Crazy Math

Been workin' out the numbers. I've slept for fifteen hours since 2 PM sunday. Hell, lets throw in another hour for all the times i've just sorta passed out in my chair.

But it's almost over.

An excerpt from a paper I'm writing about the absence of Latinos in the American Literary Canon:

"A book has a small self-selected, educated audience. A TV program is now a common cultural experience. People are engrossed in it. It transforms the would be reader into the aliterati, the willfull illiterates. It’s not that they can’t read, it’s that they don’t. The aliterati almost have no control over what they watch. Turn on the TV, plunk down, let the guys who pick the programming feed the brain. The market for books is dying."

I'm so goddamn proud of myself. Aliterati. I really like that phrase. And it's so true these days. Books have an active following. You have to seek out a book, pick it up and crack that sucker open. A TV just sits there, and then you do. And there ensues a one-sided conversation.

But people don't go home from work and read. You know it used to be a family activity to sit around while someone read a book aloud? I like this idea, I like the interaction it automatically provokes. I like the involvement it requires of both the reader and the audience. Hearing some sentences read alound is a truly wonderful thing.

To be fair, it's an entirely different medium from television. TV isn't without it's merits, but I think it is easier for it to be mindless. Something about it cottons to the base, the bottom, the lowest ranks of culture.

Aliterati refers to people who don't read print. Everyone reads their email and so on. I guess certain online resources fall into this category. Online encyclopedias, newspapers etc. If you read one of these it helps keep you out of the aliterati. People who don't seek out reading.

That's all I have to say about this. I wonder what's on...

It is technically saturday, february 12. But I'm mostly talking about activities of the 11th.


I woke up at Tristyn's today, drove to my apartment by 12:15 and had to hang out until one or so to meet Joe at the cage and start setting up for our ADR session in the evening. I had class at two, so I sprinted home for 1:40, hopped in the shower and was back out the door by five of. I had class until three thirty or so, but I had to rescue Paul and Co. who were locked out of his car. I was in the apartment for maybe one minute to pick up his extra car key. Back home by four. Out again at 4:30. I head to building 7 and help set up ADR equipment and get things under way. We have technical difficulty after technical difficulty and throughout the course of the evening I wind up buying a fifty foot S-Video cable and a 50 balanced 1/4 inch cable and various adapters. From super helpful people at Applied Audio. Top notch store, aces all around. I swing by home for another five minutes around 6 PM or so to check for adapters of various sorts. And that's it, the last time I'm home until five o'clock.

But here's the thing, I enjoyed it. I'm worn out and exhausted and wish my movie were done with, but I'm having fun with it. I like working out the kinks, I like some of this technical stuff and most of all I like seeing it all come together and, more importantly, making it all come together.

It's a tremendous sense of accomplishment to see this project through. I have been at the front of nearly every aspect of my movie and when the parts connect, and this will sound silly, it's like there are little pieces of me coming together, too.

I know, I know. It's crazy, you say. "Krister! It's 5:36 AM! That's the sleep deprivation talking."

But I love it.

And other people are going to get to enjoy (hopefully) my movie. I'll put headache-inducing brainstorms, all night ADRing and non-stop editing together. I'll string hastily shot scenes with well planned segments and I'll make it work and people will laugh and I will be happy.

Hell, I'll be happy if people throw eggs and shit on me. I made this fucker. This is getting done, it's me doing it.

I'm happy.

I wasn't permanently banned.

This article says that someone might actually read this ever. Though I don't give much incentive with my sporadic-at-best updating policy and bland-but-functional format. Tell you what, a new contest. The first reader to write to me in response to something will win a prize of my choosing, maybe a T-Shirt, maybe respect, maybe a can of tuna fish.

This article is simply much cooler. That means that instead of using CG for the big as all get up eagles at the end of Return of the King and in the middle of Fellowship of the Ring, as we all suspect him of doing, Peter Jackson probably just built himself a time machine, corralled the flying, deadly raptors with naught but a rope and his own grim determination and rode them onto set. He then trained them to carefully pick up his actors and be ridden like a horse, then, with a sly grin on his bearded visage, said "Let's do the time warp again," and sent them off to their pre-civilization skies.
See? Much more simple.

The only problem I have with Jeremy's Girlfriend, Reneé, is that she leaves the shower curtain drawn so you can't see into the shower. It shouldn't be a problem, that's a good way to leave the curtain because it prevents mildew and whatnot because it's not all bunched together. I, however, have seen too many horror movies. I think that something lurks behind that curtain. But if I draw back the curtain, the horror or monstrosity will leap from behind and get me. And if I just let it alone then it will come from the shower and kill me, sucking my corpse dry through the eyeballs and leaving my husk draped over the toilet.

Jeremy and I have come up with a name for our band: Rooster Riot Gear.
I know, I know, pretty phenomenal.
The explanation is creepy.
Now, if only we had talent...or a goal...or something.

I think this speaks for itself.

Krister is a Fire-Eating Kung-Fu Monkey ...with a Battle Rating of 9.1 To see if your Food-Eating Battle Monkey can defeat Krister, enter your name:

As a male I have named my penis. I call it Bundy. Because it's a ladykiller.
I know, too brilliant for words.

I got an email in my bulk mail folder. The sender was "Useful Health Newsletter" and the subject was "Give her Unlimited Orgasms." I really don't think giving the sender a generic almost real sounding name will lend any creedence to what I would find were I to open that email. Might as well call the sender "Free Porn." And assuming she takes me up on the unlimited orgasms, won't that make her ever doing anything not orgasm related later in life awkward? Job interviews, trying to get loans, driving! My goodness.