Movie update

It has been a looooong Thursday to update, but I think I have it down. Huzzah.

After having a spout with phenomena this week (and the week before, and the week BEFORE), I realized how much time I really had on my hands. So I continued to write my movie one page at a time. After stocking up on yellow legal pads and a plethora of blue pens, I set about the task of re writing my film chapter by chapter. I realized how much of my original script was loosely based off of nothing more than another zombie film. The original idea came to me in a dream. When I awoke, I had the worst case of shakes since I seen JAWS. I am assuming it was either pure genius, or the effects of Red Bull and Tylenol PM.

So far, my friend Ben and I have accomplished the notion of making a new breed of horror film. One influenced by Ramero's old classics, with a new virus twist. I don't want to display a lot of information on the film, but I do want to divulge in some new ideas I have for kicking it off. New wave style.

Most films in the horror genre have left little to the imagination. Usually sloppily placed together and not well though out. I, and my film companion Ben, plan to completely 180 this into an orgy of intense emotional distress, fantastic scoring and amazing effect shots. I feel like vomiting whenever I see a trailer for a new horror film, if you even consider blood and guts horror. The constant use of obscenities is also irritating. I don't like it one bit.

So, in the long run, maybe making a new genre might jump-start others into doing the same. Steer away from Hollywood eye candy, and move onto something revolutionary. If it doesn't make you stay up at night, it was unsuccessful.

Worst hospital EVER.

Not a very flatering picture I may add, but I was not exactly on a runway either. I was having problems breathing while staying at my friend Ben's house. Of course his parents were concerned, so they called an ambulance and off I went.

I was sent to Pennisula Hospital ER. I really wish I had just stayed in the ambulance and never ever left. After 15 minutes of poking me with needles and not asking about my allergies, I had a very bad seziure-like reaction to he steriod shot they gave me. After that, they left me there. For four hours I had no medical attention, no visits, nothing. They just forgot. The last time I checked, not breathing is a very matter, because you need it to live. I guess all the old people were more important to help, but they are old. I am fine now, I slept it off and I feel okay. The next time I am in peril, I think I am just going to ride it out for free.

Moving, and why it's lame

I am NEVER moving again. Period. The amount of time and effort it took to get all of my stuff on to the 2nd floor might as well be used for something that impacts the earth. Not manuvering a 70 pound couch up three flights of stairs. With all the technology in the world. this place still does not have a large enough elevator to fit furniture in?!

On the plus side, it is a very stylish apartment, and my art desk looks quiet stunning in the living room. They heat the place to a good 900 degrees every morning, so I have to open all of the windows to maintain consciousness. The kitchen is, well... A closet. But it's not all that bad. I will post pictures up as soon as I have finished unloading the plethora of boxes in the place.

Surviving off peanut butter and red bull.

Jesus H. Christ, I am exhausted. Thinking about spelling the word makes me tired. Boxes here, boxes there. HOW and WHERE did I get so much crap?! Packing up my office has been the worst thus far. I have so many, many things attached to my Mac, it's insane. I included a picture of my art desk, just so you can see the sheer Insanity I am going through. I mean, c'mon... Where did all of this COME FROM? I don't even remember buying any of it.

Brooklyn is a complete ump, but at least it's not the street. I guess I still got the starving artist phase to go through. As if I haven't done that already.

As the title suggests, all I could find in my cabinet that has not been packed up is my best friend: a jar of peanut butter with the spoon still inside. It was like finding $20.00 in my pocket. I have been eating that and drinking what's left of my Red Bull supply for roughly a week. I needed to have as little to move as possible, and that meant 5 cases of Red Bull. Well, I can't sleep from the sugar and my insides feel like burning, but you have to take some bad with some AWESOME

On the plus side, I've lost at least 10 pounds this month. Not sure how that happened, but whatever it was, I like poking my boney hipbones. I didn't know if it was this crazy good concoction, of lack of vitamins and natural sunlight. Maybe a little of both.

Deadlines: Why they fucking SUCK.

Deadlines are fucking gay. Not only because I have a designated time frame to finish a project that is impossible to do, stress, and a complete waste of time. But also because this all comes along in a little package delivered by satan himself, my fucking manager.

On top of being completely pissed of as it is from stress, not eating, lack of sleep, and more deadlines, I get a complete fuck muppet to tell me I am late and give me more stress. It's not enough he calls me a million times a week, enough for me to want to change my number, but he also feels the need to email me till my inbox explodes, harass me on IM and relay "messages" to my other coworkers like carrier pigeons.

The whole nostalgia that this man resorts to making my life hell at least twice a month is absurd. I am convinced it is mostly for self gratification, so that he can go circle jerk with the other douchebag managers and tell stories about how fucking awesome they are because they suck more cock than Paris Hilton.

I wish my job were as easy as reminding someone that they are late for a deadline. I own a fucking calendar, and it doesn't tell me to do stuff like a complete ASS HAT. I have shit to do, stop telling me I need to do it faster, before I curb stop your face into my god damn keyboard. I don't tell you to stop downloading anime porn (which you should) or loose weight (probably wouldn't hurt) do I? Instead of fucking up your shit with Cheeto dust by emailing me, maybe you should put down the bag, walk to my office and HAND ME THE FUCKING MEMO, YOU FAT SON OF A BITCH. < / RAGE >

One hell of a hiatus

I finally decided to get off my my lazy ass and update this jazz. I hate to say it, but even I catch a bit of what we referred to in high school as "Senioritis". The inability to meet deadlines because of stress and not knowing where to start.

I was looking though my "TO DO" Commissions folder the other day and I was overwhelmed. Needless to say, I have been avoiding it like a plague. I don't look at it, I don't touch it. I just let it rot and fill in my Work file. The less I deal with it, the more I start to actually talk myself into believing it does not exist. Of course, it never goes away. Instead it gets bigger and bigger and bigger until it is practically unmanageable.

My biggest problem with working at home is that I get sidetracked. I will start a project which might not be due for another week or two, and then remember I have ones that might need to be done first. But here's the kicker, they ALL need to be done. AT ONCE. So I spend a good six hours switching back and forth between photoshop files, trying to do the impossible.

I figure, "Why not just put it off and avoid the whole thing altogether?" I have never been one for logic, but I have to say, it is not quiet working for me just yet. I don't have time to find a new solution, so it will do.

The good news is, the more I put off real work, it adds to my time I can spend, say, updating this blog twice a week. Don't hold me to it, this might get pushed off like the rest...