While You Slept

I try to keep business and pleasure separate. This being one and this being the other. However, from time to time I feel the need to bridge the gap between East and West. Soon and very soon we'll be a lot more business-y, all up ins, with a nice retrospective of some of my favorite slasher flicks and why I love 'em. But for now, I'm trying to help myself for once. Here is your repost, entitled:

Of Surreal Sincerity

" Sometimes I don't resonate with people. Sometimes things get downright livid. But there is a silent calm that comes after a fit of rage, and it's in this calm that realization always happens. They're the moments that a person can write off those finals chapters of life and end it all the easier way. They're the moments when it's so easy to abandon all hope.

It's an avalanche, if you'll allow that of me. Speaking directly about slaughtering yourself, it's never the last thing that happened. It's a misconception that a lot of people get strung up in. Ted down at the lumber mill one day up and offs himself, and the first question you hear on people's lips is "Why'd he do it?", but they don't really want to know. They want to know what 'pushed him over the edge', that exact phrase will always come up if you let it. But it's usually not that simple. It's an avalanche.

I understand that this point could be conveyed very simply by saying 'it's a lot of things that build up over time', but something gets lost in that. Some people come home to find their wife banging the pool cleaner, so they go out to the shed and find something sturdy. But some people don't get triggers like that. Some people are pushed so slowly out of bounds, that all it takes is for the weatherman to lie to you one more goddamn fucking time and-- We appear to have digressed again, because you opted for it.

As I was saying, realization always happens in these moments, but it isn't limited to being so morbid. Sometimes we can get a glimpse into everything we've ever known and wanted. Sometimes we receive extreme sincerity, and I don't mean something harsh like 'brutal honesty'. These are moments that are real. These are things worth walking away with. Sometimes the ends do justify the means.

What am I walking away from? And with? And where the fuck am I going to go now? This isn't quite over, and I will explain that in more painfully cryptic detail soon, I promise. But the feeling of the end being soon is there. In that same breath, though, I have a feeling this is not quite the end yet. We have to finish finish The Final Chapter before we can even think about starting A New Beginning. "

I hope we all get along.

Zuma's Revenge

"I just feel bad that he's being used in that way. And it bothers me that he's been pegged so wrong."
"I know. He's by no means a bad person. I think he's alright, really."
"I think he's a good person. Definitely worth talking to, different from everyone else I know."
"Oh, thanks."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"So is that why you love him?"
"..."
"What, did I strike a nerve?"
"No, I'm just trying to concentrate on this shot"
"Well you missed."

Ugh

My life.

The Times

I fell in love with a photographer like I always knew I would.

And people will still ask me why.

Superseded or Not

It was getting late and I was starting to run thin. Really thin. I had to get out, I had to go and see the only person who could make it feel even just a little better.

I was supposed to do some work with Chad the next day filming a play, so I needed to go back home anyway. Truth be told though, if I had wanted to stay he would have been able to manage without me. And again, truth be told, even though I went home he did manage without me. After a series of long winded nonsense I ended up borrowing my aunts car and driving backing home around 11. On the drive home I almost died, several times. Something hit me on the way back, maybe it was realizing my grandmother's mortality for the first time or.. something else, I don't know, but I couldn't stop crying, and at that point in time it was the most and the hardest I had ever cried. I couldn't see the road through the tears for most of the ride home. I was so incredibly scared, but not for fear of my own safety. No, that fear always comes later.

It was the last night I really felt like I was loved. I got home and the house smelled like cinnamon. Patrick wasn't at the house but told me he would be shortly. I went into my room and curled up on my bed and just stared blankly, so afraid. When he showed up he came in and laid beside me and held me while I cried into him and told him what was happening. He told me he was sorry and kept stroking my hair. The more I laid there the better I felt. He has a way, even now, of making me feel like there's hope, like everything will be okay. I told him I loved him so much and he squeezed me tight and said he loved me too. I told him how grateful I was to have him with me and how much it meant to me that he was there with me. In a way I felt so lame because I was crying so hard. He's one of the only people in my life I ever let see me cry, mostly because I feel so close to him. He doesn't judge me. It's okay to be myself. I was so tired though.. if I was smarter I would have asked him to stay with me until I had fallen asleep, but I'm stupid and didn't want to sound demanding, even though I think he would have understood. I told him I was going to sleep and he kissed me on the forehead and put a blanket over me and told me goodnight. It was the last night I really felt like I was loved.

The next morning I went back up to the city, though I really didn't want to go. I called Pats on my drive up and he talked to me and I really appreciated it. Once I had arrived though, things just got worse and worse. I no longer remember details, just a vague haze of bad news and slight hope. I ended up staying the night in the hospital and writing this, as opposed to sleeping. Around three or four I called Pats again, so incredibly broken, just grasping to the sound of his voice for comfort. He told me some story about his day shopping in the city with a friend, and I learned that he bought me a gift, which.. was very sweet. Then he told me about some innocent kiss that happened at the house. He said he wanted me to hear it from him first and not someone else and me get upset. Secretly, before he had finished explaining the entire story my stomach was turning quite a bit. Bad memories, bad times. But I believed him when he finished, even though that bad feeling didn't go away for about an hour. I've always trusted him. I always will. I told him I was coming back down the next day and we should hang out if he could. He said okay.

It was a Monday. I got home and I guess he was about to leave to go to the city with my roommate and a friend to look for Halloween costumes. He offered for me to go with, but I declined. We got in a fight. It was probably my fault. I fucked up. There's no worse feeling than letting the only person who can always cheer you up no matter what, down.

It went down-hill from there. I still don't know why. But it doesn't matter because I can't change it. I can't fix it.


I can't forgive myself for fucking up again.

Of Love

I saw my grandmother last Saturday. I was filming a wedding and the reception had taken me to the Frisco Center in Clinton. I wasn't feeling very well and was running a fever for awhile so I left a little early to get something to eat and rest up before I had to go to my job at the theatre. It wasn't until I pulled up to the drive-through at McDonalds that I realized I had left my debit card in a pair of pants that I wasn't wearing because I'm an idiot. Even still, I didn't have to be at work for about an hour or so, so I decided to go and see my two grandparents who lived in town.

My biological grandmother, who we call Nana, and her second husband, Papa Frankie. I don't go to see them as much as I should, especially since I only live 15 minutes away. I'd say in the entirety of my life I've gone to visit her on my own without any type of prompt maybe three times. We had a nice visit while I was there, and it turned out that I hadn't seen her in a good three or four months. For some reason, deep inside my completely fucked-up mind, I felt really proud of myself for actually going and seeing them. Almost as though it made up for not consistently going and seeing them (or even calling them) and was something that I could mark off my "list of things I need to do every six months". God I'm a fucking idiot.

Thursday my mother called me and said my grandmother was in the hospital and that I needed to call her or go see her. I told her I had to be at work in about an hour or so and that I would do my best to go and see her, though I really had no intention of doing so. I knew they needed me at work and that there was no real way I was going to be able to get off on such short notice unless someone had died, but I told myself I'd call her. Of course in brilliant dumbass fashion by the time I remembered to call her it was too late to do so. Instead I called my mother who said she was doing okay and they were going to let her leave the hospital. She also said that Nana had specifically asked when I was going to call her. I felt bad and decided that I would go see her that next day and piddled through the rest of my night, finally retreating for bed, exhausted, around 6am.

About 7am I got a call from my brother. It woke me up, I saw his name, but said "screw it" and just went back to bed. Around 7:30am my grandparents who live in town called me. Again, too tired to care. My mother called me at 9:00am, and again, I opted for slumber. And then again at 9:47am my other grandmother, Tana, called me. I finally answered, for whatever reason. She told me that my mother was going to pick me up and soon and we were going to see my grandmother. I asked what was going on, and she just said that things were bad and she was being moved to a hospital in the city. I really just wanted to go back to sleep and seriously debated just going to bed and not dealing with anything until my mother showed up, but decided just to take a shower instead.

I got dressed and my mother, in typical slow-ass fashion, showed up about an hour later (me being bitter the entire time that I could have been sleeping). I got to the point where I actually called her and asked her "where the hell she was" right as she was pulling up. She was driving my aunts car and I was told that my Aunt Vickie was going to be driving Frankie's car and following the ambulance up to the city. My mother didn't really know what was going on, just that her sister woke her up and told her to pack a bag because 'Nana isn't doing good'. I still didn't think much of it, my grandmother has been in the hospital a few times before, nothing real serious for quite awhile. I expected to be stuck in a hospital with her and have to try and make her feel better and just feel loved. Still, my mom was too shaky to drive so I offered.

Halfway to the city my brother, Jerad, finally called me back, groggy himself. He wanted to know if I had heard about Nana and I told him yeah. He didn't seem to realize she was being brought to the city though. He's been living with my aunt for a little while now, which isn't too far from the city, but since it was on the way I asked him if he wanted me to pick him up. He said nah, he'd shower and get orientated and then show up later. I didn't think much of that, either.

We got to the hospital and Frankie and Vickie where waiting for us in the lobby. Frankie looked really, really shaken up. Nana was in 783 so we all piled into the elevator. I told them I had talked to Jerad and that he said he'd be here shortly. We got to her room and opened the door, but I don't think anything could have properly prepared me for what was about to happen.

Nana was in a normal patient room, two beds, but she was the only one in the room. Frankie piled over to her and and grabbed her hand and started talking to her, asking her questions. She was sweaty and her hands were cold, and she kept looking up into the light and squinting like it hurt her, so we turned it off. Her eyes were wide and she looked around at us wildly as words continued to bounce off and at her, but she wasn't talking. She was jerky, and just kept looking at us with those eyes. They were so full of life, but it didn't feel like they understood. Frankie kept calling her baby and telling her that he loved her very much. My mother and Vickie and Frankie all spoke at her like she wasn't a person, and I didn't.. know why. It's not that they didn't consider her one, but when she didn't respond normally they started talking at her like you'd talk at a baby or a wild animal; and that's what she reminded me of. A deer in the headlights. But I couldn't take it, I couldn't see her like that with them talking at her in those voices. I left the room.

I was standing in the hallway doing my best to keep myself together. I called my brother and told him that he needed to get here as soon as he could. He asked what hospital it was and said he was on his way. My mom came out of the room and started crying into me and said that she just couldn't do it. We stood in the hall for a few minutes before going back in. I found myself a chair on the other end of a table, purposely obstructing my view of my grandmother. I could see Frankie's back as he leaned over and held her hand. He just kept calling her honey and telling her how much he loved her. Eventually a nurse came in and said a doctor would be in as soon as he could and she started taking a little bit of information. When the nurse left my aunt and mother were both on the phone talking to people and telling them things like 'It's not good'. It was around then that I decided I couldn't be in there anymore and stood up to go outside.

The second I stood up she looked at me. Her head faced me instantly, like a reaction, and she looked at me with those eyes and as I felt tears coming on all I could do was mouth at her "I love you. I love you.. I love you". As I was leaving my aunt told me to "Tell her where I was going". I looked at her like she was a goddamn idiot for not understanding that I couldn't talk to her, but she didn't get it. My mother said she was going with me, and my aunt looked at me and repeated, "Tell her where you're going. She can still hear you", as if that was the issue. My mom leaned over and said "We're going to wait on Jerad downstairs" in that goddamn voice. It's not that I don't understand it. I just. I don't know.

We waited for Jerad downstairs for a long time, calling him frequently. He was all kinds of lost and eventually I felt the need to go back up and check on Nana. The doctor just happened to show up the second we got there. He said her kidneys didn't seem to be working and that they were going to move her over to ICU and do what they could. He said she was very sick and she would probably die. Vickie, who is a nurse, said she thought Nana had had a seizure in the ambulance on the way up her because of how sweaty she was when we got there. She also said that her unresponsive neurological state was new as of about 5am that morning, although she was starting to act slightly confused a little before that. Apparently after getting off the phone with my mother earlier that day, she told everyone she had 'just been talking to the doctor on the phone'. My aunt finally started to cry at this point.

I left the room again with my mother, went downstairs and called my brother again. He was still lost, and I didn't quite know how to help him. I told him I'd get Vickie to call him as soon as she could since she is more familiar with the area than I am. I went back upstairs as they were moving her bed to the ICU unit. about halfway following the bed down the hall they pushed us off into a waiting area. Frankie was really crestfallen that he didn't get to go there with her the entire way. It was around then that I got Vickie to call Jerad, and he was set straight and finally really on his way. In the meantime my mother called my aunt on my father's side of the family and told her to bring my biological grandmother on my dad's side, Mary, down. Mary and Nana were fairly good friends and spent quite a bit of time together, so no one really questioned this judgment call. Kind of (My aunt sometimes has a problem of being a little super-judgmental all the time and can't remember remove herself from a situation long enough to realize the nature of events that don't involve her. She's wax-off when she get's that way though). They showed up about the same time my brother called me to tell me that he was a block away and had literally ran out of gas. I said "You're fucking with me, right?" which apparently upset Vickie, as she slapped my arm for dropping an F-bomb, but seriously, what the fuck do you say when someone runs out a gas a block away? Either way he ran across the freeway to get to the hospital.

Things poked by as we waited to figure out what was going on with Nana. Information was slow and Frankie was starting to get paler. It was me, Vickie, Frankie, my mom, my brother, Mary, my aunt on my father's side and her daughter. Eventually two doctors showed up and asked questions about Nana's health history. Difficult to recall it all for me but:

• She used to smoke chronically and almost died 13 years ago from it. She was on a breathing machine and scared everyone really bad. Frankie, who had smoked since the age of 12 quit the day she got admitted to the hospital, cold turkey, at 60 years old. There is seriously no fucking around with him. Everyone thought she had quit smoking, but Mary and my mother (and admittedly, myself) knew that every now and then when she went to a friends house she'd smoke one.

• She is chronically addicted to pain killers, and always has been. She'll go to doctors who really shouldn't be practicing just to get a prescription for what is formally known as "The Good Shit". How much pain she's actually in, I don't really know, but I'm sure it's not enough to merit that.

• She had cancer in her leg at one point in time and has a piece of it actually removed. Like a little dent, but I don't know specifics, only that as a kid I used to touch it and think it was neat.

The doctors told her they were going to put her on dialysis and back on a breathing machine, even though she is breathing fine on her own, and gave us an eta on when we'd be able to see her. When we were finally able to go see her, it was two at a time. Frankie was really really shaken up. I didn't go in until last, and I went in with Frankie, who had been in several times with people.

As we were in there looking at her he turned to me and didn't say anything. I told him I really loved him, and that I hoped he knew that. He smiled and said that I had always been like a son to him and that he appreciated me being there with him. I told him, 'of course.' He told me that they asked how much he was willing to do to bring her back and he said "Everything". He told me that he didn't care if the insurance didn't cover it, he didn't care if they had to sell the house, he didn't care about anything except her. He said that as long as he could wake up every day and see her smiling face he would be okay, and it was at that moment that I realized how incredibly much he loves her. Words completely escape me. I had made it the entire day being strong, I hadn't cried at all even though I had gotten really close sometimes, but the second he told me that I just burst into tears.

It's strange to think, and don't take this the wrong way. I love my grandmother very much. But if she doesn't make it through this, I will feel more bad for Frankie's loss than I will for my own. He has said countless things about Nana over the course of the last few days that supersede my understanding of love and commitment. I have never met anyone who loves someone as much as he loves her. I have never heard someone say "I wish it would have been me instead" and truly believe them. He doesn't sleep. All he does is stay near her as much as he can and tell her that loves her with all his heart and I'm not going to let him have stay here doing that alone. No matter what I've got to make sure he doesn't lose hope. He needs her more than anyone has ever needed anyone else before, and I believe that with everything I am.

I'm sick, tired, a little lonely, and still mange to maintain my disdain for married women who hyphenate their names.

And ugh, Carlin is still dead.

Let the Good Times Roll

First gig is this Saturday. Woah.

The Beatles, Basterds, and Scribblenautz

Let's keep this concise.

The Beatles were very arguably the last cool thing to happen to the planet, hands down. I've made my stance on this issue no secret for many years, so naturally when I saw this I couldn't help by share my excitement with the world. But isn't The Beatles Rockband just another rhythm game?

Yes and no. While the core of the game is very obviously the same as previous titles in the series, it has a few special things that set it apart. I mean, for starters it's the fucking Beatles. That aside though, as the trailer for the game may suggest, it is a beautifully artsy game. I'm constantly amazed by the lovely design of every aspect of the game, from character models to cut-scenes. What really gets me is that through the creators affectionate love of the Beatles, you really feel like you're a part of the band's experience right from the beginning. It's touching to watch them age with their music and relive an experience that I was sadly born just a little too late to catch the first time around. Only one problem though..

No Elenore Rigby. Maybe someday.


Inglourious Basterds was simply fantastic. I've waited about a month since seeing it for the first time to fully decide that is my favorite film. It gets a lot flack from certain critics for having parts that are 'too slow', like the opening or the bar scene, but my attitude is that if you can't slow yourself down for a minute to try and relate with the characters on screen, then you've got bigger issues. There really isn't anything to say except that you should definitely watch it, as Christoph Waltz is the most amazing villain you are ever going to meet. Ever.


Scribblenauts is the type of game that is just as fun as you make it. If you have an imagination and a knack for words you'll probably love the shit out of it, I know I did. However you can obviously find ways to make the levels easy for yourself, but if you're an honest fellow you'll want to be constantly using different words, meaning never the same word twice. Take that, rocketboot aficionados. With an upwards of two thousand, five hundred words (2500, people) you should never have to use the same word twice. (Now, granted some of those words give you the same object and some objects are useless, but that's kind of what makes it great. I mean, in life certain objects are useless, why should this be any different?)

But yeah. Another game really worth playing, if you have the creativity for it.



Be posting some more art in the next day or so. So look forward to that.

D-d-d-d-deeper