New Puppy Dance

I shot some toy stuff recently. I hadn’t done it in awhile. Playing with Shogun Warriors were my go to toys… Big honking pieces of 24 inch plastic that shot missles, star  rockets and hoisted battle axes. Sheeeee-it!
Shot from Wild toys (Click picture for more of their site.)

My son got a bunch of plastic but none of them are as awesome as the Mazinga and Dragun that has survived close to 40 years. He was happy to get all plastic. But yesterday I saw the moment that  makes the daddy chest thump. My boy did the “I’m so excited I’m paralyzed dance.” New puppy: Shadow.
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Now keep that monster away from my Warriors.

Typed from my phone, homie.

 

Rainy Saturday

It would rain on Saturday morning before I moved back to L.A. I’d get up at 5:30 am, catch “Big Blue Marble” at 6, turn off the tube then draw until my mother made breakfast or Superfriends time. Those were the first moments of transcendence that I can recall. It felt explosive and I would be disappointed if it didn’t rain the next Saturday.

The return to the Plastic Desert ruined that for awhile. Climate differences made me find another path. Making movies, flip books and the like fueled me. Then came a little more age which learning piano, then guitar, then composing, etc. became the new fuel. Surviving gang-filled Los Angeles was the next step.

In college, I interned at TriStar and an executive there had one conversation with 18 year old me. He lamented his station though he was pragmatic about the power that his ascension up the suit structure. “I wanted to be a director. If you want to be a director, you have to stay true to it and not get distracted.” He spoke of derailment. He spoke of continually checking paperwork and going on set to watch clusterfucks that he pushed through the system. Fueled by anti-authority rage, I knew that could never happen to me. He’s Jewish; I’m Black. He’s old; I’m young. He’s industry; I’m O.G. subterranean. He’s satisfied; I’m a Blues man with rambling constantly on my mind.

That conversation had convinced me to jump all the way into where I was leaning: Fuck the Hollywood structure. DIY all the way. I was brimming with nuclear energy -aka youth- and the will to chop down mountains with the edge of my hand. I did my underground shit but because of doing more group related underground shit my time was syphoned from doing my own thing. Because of the sycophantic nature of those benefitting from my endeavors, I became more disinterested in my arts. It hadn’t rained on my Saturdays in years.

I had property, a pretty girl, and when it rained my roof leaked. I hated the rain. A roof that big was going to be a sizable undertaking. “I hate the fucking rain.” By then, I still wasn’t Jewish, nor was I fully satisfied but I had been making all of my Scooby Snack money via corporate entertainment. I hated Scooby Doo but I had actually worked on that shit by that time.

So I’m industry? Yeah. Hybrid though. The technology makes all of the things I did ubiquitous. It even subverts the business aspects and floods the channels with hobbyists. In the beginning of this world wide wackiness I had realized that I had begun to favor too many to the exec from TriStar’s warnings. Seeing things in advance forming but having too much weight dug me a deep hole. That roof wasn’t going to pay for itself nor would the pretty girl.

Now it’s all gone but the Blues man remains. 2011 is almost gone. But I’ve been writing songs in still and moving pictures. I’ve been collecting mechanical pencils preparing for the rain. Hellhounds are on my trail and it’s another sunless Saturday. But I will make it rain.

Choose playfully

 

Uncle Rapper

Moses – Love Addiction

I’m just getting around to posting this video. Moses is a smart young cat who was very cool. I’ve had supply of clients who have taken advantage of their personal history with me who have been royal pains. Moses was laid back but also provided copious notes when he had an opinion or questions. This is the polar opposite of the text messaging, contradictory blathering that I’ve gotten from most people who are close to me (e.g. family, “friends”).

Clients need the appropriate communication that let them know where things stand so they can feel comfortable with their decision to trust you as the professional you are. You need them to tell you what they need in the best language possible. I did a series of logos this Summer. After a billion meetings with my friend/client I presented 10 choices based on the gaggle of verbiage exchanged. The short version of this story is that the end product did not reflect anything close to the original order nor did I receive much cogent directive as to how to proceed. It was nearly flying blind. The job got done but I honestly have no interest in going through any similar scenario like that again.

I’ll take more information over less anytime when it comes to work.

So… Moses’s “Love Addiction” was slated to be a narrative music video but for the sake of simplicity we switched to performance style. Maybe I’ll use the treatment for something else, but I doubt it as it was specific to this song. We shot 1 hour total footage over two separate days from Compton to Chinatown. It was run & gun HDV and the quick and dirty vfx posted over 4 days or so. I’m possibly not including prepping the files eg. capture, pull downs, transcoding, etc. (I’m estimating. Computer hell made things nearly impossible to accurately log time). The post processed more than convinced me to upgrade to solid state and retire tape. Anyway, there it is. My son likes the song and was asking me why I was playing the song so many times. “This is how you edit a video, little monster.”

 

Fractional growth

My first thrill was animation. I loved to draw on rainy mornings but learning how to move those drawings amplified everything exponentially. Animation brought me many awards growing up. There was a serenity of focus that I probably still don’t get from any other medium of expression. It’s forging time and space.

Animation led me to live action which is far more collaborative. Subsequently, when you’re looking to keep the cupboard full of scooby snacks you do more than narrative. Hence, event, documentary, etc. shooting become part of your tool set.

Typing these thoughts on my phone between driving is disruptive as all hell.

It’s interesting how the different arenas of videography overlap but still offer distinctions that can make or break a shoot. The flow of communication remains consistent and I continually work on directing the subject to get the most out of them that I can. I know where I was going with this post but I’ll leave that for another time.

 

Frazier

I desperately wanted Muhammad Ali to win every fight. I had been too young to see “The Fight of the Century” go down but I had seen film. Still in my single digits, Ali was shoveling verbiage and I was eating it up.

The hyperbole and propaganda had stuck with me since Ali v Frazier II. My first Halloween costume and couple of years earlier was a satin robe in black trim with the black construction paper words “The Greatest” sewn on. Vietnam: bad. Everything that was real and rhetoric blended together.

The fight started and I wanted Frazier’s head removed from his body. Blows were flying in waves and the current was raging and unpredictable. The intensity was getting too me. Fortunately, it was getting to Frazier, too. During the fight, I’m watching these two ridiculously skilled but aging boxers throw the kitchen sink at one another and I had started seeing things differently. Ali and Frazier both looked like relatives of mine. There was a complexity behind the fight press turmoil. Ali had called Frazier a “Tom” but had been publicly supported by Frazier during his suspension. Frazier spoke in terms that peppered a different understanding of my fetal world view but here he stood again battling as a champion. He had achieved so much in his endeavors.

It took a lot of blues to catch up to understanding some of the dynamics of emotions and revelations I had watching that fight. Years allowed me to appreciate Joe Frazier’s impact on my understanding of parallax, empathy and irrevocable links. I never met him but he did affect my life.

 

Helloween

Hello. Nuclear winter approaches. London calling!

 

I’m supposed to be editing video right now.

So instead, in true procrastination mode, I dug this up instead:

http://www.ballislife.com/profiles/blogs/twinsarguekobevslebron

 

Wimpy is slow

I need some provision in contracts that sets client delivery of assets to be met or they will suffer under penalty of severe irritation fee. My general irritation fee is 15% of project but percentage-wise that doesn’t make sense. Every unnecessary holdup isn’t inherently of the same magnitude.

People want you to hurry but are walking slovenly. “Hurry, I’ve finally gotten off of my ass so I want you to do the monkey jump for me!’ When, it comes time to payment? “….I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.”

Hurry the f*$% up!

 

coppeeee-riiiite

Kind of coolski.

 

Hovering Flies

It’s too easy to be derailed over a picture. I participate in 1 “modeling” site and have dormant profiles spread about the web. I don’t think I’ve shot one person that I hadn’t previously known off of that site in well over a year. As expressed by http://vimeo.com/18104656 (which I came across on APhotoEditor.com), there are a lots of skill and resources that goes into maximizing a production. One silly bastard who can’t spell their name properly might push me away from giving the next illiterate narcissist model a shot. It’s all so tenuous.

With that, I’d spoken to my home girl who is talent about her common problem: Enough work to be a professional (SAG/AFTRA, etc.) but not enough to make certain their is economic growth if not actually economic deterioration. I reminded her that none of this is guaranteed. No one is obligated to give us our opportunities. Opportunity is ours to generate by preparation and activity. As an actor/model, you hit an age (especially if you’re of color) where you are in that hellish middle ground. You’re not old enough and maybe not big enough enough to play Big Mama, Scowling Black Bureaucrat, terrorist’s fanatical family member, etc. So what’s a no-longer chica to do?

Cut and run or dig in with a different activity level seemed to be the only answer I was capable of providing. Make your own stuff or synch up with someone who is like minded to stabilize his/her project. Barter is a legitimate form of currency as long as everyone is getting what is of reasonable possibility. All the elements have to be agreed upon in advance. That takes organization which is sometimes an iceberg that can sink the largest of ships.

“I don’t work for free!” Nothing is free, fucker, but there is a point to that. You might want to be someone to stick to your guns and toil away in the manner that you know best. I can’t fault that. I don’t profess to know what works for everyone. I’ve been an underground/do-it-yourself kind of cat from the day I could lift my orb off of the bed without assistance so going against the grain is kind of de facto for me. I was also an artist long before being a professional so the constant drive to create is part of daily being not just a way to garner some scratch. The thing is I can’t stand flies keeping up with me. I’m funky. Flies will surround me if I stay in one place.

What timing! My boy is trying to eat me into abject poverty. He just ate his lunch and my dinner for his lunch. He still wants more and so he can add to the 3.5″ he’s grown in 7 weeks. That totally derailed my train of thought.

I guess back to thinking about my homegirl’s dilemma in contrast of a younger chick I know. Rather than gracefully backing out of a project she committed to she went turtle: No return calls, emails. So be it. Someone else gets paid. She didn’t hang in their long enough to know that I had been saving scratch to pay whoever did this particular project. Her history of entering the field is a different thing. Someone rightly told her she could make money at modeling/acting. She doesn’t come from artistry nor is she old enough to appreciate that the people you might pass on the way up are the same people you’ll be reaching out to help stop your fall. No bitterness, just the truth. The flies are going to get their laugh in there.

I was told a story about Wes Montgomery going to his garage to practice after working all day. He’d a put a blanket on the strings so as not to disturb anyone’s sleep. One “4 on 6″ and several other monstrously skilled cuts later, his name goes into music lore. I want to make my “4 on 6″.