Breaking the surface of the water…

Wwwahaaa!!! (gasp, gasp, gasping for air)

Well, this is what it looks like outside. I have to confess, I haven’t really seen ‘outside’ much since last Sunday night. I shot three scenes over the weekend and have spent the better part of this last week editing, working sound design, cleaning up, etc.

Oh, if you don’t know, I’m a film editor. I wrote and shot three scenes (the ones I did last week) in order to create a demo reel for myself. If you don’t know what that is, it is simply a short montage of work I’ve done. It helps demonstrate that, yeah, I can edit. So, that’s what I did this past week.

It was somewhat difficult, but not impossible. See, I was able to resurrect my iBook. I’m at a point right now where I’m reluctant to shut the computer down. Every time I have to restart, I get a blinking question mark. After about twenty minutes of rebooting, repairing, etc., I can usually get the machine back up. I think I need to replace the motherboard battery, but that’s an errand. The bottom line is, I’ve been working on my computer.

In the meantime, I have COMPLETELY backed up every important bit of data to an external drive, as well as on my .Mac account. That way, if the iBook goes completely south on me, I have my data.

Anyway, so I’ve come out of the darkness of the editing bay (my dining room, for now) and am enjoying the sweet savor of success. If my wife let me smoke stogies, I’d be puffing one right now. If you’d like to see the scenes, navigate to:http://www.danielrcox.com. Now, I must admit that my professional website is rudimentary at best, but I’ve been a little busy. That’s my next project.

Anyway, I’m back online and have some things to kvetch about, as well as some observations regarding the slew of gay nuptials be administered here in the confused state of California.

So, until next time…

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My iBook G4 died. Damn.

There is this great moment in Mel Gibson’s film Payback, where the bad guys have Mel’s character, Porter, tied in a chair, with his feet bare. The bad guy, played by Kris Kristoferson, asks Porter where Porter is holding Kris’s kidnapped son. Porter replies he wants his money, whereby Kris’ henchman smashes one of Porter’s bare toes with a hammer.

Yeouch!!!

Yeah, that’s about how I’m feeling right now. See, this weekend, one of my most prized tools and possessions went south on me. My beloved iBook G4 - my four year old work horse - went belly up. Yep. It appears the hard drive when KAPUT. The machine won’t even boot up. It’s very sad.

Considering my WHOLE life was on that hard drive, I am very nearly devastated. So much of my daily routine and work habits were tied up in that damn machine. And now, nothing. (cue the hammer on my toe). Ouch.

The light at the end of the tunnel is this: This weekend I am also in the midst of shooting footage for a series of scenes that will eventually become my editor’s/director’s reel. If you’re wondering, that’s basically a short montage that show’s your work. This is like the money in the film Payback. Like Porter, who had his whole mind and heart set on one thing - getting his money back - I have my mind on getting these scenes shot and edited. So that I can post my reel. So that I can find work as an editor. So that I can replace my dead iBook.

Damn.

I feel like I’m limping about with half a foot and a mangled arm. This is really very bad. Now, I know you’re wondering how I’m posting. One small bit of silver lining is the Mac Mini I bought my family two years ago. It will have to do, in the interim. In many ways, it is like going from a convertible Mustang to a Geo Metro. Both drive, both get the job done, except one did it faster and sexier. Until it died.

Damn. Did I mention damn? Damn, my computer died.

BTW, my computer died at 11:40 PM on June the 13th. On Friday. Friday, the 13th. I don’t believe in that damn crap. Except it happened. So, I’m gonna take what little luck I have left, and my nifty new iPhone (which I can’t update because it’s tied to a now dead computer. damn.) and go to bed. And dream of a new Macbook Pro, 15 inch.

Damn.

 

P.S. In case you’re wondering, I am one of those fools who has a .Mac account. And my last backup was Thursday. Which meant that all my data was fully backed up. Thank God.

 

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You’re cordially invited to my dinner party

dinnerI’ve often daydreamed what it would be like to sit and have a chat with Sir Thomas More. If you have trouble remembering, Sir Thomas was executed by Henry VIII for treason (trumped up charges). I’ve often wondered how a man of such integrity justified some of his harsher choices, like burning protestants at the stake. A few charred non-Catholics aside, Sir Thomas was one I have admired greatly. (alright, before, you get your panties in a wad, the charred joke is just that, a joke. Sheesh.)

So, I got to thinking, if I had a dinner party where I could invite any ten persons, who would I invite - and why. Consider yourself invited, because that would make it interesting. So, here’s my list of dinner invitees, in no particular order:

  1. Sir Thomas More - in many ways, integrity personified. He stood for his principles, however misguided some may have been.
  2. William Shakespeare - I would love to know what the heck he was drinking when he penned “A Comedy of Errors”
  3. Helen of Troy - Hey, if two countries were willing to go to war over her, then I’m sure she would be great to look at over my dinner salad.
  4. My Dad - he died before I got to know him. Sucked for me. So many things left unsaid.
  5. Queen Elizabeth I - The foundress of the Elizabethian era. Any woman who could gain and hold the English throne as long as she did had to have been formidable. I would love to hear her stories.
  6. Meryl Streep - a brilliant actress and an incredibly intelligent person. I never see her in her movie roles - only the characters she plays. She completely disappears. Those are some mad skills.
  7. Winston Churchill - the man the willed England to stay standing in what many consider her darkest hour. Plus, I need someone with whom to share a stogie and an snifter of cognac.
  8. Jane Austen - very nearly my favorite author. I love her wit, her stories, her unbridled romanticism. Heck, anyone who could pen Emma is OK by me.
  9. J.R.R. Tolkien - my favoritist author of all time. I know, his only real claim to fame was the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, BUT, consider this: I have read the rings trilogy once per year (usually in the spring) since I first discovered the trilogy in 1981. In fact, I just finished again last week. That makes twenty-seven times. And I still cry when Frodo’s ship sails away and comes into view of the western shores. I am not sick of these books at all and hope I never will.
  10. Noah’s wife - she’s never even mentioned by name. Just Noah’s wife. But seriously, who had the greater faith - the man who built an ark in the desert, or the wife of that man who didn’t leave the crazy bastard? Yeah, I want to know what she was thinking too.

So there it is - my dinner party list. Dress is casual, as I always spill food on my front. I invite you to ponder you’re own list and share with the rest of us.

Bon appetit.

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Do you feel lucky punk? Yes, I do…

I’m feeling pretty lucky these days. Wanna know why? I’ll tell you.iphone

My school was holding a contest drawing. You could receive one entry for a name and phone number of someone who might be interested in attending our school. What was the prize? A brand new iPhone. Yeah, I wanted one. Badly. I figured, this is pretty easy AND these would probably be my best odds at obtaining an iPhone before I turned 50. (I’m 43 now)

You see, I figured if every person in my school put in one name, the odds would hang at 235:1 against. Not bad, for a free entry. Better than the Lotto. Anyway, I called three friends who might be interested, asked if I could put in their names, and they said yes. Three entries. Woohoo!

Fast forward to Monday, June 2nd. I received an email, stating I had won the contest. WooHoo. I WON!!! I went in the next day to claim my prize. As I met the contest manager, he exclaimed, “You are truly a lucky person! There were forty-two entries, of which one person actually put in thirty entries, and we pulled your name.” I laughed. That poor dude.

Think about it. Dude had over 71% of the entries ( I just calculated that on my new iPhone, by the way). 71%!!! He had 5:2 odds in favor of winning the phone. This means that if this drawing were held five times, he’d win two times. I know, that means he can lose the other three times, but these are great odds! Hell, statistically speaking, I only had 7% of the entries. That translates to a 13:1 odds against me winning the iPhone. This means if the drawing were held thirteen times, I’d win once. Two outta five or one outta thirteen - which would you rather have?

So, this poor guy got beat out by my luck. Yeah, that’s right. A little bit o’ luck. Now, do I regret winning. HECK NO! I’m having fun with my new iPhone. It is beyond cool. I am, well, … words fail me. Suffice it to say, my cool factor rose considerably among persons under the age of 35.

So, there you have it. I am lucky.

Someone suggested that if I’m so lucky, I should play the lottery.

Here’s what I think about that: If anyone wants to buy me a ticket, just use my “Are you in my TOPSPOTS?” tip jar. I’ll use the five bucks to buy a lottery ticket. If I win, I’ll post a blog saying thank you. I might even return the favor. Just make sure you have a tip jar.

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Quirky, Smuirky

Got tagged again. Hmmmmmm.

I must be fat and slow.

OK. So, Angi from over at Sleep for Dreaming tagged me with the following:

  • Link the person(s) who tagged you.
  • Mention the rules on your blog.
  • Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
  • Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
  • Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

I’m still learning how this all works. However, I think I can do this one. So, six ‘quirky’ things about me.

  1. I visit certain restaurants because they serve a favorite dish - and usually only order that dish.
  2. I can hear someone gulp at twenty paces - and it bugs the *#*&$# outta me. Ewww.
  3. If I step on a crack, I have to step on another crack with the other foot.
  4. I always order Hot Fudge on the side - that way, it stays hot.
  5. I’m an outgoing introvert - meaning I can get along with lots of people, can actually talk to strangers easily and make aquaintences quickly. However, the more I interact with people, the more time I need alone to detox and wind down.
  6. I flirt shamelessly - yeah, the wif knows.

So, there you have it. Six peculiar behavioral habits of mine. I know…exciting, huh?

I don’t have six friends I can tag, so I’ll just tag these:

the Depp Effect, 8 Backwards 31

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Take care of your own damn lawn

This just in off the AP wire from Canton, Ohio:

CANTON, Ohio - Homeowners who don’t mow their grass in the northeast Ohio city of Canton now face stiffer penalties — including possible jail time.

Grass and FeetThe city council unanimously passed a law Monday that makes a second high-grass violation a fourth-degree misdemeanor carrying a fine of up to $250 and as many as 30 days in jail.

The previous law only made the first violation a minor misdemeanor, with a fine of up to $150 but no jail time. The new law is to take effect in 30 days.

“This is the type of action we need to take in order to clean up our neighborhoods and our city,” Mayor William J. Healy II said.

The laws are an effort to reduce the roughly $250,000 the city spends to cut about 2,000 private lots each year and to address public complaints, Councilman Greg Hawk has said.

Holy Toledo! I mean, Canton!

Whew! I’m glad to see the Canton City Council is working hard to clean up the city! Never mind that as of 2007, violent crimes in Canton were nearly twice the national average. Or that the city’s unemployment rate is nearly 30% higher than the national average. That isn’t as important than making sure Bob down the street has his lawn mowed properly. At least Bob’s lifeless body will look good on his manicured lawn.

I’m not sure whether to laugh or scream at this story. First off, Mayor Healy II’s declaration that this was needed “in order to clean up our neighborhoods and our city,” is disturbing on two levels. First off, considering the amount of crime in his city, declaring war on high-grass seems to be missing the crux of his cities problems.

Secondly, I’m trying to figure out why the city is spending roughly a quarter of a million dollars to cut 2000 PRIVATE lots each year. Hello?!?! If they are private, let the owners mow their own damn lawn.

And these people who are apparently complaining about the unkempt lawns of other people, to them, I would say this: either put up or shut up! Hey, if you have a problem with your neighbor’s lawn, get your mower out and offer to cut it for him. Or better yet, find a jobless person and pay him or her to tend the lawns. Heck, why don’t you and your kvetching cronies pool your nickels and hire a bunch of the jobless and pay them to mow all these lawns. Heck, they could be busy most of the spring and summer months.

However, if the PRIVATE property owner wants his lawn ‘au natural’, then deal with it. It is HIS property, not yours!

It’s government and nosy, meddling neighbors like this that makes me shake my head and want to cut somebody’s …

There. I feel better now.

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I didn’t deserve it…

I was reading a post by The Goth Mom on bullying.

As I read her post, I was taken back to a time when I suffered at the hands of two bullies - Shawn and Philip. Both were ugly ( as I remember), both were physically bigger than the rest of us and both were relentless in their pursuit of causing as much pain and discomfort as possible.

I had entered St. John of God, a private catholic school, in the sixth grade. Since most of the other students had been together since the first grade, I was the natural outsider. Of course, it didn’t help that I was quite the geek in those days, before geek was cool.

For three years, I suffered relentless torment at the hands of these two goons. Elbows, hits, tripped while walking ups stairs, food and other items thrown at me — these two would probably be jailed in today’s climate.

The climax to their bullying came in the spring of our eighth grade year. We were coming back from school mass. Our path came in a narrow alley between the gymnasium and the small hall, across a short opening to our classroom building. Our building was a two storey building, four class rooms on the 1st floor and two on the 2nd floor. In front of the building was an open area for the lunch area, which looked like a large carport with lunch tables. Over the lunch area were two additional classrooms.

In order to get to our classrooms, we passed thru the lunch area, under the classrooms, and onto the stair beyond. I was walking in line, chatting with a friend. Just as I passed under the building, I felt a wet splick on my head. I put my hand in the soft, warm goo of spit that had come down from a window above. I looked up to see Shawn and Philip laughing down at me.

I sighed, and went to the restroom to clean up. At this point, can I say, I wasn’t embarrassed, or even angry. I had reached a point of ‘what’s the point?’ acceptance that some are bullies and some are the bullied. As I washed my hair, the bathroom door burst open with a bang. Startled, I turned to see the principal, Sister Mary Perpetua, who had dragged Shawn and Philip into the boy’s bathroom. Apparently, she was behind me when they let loose their goo.

“Apologize!!!” she roared at them.

I watched in utter surprise as Shawn and Philip muttered some sort of apology. Unsatisfied, Sr. Perpetua gave each a shake.

“We can’t hear you!” she scowled, her brogue lending a slight menace to her statement.

“I’m sorry I spit on you.” squeaked Philip.

“I’m sorry I told him to.” muttered Shawn.

“Well, there was absolutely no sincerity in those apologies.” exclaimed Sister.

I tried hard to contain a smile, which escaped out of the corners of my mouth.

“We’ll see if we can’t generate some sincerity out of you scallawags yet.” Sister’s voice was grim. She then turned and spoke to me directly.

“This wasn’t the first time, was it?” she asked.

“No…sister. It wasn’t.”

She looked sideways at each of them, as the boys withered under her piercing glance.

“Denny”, (her Irish brogue again), “I promise, these two will never do anything like this to you again. I am embarrassed for their behavior and treatment of you. Believe me when I say, this is the very last time they will mistreat you. You did not deserve this.”

She then physically dragged those boys out to their consequences.

I never heard what punishment they received. They never said and no one ever talked about it. There was, though, a lightness that came to our two eighth grade classrooms. I wasn’t the only victim of these two goons. So, whatever punishment Sister Mary Perpetua meted out was enough to stop their bullying completely.

More importantly, Sister’s comment stayed with me the rest of my life. “I did not deserve this.” Here was an adult, in power, who saw me, saw my plight, and stepped in to do something about it. In the wake of her actions, I was never bullied again because it had the affect of placing in me a sense of my value. That is, her affirmation stirred in me enough self-confidence and self-respect that bullies never tormented me again. I simply wouldn’t let them.

I hope that as adults, we can be like Sister Mary Perpetua.

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Ringing the Bell

On May 20th, 2008, Jay over at The Depp Effect issued the following challenge:

I’ll issue a challenge to five people to find something quirky in their neighbourhood, photograph it and post it on their blog.

Naturally, since we’re chums, Jay listed me as one of the five.

Now, here in Southern California, one need only step out the freakin’ door and quirky hits you in the face like running through a swarm of gnats on a summer evening. Hell, I could argue, ala Angus Bethune, there’s so much quirky, ‘there is no normal.’

In the town where I live, Costa Mesa, there is the quintessential cathedral to rampant consumerism, the South Coast Plaza, which is the third largest mall in the U.S. and boasts a sales rate of $800 per square foot (in 2004). That, in and of itself, is quirky enough. However, about a mile and a half south of the mall, and literally down the street and around the corner from where I live, is a little place called The Lab - the anti-mall.

Now, by definition, the name of this place is a screaming oxymoron. A mall, defined is a sheltered walk or promenade or, a shopping mall defined, is a building or series of connected buildings containing retail shops and restaurants. The Lab is a mall/shopping mall by both definitions. I surmise that “anti-shopping mall” in this case really means “a dumb ass place that clearly isn’t South Coast Plaza”.

I share all this, because in its “anti-mall” efforts, The Lab has an certain anti-establishment, artiste as bohemian approach to decor. Witness:

pots 2

Now, as you can see, The Lab has a certain, well, stoicism. So, someone, I’m not sure whom, thought it would be a great idea to put some potted plants out front to make things look chipper.

Notice how the plants offset the dreariness of the trashcan as well as the industrial drabness of the multi-paned window.

Pots 3

I haven’t decided if these look like pimples on the face of the building, or warts. Sure, it adds a greenishness to the building, but so does vomit. At least that would be more interesting than six pots arranged like one side of a craps die.
If you look closely, you can see that these pots are seated in rusty iron rings, which have been bolted to the wall. I just…. what is there to say?

Quirky, idiosyncratic, unconventional, unorthodox…yeah, I suppose we could apply these adjectives in describing these pots. Personally, I would file these under, “some artist said, ‘Hey, let’s put up some plant pots on the wall and it will look cool!’ and got paid a s***load of money because we’re The Lab, the anti-shopping mall and that’s what artists who don’t know anything about anything do”.

More or less.

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Something’s Coming…

I feel like singing “The Age of Aquarius” from the musical Hair right now.

“When the moon is in the seventh housePlasma
and Jupiter aligns with Mars…”

That’s what it feels like to me right now…like things around me are aligning themselves for a…something. I’m not sure what that something is, but it’s coming. (Oh no, I’ve switched to West Side Story!) But that’s how it feels.

“Something’s coming, I don’t know what it is
but it is, gonna be great!”

‘Why?’, you ask, am I feeling this way. First of all, it started three weeks ago. I had been lamenting over the state of our financial affairs and found myself, well, explaining to God what was going on. As if He didn’t know. Still, I went on, saying that if things didn’t change soon, I didn’t know what would happen.

  • Two hours later, Deal or No Deal called to set an audition. For May the 15th.
  • In the meantime, I began researching ways to create income online. My efforts have begun in establishing an online business presence, which should go live here in the next two to three days.
  • I have passed the audition process and am going to tape DorND next Wednesday.
  • A substantial check for a commercial I shot two months ago should come in tomorrow.
  • We followed up on financial aid for my daughter’s school in the fall. We discovered our FAFSA application had not gone thru. In fact, it didn’t exist. No FAFSA, no financial aid. We redid the application. Both FAFSA and Savannah College of Art & Design assured us that the process should be completed in the next three weeks. (whew)
  • We caught the stinkin’ rat.
  • I officially finished my last class in school today. I have four tests to complete, a demo reel to shoot and cut, a couple or three classes to audit and, if all goes well, I should graduate before mid-July.
  • I feel invigorated, empowered, hopeful and all-together excited about who I am and where I’m going.

And, my wif, she kissed me today and told me “I love you.” I never grow sick of that.

Who knows? Maybe all this will end up like the end of the Princess Bride, where everything falls apart (in the book). Or maybe…maybe my fortune has changed, the heavens are smiling on us and things will go our way for a while. Maybe. I’m not trying to be pessimistic, or even a realist. For the most part, I just feel…content.

That’s it. That’s the word. Content.

Like a long draw on a cold beer in the middle of a hot summer’s day. Or a good book in a big comfy chair near a sunlit corner. Or that kiss of a soft summer breeze that caresses the early afternoon, bearing with it the soft hint of the sea. Or that simple, down-in-the-gut feeling that, in the big picture, life is good, simply.

Yeah, my head finally made that eighteen inch trip…and converged with my heart.

“The air is hummin’ and something great is comin’”….

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The Cookie Monster is Dead.

We have a Cookie monster.Remy

Actually, we have rats. No, not like Charlie Brown.

More like Ratatouille.

As in, there are vermin in my flat. In my flat! Last week, the wif found a bag of chocolate chip cookies with a neat vertical hole torn in the side, and a cookie sporting a perfectly shaped half circle missing from it. A toothless bite, except it was a toothful bite, if I’m to be truthful.

We have a rat. or had one.

The spring trap did its thing last night, or this morning, about 2:00am. SNAP! That’s what the wif thought she heard in the middle of the night. She decided not to investigate, so as to avoid the possibility of seeing rodent innards splooshed about the kitchen floor. “I’ll wait ’til morning”, she said she thought, and rolled back over and went to sleep.

So, this morning, my wif was waking me, having gotten up to be begin the morning.

“Ewwwwww. There’s a dead rat in the kitchen.” says she.

“Mmmmmmm?” says I, trying to climb out of the fog of sleep.

“The trap. It did its thing and caught our rat.” says she.

“Oh.” says I. “Was it messy?”

“No.” says she. “I just don’t feel comfortable making lunches with a dead rat at my toes.

Now, asleep as I was, I knew a woman’s “get your manly ass outta bed and get rid of that nasty dead animal in my kitchen!” tone, if ever I heard it. Trouble is, rats give me the willies. The mere thought of knowing a rodent was hanging out in the flat (and wasn’t actually one of my daughter’s friends) creeped me out beyond measure. As I screwed up my courage to go into the kitchen, I wondered if the little fella’ twitched when he got snapped.

Anyway, I finally got the super to have maintenance ‘dispose’ of the carcass. After it sat in my kitchen for about two hours. I figured I’d let his sorry ass lay there, a grim, fell promise for any other rat that might have designs on hanging out in our flat.

I know, I know, I’m less than manly when it comes to handling dead rodents. I will say this: the maintenance guy grimaced pretty mightily as he hoisted our late cookie monster. See, I’m not the only one.

By the way, rats are not cute. Not cartoon cute. Not anything cute. Now I have an overwhelming urge to take everything out of the flat and give the place a head to toe scrub down. Clear out every last corner. Take a blowtorch to the entire place. Major spring cleaning.

(sigh) Damn rat bastard.

Yeah, the cookie monster is dead.

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