mindful passions and notes from the VMA advert
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
The malaise has lifted. I vocalized to Steve about possibly returning to China, feeling lost in limbo and such and he reminded me how I felt weird three months into living abroad and how ready I was to leave at the end (which was more advanced than summer-itis). Heather wrote me a maginificent email expanding on these same themes and also to remind me that I returned to concentrate on my music. Whatever job I take, I'm not "backpedaling", I'm doing what I must to make the recordings happen. If I jet back to China already, then I'm backpedaling on my passions.
I borrowed Stephanie's keyboard again, set it up in the living room. Just being able to play it was an incredible burden-lift. My soul felt like green food coloring put into a glass of water. It was cooped up and now that it's mixing, spreading out, being colorful, breathing, I'm feeling like myself again. I'll need help with rhythm tracks and Steve said he would contribute, as did Dana and Sam. After nine months of playing piano nearly every day, the practice and routine becomes a part of you. It's my meditation time, and I was getting stagnant without it.
I went up to Mecklenburg's (after spending most of the afternoon playing the keyboard) and got myself hired back, starting Monday. That was it. Easy. I don't need to be concerned with the inner workings or how things are different. All I need to be concerned with is doing my job so I can further my creative expliots. I don't live at the restaurant so it won't consume my life. I can forget about it. I didn't have that luxury in China, which I just now realize added to my itchy bum to leave. I could go somewhere for the weekend or holiday but it was always in the back of my mind that I had to have a lesson plan for the next week. I'm back in America where I don't need to use my brain as much for work. More time can be dedicated skullwise to music, writing, compiling skits and commercial parodies to film with Chance, all kinds of stuff. So things are looking up, seems like the world was just waiting for me to voice my discomfort so it could change things in a day and make me look foolish.
In other news, this last week I did PA work on a commercial for MTV's video music awards (which I've not watched since the mid-90's. None of the live performances have sounded interesting nor familiar in a long time. Who the fuck is "Yellowcard"?) Monday a truck loaded in 20 tons of sand at a big studio warehouse space on Paddock Road. The back wall was painted green so they could fill in sky and ocean later. It makes me wonder why they didn't film it in Miami itself, seemed like less hassle. Me and Alec, a fifteen year old whose father is a grip, shoveled and spread like madmen. I sweated out of every pore, bridge of the nose, knuckles, back of the hands, cheeks, you name it. And it felt good. I've always enjoyed manual labor type stuff: digging a pig roast pit, splitting wood; anything where I can get exercise, feel productive, sweat and not have to wear a shirt. You get into a rhythm and your mind is quieted, a tranquility washes over. That gives way after a while to the persistent thought: "Goddamn I'm sore and I'm likely going to get a ass-crack rash if this keeps up."
We smoothed the sand, built up a bunker in the back which they kept asking us to redo for a straight line. A straight line was difficult to achieve because the back wall was curved at the bottom like a half pipe, as were the side walls. It was an illusion we were fighting against and we had to run up front and look through the camera to see if that particular attempt was successful. Eventually it was.
The guy painting had two adopted Chinese daughters and I tried some of my Mandarin, but they looked at me and said "What does THAT mean?" in American little kid accents. Oh well. They were having steamed dumplings for lunch and I meant to ask where they got them, for they looked fairly authentic. At around 5:30 we finished and I walked home (which was about 5 miles). I meant to catch a bus when I found a familiar route but it was too much fun walking and exploring. I challenged myself to get back from wherever I was and I did it, not that it was very challenging since I had I-75 as a guide. Laura J and Steve thought I was crazy, and it was extremely hot outside, but I had water and conviction, and it got me back safe.
The next day, Steve dropped me off at 7:30 and I helped direct talent where to go while I drank coffee. It was a bit of a Cincinnati music who's who with Bill Wolverton, Scott Fredette, Abiyah and myself there. Had we instruments, we could have jammed between takes. My friend Paul was a friend of the director and came by to don a mullet wig and sodomize a stuffed unicorn. I hope it's in the commercial when it airs. I was worried the whole day that the shoot wouldn't end on time and that I would be late for the evening's festivities.
After lunch they did a couple more shots of crowd close-ups then cut everyone but one girl. I put chairs away, cleaned up here and there, asked around if anyone needed assistance trying to maximize efficiency and minimize idle time. After the scene of filming the fake P Diddy arm pulling the girl into the soda machine, it was a wrap. I waited outside for Abiyah to pick me up, read my Joe R Lansdale book some more.
She dropped me off, I showered, was picked up by Aaron who drove us to Riverbend for the Coldplay show. He's in Sean's band Malahida (formerly Euphio?) and their new stuff is awesome. We found Sean, Al, Erica and Danielle on the right side of the lawn. We spread the blanket, Al spiked my Sprite with some rum, Coldplay took the stage and although I'm not that familiar with their catalogue, had an enjoyable evening.
Sean and I had to bail a little early since our ride was encumbered with inebriated friends and we had to beat them to the car before they left without us. Sean took me on back and I felt a little uneasy, catching a vibe that perhaps he was pissed at having to cart me around. I tried to keep the conversation light and happy and trying not to sound too obvious at it. Perhaps I was projecting my malaise on others, imagining them seeing me as a broke pathetic lump. The PA gig paid $300 but I won't see it for likely a month. They have to send in the invoices and then the company cuts the checks and mails them out. Very inefficent, very bureaucratic. When it arrives, it'll be like Christmas money because I will have forgotten about it. I love little moments like that, there aren't enough of them.
P.S. The commercial will start airing this Saturday and then ad nauseum until the awards.
I borrowed Stephanie's keyboard again, set it up in the living room. Just being able to play it was an incredible burden-lift. My soul felt like green food coloring put into a glass of water. It was cooped up and now that it's mixing, spreading out, being colorful, breathing, I'm feeling like myself again. I'll need help with rhythm tracks and Steve said he would contribute, as did Dana and Sam. After nine months of playing piano nearly every day, the practice and routine becomes a part of you. It's my meditation time, and I was getting stagnant without it.
I went up to Mecklenburg's (after spending most of the afternoon playing the keyboard) and got myself hired back, starting Monday. That was it. Easy. I don't need to be concerned with the inner workings or how things are different. All I need to be concerned with is doing my job so I can further my creative expliots. I don't live at the restaurant so it won't consume my life. I can forget about it. I didn't have that luxury in China, which I just now realize added to my itchy bum to leave. I could go somewhere for the weekend or holiday but it was always in the back of my mind that I had to have a lesson plan for the next week. I'm back in America where I don't need to use my brain as much for work. More time can be dedicated skullwise to music, writing, compiling skits and commercial parodies to film with Chance, all kinds of stuff. So things are looking up, seems like the world was just waiting for me to voice my discomfort so it could change things in a day and make me look foolish.
In other news, this last week I did PA work on a commercial for MTV's video music awards (which I've not watched since the mid-90's. None of the live performances have sounded interesting nor familiar in a long time. Who the fuck is "Yellowcard"?) Monday a truck loaded in 20 tons of sand at a big studio warehouse space on Paddock Road. The back wall was painted green so they could fill in sky and ocean later. It makes me wonder why they didn't film it in Miami itself, seemed like less hassle. Me and Alec, a fifteen year old whose father is a grip, shoveled and spread like madmen. I sweated out of every pore, bridge of the nose, knuckles, back of the hands, cheeks, you name it. And it felt good. I've always enjoyed manual labor type stuff: digging a pig roast pit, splitting wood; anything where I can get exercise, feel productive, sweat and not have to wear a shirt. You get into a rhythm and your mind is quieted, a tranquility washes over. That gives way after a while to the persistent thought: "Goddamn I'm sore and I'm likely going to get a ass-crack rash if this keeps up."
We smoothed the sand, built up a bunker in the back which they kept asking us to redo for a straight line. A straight line was difficult to achieve because the back wall was curved at the bottom like a half pipe, as were the side walls. It was an illusion we were fighting against and we had to run up front and look through the camera to see if that particular attempt was successful. Eventually it was.
The guy painting had two adopted Chinese daughters and I tried some of my Mandarin, but they looked at me and said "What does THAT mean?" in American little kid accents. Oh well. They were having steamed dumplings for lunch and I meant to ask where they got them, for they looked fairly authentic. At around 5:30 we finished and I walked home (which was about 5 miles). I meant to catch a bus when I found a familiar route but it was too much fun walking and exploring. I challenged myself to get back from wherever I was and I did it, not that it was very challenging since I had I-75 as a guide. Laura J and Steve thought I was crazy, and it was extremely hot outside, but I had water and conviction, and it got me back safe.
The next day, Steve dropped me off at 7:30 and I helped direct talent where to go while I drank coffee. It was a bit of a Cincinnati music who's who with Bill Wolverton, Scott Fredette, Abiyah and myself there. Had we instruments, we could have jammed between takes. My friend Paul was a friend of the director and came by to don a mullet wig and sodomize a stuffed unicorn. I hope it's in the commercial when it airs. I was worried the whole day that the shoot wouldn't end on time and that I would be late for the evening's festivities.
After lunch they did a couple more shots of crowd close-ups then cut everyone but one girl. I put chairs away, cleaned up here and there, asked around if anyone needed assistance trying to maximize efficiency and minimize idle time. After the scene of filming the fake P Diddy arm pulling the girl into the soda machine, it was a wrap. I waited outside for Abiyah to pick me up, read my Joe R Lansdale book some more.
She dropped me off, I showered, was picked up by Aaron who drove us to Riverbend for the Coldplay show. He's in Sean's band Malahida (formerly Euphio?) and their new stuff is awesome. We found Sean, Al, Erica and Danielle on the right side of the lawn. We spread the blanket, Al spiked my Sprite with some rum, Coldplay took the stage and although I'm not that familiar with their catalogue, had an enjoyable evening.
Sean and I had to bail a little early since our ride was encumbered with inebriated friends and we had to beat them to the car before they left without us. Sean took me on back and I felt a little uneasy, catching a vibe that perhaps he was pissed at having to cart me around. I tried to keep the conversation light and happy and trying not to sound too obvious at it. Perhaps I was projecting my malaise on others, imagining them seeing me as a broke pathetic lump. The PA gig paid $300 but I won't see it for likely a month. They have to send in the invoices and then the company cuts the checks and mails them out. Very inefficent, very bureaucratic. When it arrives, it'll be like Christmas money because I will have forgotten about it. I love little moments like that, there aren't enough of them.
P.S. The commercial will start airing this Saturday and then ad nauseum until the awards.
---
[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 8/11/2005 06:03:00 PM ]
[ permanent link ] 
Post a Comment
<< Home
The dumbtronica act Montana & McDeviltoast, along with their friends, keep each other updated on their activities. Much fun having by all, and Pockys fear for their lives!