Hee hee!
I love how every day these days feels like a weekend.
I love how you can buy a 1kg bag of plums for $1 on the side of the road around here, and every single one will be sweet and juicy, and you'll eat until your tummy is bloated, and you still have a huge collander filled with them.
I love how I can have a nap at 9.30pm, wake at 10.30pm, and have dinner.
I love waking up to a text saying that the New Zealand Herald film reviewer has listed your film amongst the top 5 documentaries of 2006.
I also know it can only go down from here, but this entry is just to mark that today I counted my blessings, despite my 'bah humbuged-ness' about these things.
Also, I gave finally gave MySpace the final raspberry. Which felt good.
Breakfast:
1 Milo
Verdict:
I was pretty hungry. But there were no staples in the house, and we were about to go out to spend our Xmas cash and stock up on groceries. Which took 5 hours. But then we ate like kings.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
catch up and merry Funtime
I guess when I called this blog 'the occasional musings' I kinda knew that after the first burst of enthusiasm I might fall behind. It's not like I need to answer to anybody - I'm not entirely sure anyone reads this blog, and funnily enough, I don't really care that much - but I guess for me to remember, it's good to post as often as care to.
Something about me I've realised - I have the worst memory. Often friends will say to me "don't you remember?" or "how could you not remember?". A few years ago, this dude came up to me in a video store and was like "hey! I used to be your statistics tutor", and I was like "yeah, um, that wasn't me" (scoffing to myself "man, these whiteys think we all look the same")... an hour later I suddenly remembered that he was a guy who tutored me in Stats for like 2-3 years in the final years of school. Years. I mean, talk about scatty.
Anyway, the point of all this is a simple one - I think that subconsciously, maybe I've become a filmmaker because of my bad memory. I have this strange compulsion to make a record of things, to keep them for later. I thought about whether this might be the age old thing of wanting to make your mark, wanting to be immortal in some or any way shape or form, but that isn't the full reason I think - I think I keep all this stuff because I don't trust myself to remember it. And the past is always important - always. Not just the happy times - the bad times as well and most of all, the mundane times. The everyday things and the way everyday changes. So maybe I'm who I am because of how I am. Filmmaking for me isn't just a career, it's a way of being. It sounds a little wanky, but for my self-discovery, it's rather profound.
So it's been a really interesting month since the last entry. Something I really wanted to blog about stemmed from my experiences in Singapore at the Asian Festival of 1st Films. Being a festival for 1st-time filmmakers, lots of advice and support was offered and among the wisdoms imparted to us was the idea that as a filmmaker who had had a small degree of early success, I needed to promote myself, get myself out there, get myself onto the next level and network like crazy.
Now, in theory, I don't have a problem with this. It makes perfect sense, and I don't really mind doing the whole PR thing so far - interviews can actually be rather wonderful experiences, as was the one with Radio New Zealand that translated, apparently, into a very compelling interview. I like people who ask you questions and are actually interested in the answer.
Networking, I've discovered, is about, among other things, having a thick skin. Being able to talk yourself up to people who might not have been that interested in you in the first place. It's advertising, plain and simple, trying to conince people who didn't need you to begin with that they can't do without you.
I don't like networking. There, I've said it. If people aren't interested in me or what I have to say, then I'd rather not talk to them. And vice versa too, I'm not a social sadist or masochist. What I can't stand are people who are only interested in you for as long as they think you might be useful to them. Who care so little about people as to literally change their demeanour towards you within seconds once they've "sussed" you out. I am appalled by people like this, and I'm also appalled that so many of these people seem to get into places of power while being like this. There is no excuse for rudeness. None, ever. And I don't want to work in any space, for any amount of time during which I have to deal with these kinds of people. I've managed OK so far without having to suffer pricks, so I'll just keep trucking that way. Whatever happens happens. At least I'll be sans pricks. It's worth it.
Don't get me wrong. There were heaps of lovely, genuine, warm people there, and I loved the experience because of them. The last thing I would want is to seem ungrateful. Man, this year, I've been flown to Melbourne, Tokyo and Singapore, and I am so, so very lucky. I'm learning, and I'm up for any lessons this ride has to teach me. I'm constantly in wonder at how this career has fulfilled me in so many ways. But I'm an artist (and god, the wankiness of that statement isn't lost on me) - so the bottom line? Money and success is not what is driving me here. Sure, I want people to see my films, but I'm not going to try and get as many people as possible to see my films because first and foremost, I need to want to see my films. Furthermore, I'm convinced that other people respond to truth, and I can't be truthful when I'm thinking about money. Thems the breaks.
Anyway. Pricks aside, it was overall a really positive experience. Winning the award was a real highpoint. Extra yays for that!
And of course, it wouldn't be right not to wish everyone a Merry Funtime. It's my own secular greeting - do you like it? I know it needs work, but it was the best I could come up with right now.
Breakfast:
a Ferrero Rocher. (what? It's Christmas... err, I mean, Funtime!)
Something about me I've realised - I have the worst memory. Often friends will say to me "don't you remember?" or "how could you not remember?". A few years ago, this dude came up to me in a video store and was like "hey! I used to be your statistics tutor", and I was like "yeah, um, that wasn't me" (scoffing to myself "man, these whiteys think we all look the same")... an hour later I suddenly remembered that he was a guy who tutored me in Stats for like 2-3 years in the final years of school. Years. I mean, talk about scatty.
Anyway, the point of all this is a simple one - I think that subconsciously, maybe I've become a filmmaker because of my bad memory. I have this strange compulsion to make a record of things, to keep them for later. I thought about whether this might be the age old thing of wanting to make your mark, wanting to be immortal in some or any way shape or form, but that isn't the full reason I think - I think I keep all this stuff because I don't trust myself to remember it. And the past is always important - always. Not just the happy times - the bad times as well and most of all, the mundane times. The everyday things and the way everyday changes. So maybe I'm who I am because of how I am. Filmmaking for me isn't just a career, it's a way of being. It sounds a little wanky, but for my self-discovery, it's rather profound.
So it's been a really interesting month since the last entry. Something I really wanted to blog about stemmed from my experiences in Singapore at the Asian Festival of 1st Films. Being a festival for 1st-time filmmakers, lots of advice and support was offered and among the wisdoms imparted to us was the idea that as a filmmaker who had had a small degree of early success, I needed to promote myself, get myself out there, get myself onto the next level and network like crazy.
Now, in theory, I don't have a problem with this. It makes perfect sense, and I don't really mind doing the whole PR thing so far - interviews can actually be rather wonderful experiences, as was the one with Radio New Zealand that translated, apparently, into a very compelling interview. I like people who ask you questions and are actually interested in the answer.
Networking, I've discovered, is about, among other things, having a thick skin. Being able to talk yourself up to people who might not have been that interested in you in the first place. It's advertising, plain and simple, trying to conince people who didn't need you to begin with that they can't do without you.
I don't like networking. There, I've said it. If people aren't interested in me or what I have to say, then I'd rather not talk to them. And vice versa too, I'm not a social sadist or masochist. What I can't stand are people who are only interested in you for as long as they think you might be useful to them. Who care so little about people as to literally change their demeanour towards you within seconds once they've "sussed" you out. I am appalled by people like this, and I'm also appalled that so many of these people seem to get into places of power while being like this. There is no excuse for rudeness. None, ever. And I don't want to work in any space, for any amount of time during which I have to deal with these kinds of people. I've managed OK so far without having to suffer pricks, so I'll just keep trucking that way. Whatever happens happens. At least I'll be sans pricks. It's worth it.
Don't get me wrong. There were heaps of lovely, genuine, warm people there, and I loved the experience because of them. The last thing I would want is to seem ungrateful. Man, this year, I've been flown to Melbourne, Tokyo and Singapore, and I am so, so very lucky. I'm learning, and I'm up for any lessons this ride has to teach me. I'm constantly in wonder at how this career has fulfilled me in so many ways. But I'm an artist (and god, the wankiness of that statement isn't lost on me) - so the bottom line? Money and success is not what is driving me here. Sure, I want people to see my films, but I'm not going to try and get as many people as possible to see my films because first and foremost, I need to want to see my films. Furthermore, I'm convinced that other people respond to truth, and I can't be truthful when I'm thinking about money. Thems the breaks.
Anyway. Pricks aside, it was overall a really positive experience. Winning the award was a real highpoint. Extra yays for that!
And of course, it wouldn't be right not to wish everyone a Merry Funtime. It's my own secular greeting - do you like it? I know it needs work, but it was the best I could come up with right now.
Breakfast:
a Ferrero Rocher. (what? It's Christmas... err, I mean, Funtime!)
Sunday, November 26, 2006
farewell, O hallowed gold card
Last year about this time, I received the most wonderful prize package a nerd like me could ever wish for - it was the SPADA new filmmaker of the year award, and it came with a whole bunch of stuff - cash, 10K of post, 10K of film hireage, travel. But by far the most hallowed prize of all was from Skycity Village Cinemas - a beautiful shiny Gold Card that promised free movies for a whole year (except after 5pm on Saturdays).
This wonderful, wonderful prize expires on December 10 - a date that I've been dreading since, like, July. No more will I be able to flash the card, and have the staff peer at it suspiciously, and talk in whispered tones into their walky talkies. No more will I be able to chose any crap film at will, watch it to pass the time, and wander out half way through to get to another meeting (yes, Underworld 2, I'm talking about you). No more looking at the film timetable and feeling that rare and satisfying pleasure of having seen all the good ones. No more, sweet gold card, no more.
I feel the need to sing a requiem:
(to the tune of Sinatra's It was a very good year)
When I was twenty-eight, it was a very good year
It was a very good year for B-grade trash and fairly good flicks
I'd skank extra tickets for of-like-mind mates
When I was twenty-eight.
Yes, yes, I would keep the day job, if I actually had one.
Breakfast:
one milo, with melted Dark Ghana (70%) chocolate
Verdict: yes, that was all, I was baking at the time, and had to rush off to a yum cha, so it wasn't like I was going to be hungry long... not too sure about Dark Ghana, think I'm too much of a sugar freak. Dark Block feels just right to me.
This wonderful, wonderful prize expires on December 10 - a date that I've been dreading since, like, July. No more will I be able to flash the card, and have the staff peer at it suspiciously, and talk in whispered tones into their walky talkies. No more will I be able to chose any crap film at will, watch it to pass the time, and wander out half way through to get to another meeting (yes, Underworld 2, I'm talking about you). No more looking at the film timetable and feeling that rare and satisfying pleasure of having seen all the good ones. No more, sweet gold card, no more.
I feel the need to sing a requiem:
(to the tune of Sinatra's It was a very good year)
When I was twenty-eight, it was a very good year
It was a very good year for B-grade trash and fairly good flicks
I'd skank extra tickets for of-like-mind mates
When I was twenty-eight.
Yes, yes, I would keep the day job, if I actually had one.
Breakfast:
one milo, with melted Dark Ghana (70%) chocolate
Verdict: yes, that was all, I was baking at the time, and had to rush off to a yum cha, so it wasn't like I was going to be hungry long... not too sure about Dark Ghana, think I'm too much of a sugar freak. Dark Block feels just right to me.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
breakfast of note
Nothing of real excitingness to comment on here, just thought my breakfast might be of note:
Breakfast:
Rice and Squid
1 grapefruit
1 small sliver of chocolate cake
Verdict: pretty weird, but then again, it was kind of all there was.
Breakfast:
Rice and Squid
1 grapefruit
1 small sliver of chocolate cake
Verdict: pretty weird, but then again, it was kind of all there was.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
objects in the rear view mirror...
I just made an alarming discovery while driving home along the dark country road... when I look at myself in the rear view mirror with my headlights as the only light source... I look a bit like the scary blue lady from The Grudge!!!
I completely freaked myself out!
About that time, I also passed an abandoned car along the dark country road... then like 30 seconds later, passed a solitary hunched figure trudging in the dark. Being alone, and recently freaked out, I didn't stop. Later, I felt really bad about it - maybe the person really needed just a lift or a phone call. But I was alone, and it was past midnight... what do you do? From way back, my Dad would make sure I knew all the horror stories about people who stopped to help injured people on the road, then were murdered by enterprising villains who preyed on peoples' goodwill. As a result, I've become paranoid and suspicious of everyone. So much for giving people the benefit of the doubt. This saddens me because I think paranoia and suspicion contributes to the general badness in the world. If I was stuck on the country road with no transport and no communication, I would want help. I wouldn't start trudging down the road by myself in the dark, that's for sure, but I would want help.
Sigh.
And now for something completely without meaning!
Breakfast:
2 boiled eggs, dipped in a sprinkle of salt (I finally learnt how to boil eggs! This is not what you may think - I actually do the bulk of cooking here, including eggs - scrambled, fried, poached - just never boiled! Until now! Thank you eHow!)
A mug of ginger beer
Verdict: I was proud about the boiled eggs. They were mighty fine fresh from the pot. But all in all, a pretty weird breakfast. Wouldn't do it again. Ginger beer first thing makes my tummy a bit funny.
I completely freaked myself out!
About that time, I also passed an abandoned car along the dark country road... then like 30 seconds later, passed a solitary hunched figure trudging in the dark. Being alone, and recently freaked out, I didn't stop. Later, I felt really bad about it - maybe the person really needed just a lift or a phone call. But I was alone, and it was past midnight... what do you do? From way back, my Dad would make sure I knew all the horror stories about people who stopped to help injured people on the road, then were murdered by enterprising villains who preyed on peoples' goodwill. As a result, I've become paranoid and suspicious of everyone. So much for giving people the benefit of the doubt. This saddens me because I think paranoia and suspicion contributes to the general badness in the world. If I was stuck on the country road with no transport and no communication, I would want help. I wouldn't start trudging down the road by myself in the dark, that's for sure, but I would want help.
Sigh.
And now for something completely without meaning!
Breakfast:
2 boiled eggs, dipped in a sprinkle of salt (I finally learnt how to boil eggs! This is not what you may think - I actually do the bulk of cooking here, including eggs - scrambled, fried, poached - just never boiled! Until now! Thank you eHow!)
A mug of ginger beer
Verdict: I was proud about the boiled eggs. They were mighty fine fresh from the pot. But all in all, a pretty weird breakfast. Wouldn't do it again. Ginger beer first thing makes my tummy a bit funny.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
midnight toilet
Goddamn it if The Grudge 2 didn't get to me. It was such a shitty film, especially the eye candy school girls who must have been given direction like "act really shit so that when you die, the audience will actually cheer". On second thoughts, everybody must have been given the 'act really shit' direction, because I couldn't actually tell if Amber Tamblyn had acting ability, or whether she just looked really good next to everybody she was working with (save Sarah Michelle Gellar of course. That lady can do no wrong!).
Anyway, home I went, scoffing all the way, had dinner, watched TV, what have you. The moment I got into bed and turned out the lights, the spectre of wide-eyed, open mouthed blue lady kept flashing on the inside of my eyelids. Stupid B-grade damn j-horror crap!
The first few nights after seeing the film when I woke up needing to pee, somehow I forced myself back to sleep. Finally, one night when I couldn't stand the pressure (damn soup!), I got up, turned on every light, shut the door, and did my thing with my eyes closed.
That's one thing I'm going to think about next time I choose a house - the aspect of the toilet. Our toilet is such that when you're sitting and the door is open, you're looking straight out into a corridor. When you're half asleep and it's the middle of the night, usually you just pee in the dark with the door open (don't act like you don't know what I mean)! I swear my dream-laced mind takes advantage of my short-sightedness and imagines all sorts of horrible apparitions peeking around the side of the door frame and grinning at me. It doesn't help that Abe the cat sometimes ninjas his way into the toilet and sits there purring at me. I swear one time I just blinked and he appeared there. I almost screamed. I suppose I should be sort of grateful that The Grudge 2 has replaced the usual clowns with the blue lady.
Two things come to mind when I think about the TV series of It (well, apart from being the site of my screaming clown phobia) - the first is sadness about Jonathan Brandis, and how he ended up, and the second is the irrational thought that if I carry my asthma inhaler everywhere with me, then I can vanquish clowns at all times. On second thoughts, no. I want the clowns back. Because what the fuck do I do with the grudge lady? Out stare her? Paint myself blue and put my face millimetres from hers? Hmm. Need to think about this one.
Breakfast:
1 Milo a la Roseanne (ie. very sweet)
half a home grown cherimoya (it was chilled and delicious)
2 meal mates (poppy and sesame seed crackers)
Verdict: not sure about the nutritional value, but I'm continuing digging poppy seeds. And fruit, always fruit.
Anyway, home I went, scoffing all the way, had dinner, watched TV, what have you. The moment I got into bed and turned out the lights, the spectre of wide-eyed, open mouthed blue lady kept flashing on the inside of my eyelids. Stupid B-grade damn j-horror crap!
The first few nights after seeing the film when I woke up needing to pee, somehow I forced myself back to sleep. Finally, one night when I couldn't stand the pressure (damn soup!), I got up, turned on every light, shut the door, and did my thing with my eyes closed.
That's one thing I'm going to think about next time I choose a house - the aspect of the toilet. Our toilet is such that when you're sitting and the door is open, you're looking straight out into a corridor. When you're half asleep and it's the middle of the night, usually you just pee in the dark with the door open (don't act like you don't know what I mean)! I swear my dream-laced mind takes advantage of my short-sightedness and imagines all sorts of horrible apparitions peeking around the side of the door frame and grinning at me. It doesn't help that Abe the cat sometimes ninjas his way into the toilet and sits there purring at me. I swear one time I just blinked and he appeared there. I almost screamed. I suppose I should be sort of grateful that The Grudge 2 has replaced the usual clowns with the blue lady.
Two things come to mind when I think about the TV series of It (well, apart from being the site of my screaming clown phobia) - the first is sadness about Jonathan Brandis, and how he ended up, and the second is the irrational thought that if I carry my asthma inhaler everywhere with me, then I can vanquish clowns at all times. On second thoughts, no. I want the clowns back. Because what the fuck do I do with the grudge lady? Out stare her? Paint myself blue and put my face millimetres from hers? Hmm. Need to think about this one.
Breakfast:
1 Milo a la Roseanne (ie. very sweet)
half a home grown cherimoya (it was chilled and delicious)
2 meal mates (poppy and sesame seed crackers)
Verdict: not sure about the nutritional value, but I'm continuing digging poppy seeds. And fruit, always fruit.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
testing...
I caved into mySpace a few months ago because I missed having a blog, then got a slew of messages from people who wanted to be my 'friend', but who actually just wanted to sell me stuff. I must admit I was flattered to have been invited to the "Styling Models Online" or "Hot girls" group, but alas, my naked air-brushed pictures could never compare.
I'm still supposed to be writing, which explains why I'm trawling the net trying to start another, more satisfying blog that doesn't ply me with false promises of new friends. My old friends told me so. I stand corrected.
Speaking of friends, I shall take this opportunity to post pictures of the most amazing paella that Marc made a few weeks ago, atop a wee charcoal BBQ on Joc's back porch, no less:
And we ate until our bellies were big, and slept like babies.
Well, in actuality we over-strained our already strained tummies with laughing at our lame-ass film school films that we hadn't seen in a few years. Then we toddled home and slept, rubbing our paella babies in contentment.
Good food, good company. Yay.
Hmm, I should end a blog with a 'thing', right? In homage to Jane Espenson's excellent blog on screenwriting, I'll put what I had for breakfast, because after 9 months of independent living I still haven't found my breakfast groove.
Breakfast:
1 milo (4 heaped teaspoons milo, 1 teaspoon brown sugar, splash of milk)
1 peanut butter toast (Freya's mixed grain)
verdict: OK I guess. I like the poppyseeds in the toast.
I'm still supposed to be writing, which explains why I'm trawling the net trying to start another, more satisfying blog that doesn't ply me with false promises of new friends. My old friends told me so. I stand corrected.
Speaking of friends, I shall take this opportunity to post pictures of the most amazing paella that Marc made a few weeks ago, atop a wee charcoal BBQ on Joc's back porch, no less:
click to embiggen!
And we ate until our bellies were big, and slept like babies.
Well, in actuality we over-strained our already strained tummies with laughing at our lame-ass film school films that we hadn't seen in a few years. Then we toddled home and slept, rubbing our paella babies in contentment.
Good food, good company. Yay.
Hmm, I should end a blog with a 'thing', right? In homage to Jane Espenson's excellent blog on screenwriting, I'll put what I had for breakfast, because after 9 months of independent living I still haven't found my breakfast groove.
Breakfast:
1 milo (4 heaped teaspoons milo, 1 teaspoon brown sugar, splash of milk)
1 peanut butter toast (Freya's mixed grain)
verdict: OK I guess. I like the poppyseeds in the toast.
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