at all. it was originally a comment on someone else's blog. but then it just kind of took on a life of it's own, and i didn't feel comfortable leaving it as it was, so... hope it makes sense. here goes..
i've been feeling.. well, kind of the same way i guess. i've had this tension building up inside me, lately. a sense of urgency, almost. not almost. period. i need to start a new project. it mostly happens at work as well, but not for the same reasons. i don't work with artists. i work side-by-side with ex-cons, addicts (recovering or otherwise), those with a precarious foothold on sanity, and i'm pretty sure i worked with a homelsess guy, too. i'm not even exaggerating. i'd love nothing more than to drag every piece of video equipment i own up to that place (in seattle), press record, and just walk away. and the back-stories on these guys are unbelievable. some of the best don't work there anymore. but that's ok, there'll be more. i'm absolutely fucking sure of that. this place is mecca for misfits. ummm.. there is a wrinkle, though. there's a rule that you can't film or take still photos of anything we build on the job site. i think the penalty may even be termination. why? no idea. i mean, we build fucking railroad for crying out loud. wtf? whatever. i'm not talented enough to describe what it is about them i find so fascinating in any less than a thousand words. and even then i doubt i'd do them justice. you know, that's why i love video. it's easy. just press record, and they do all the work for you. i have friends i've known for-fucking-ever who work there. and they're rad, you know? but the true stars are the weirdos. they make going to work and freezing my ass off every day bearable.
off subject: i used to carry a little voice recorder with me everywhere. for years. and i'd log every idea i had in it. like, some video project i came up with, an idea for a short story, or just some bit of an interesting dream i could remember. it became a part of me. if it wasn't in my pocket, i'd feel incomplete.
but then i forgot it on a bus one day.
that still fucking bugs me. i wonder if whoever found it ever listened to it. and if they did, did they keep it or just record over it. i'm not sure which would piss me off more. anyways, enough!
i've been feeling.. well, kind of the same way i guess. i've had this tension building up inside me, lately. a sense of urgency, almost. not almost. period. i need to start a new project. it mostly happens at work as well, but not for the same reasons. i don't work with artists. i work side-by-side with ex-cons, addicts (recovering or otherwise), those with a precarious foothold on sanity, and i'm pretty sure i worked with a homelsess guy, too. i'm not even exaggerating. i'd love nothing more than to drag every piece of video equipment i own up to that place (in seattle), press record, and just walk away. and the back-stories on these guys are unbelievable. some of the best don't work there anymore. but that's ok, there'll be more. i'm absolutely fucking sure of that. this place is mecca for misfits. ummm.. there is a wrinkle, though. there's a rule that you can't film or take still photos of anything we build on the job site. i think the penalty may even be termination. why? no idea. i mean, we build fucking railroad for crying out loud. wtf? whatever. i'm not talented enough to describe what it is about them i find so fascinating in any less than a thousand words. and even then i doubt i'd do them justice. you know, that's why i love video. it's easy. just press record, and they do all the work for you. i have friends i've known for-fucking-ever who work there. and they're rad, you know? but the true stars are the weirdos. they make going to work and freezing my ass off every day bearable.
off subject: i used to carry a little voice recorder with me everywhere. for years. and i'd log every idea i had in it. like, some video project i came up with, an idea for a short story, or just some bit of an interesting dream i could remember. it became a part of me. if it wasn't in my pocket, i'd feel incomplete.
but then i forgot it on a bus one day.
that still fucking bugs me. i wonder if whoever found it ever listened to it. and if they did, did they keep it or just record over it. i'm not sure which would piss me off more. anyways, enough!
I LOVE YOU JOEY