The name is a silly reference to a Douglas Adams book that I always felt sounded like the title to a melodrama. I chose it because I had no other idea what to put in the title position.
I don't use this blog often as I don't actually have anyone read it so I think I may maintain it just to know that this block in the sidewalk is here for me to take a piece of chalk to when I feel the need.
But I don't know what that need is in particular. Today it is simply the need to speak of my depression.
Not a whole lot so say about it though. I've been aware of this darkness hovering over my soul for quite a while now. On occasion I'll hold it up to the light to take a closer look but have never really come to the root of the tangled mess.
My marriage ended five years ago and I've still not had even a single date. There's a strand.
I'm not especially happy at my current job, although it's still much better than the job I left. Still a strand.
The apartment I was looking forward to moving into will not be available after all. Another strand.
No apartment in that complex is available. Another.
The lease on my current place runs out at the end of the month. And another.
Unexpected expenses suddenly reared their head while I'm in an ill position to handle such a hit.
And another.
The breakup does not precede my depression, I'm actually unaware of anything that does. There have been times of joy, of course, but the tangle has ever hovered. I know I felt it in elementary and believe I see it's shadow in my earliest memories. It's definitely there in a memory from when I'm 2.
Currently, I've been focused on my present state. I live in a 3 bed, 2 bath townhouse apartment and will be moving to something smaller, that much is certain. And I feel, yet again, diminished.
Not long ago, I was working in a position I enjoyed and doing a job that I loved. I hated a great deal of the politics and such, but the job itself, that I loved. I was married with 4 children. Now I'm a single, middle-aged guy with no dating experience, with a job I enjoy less, which pays only about 3/4 what my previous job did. My ex is in a serious relationship and I ... well, like I said before, I've not even managed a date.
Most people I think of as friends have moved away or I've just lost touch as they still work at the aforementioned previous job. And truly, there are only about 2 still there that I considered friends. One has enough to deal with without having to deal with me and the other seems to have cut ties altogether. So every night, unless I talk to someone on the phone, my mouth only opens for sustenance after work. Were I not in so dark a place, I would likely relish such quiet. But instead I'm left lonely.
I haven't even an idea why I'm bothering to speak of it now. Maybe the silence is echoing a bit too loudly today. It keeps me from sleep and leaves my chest feeling empty, food flavorless and has come to leech my energy and strength.
Maybe I'm feeling so profoundly alone that even the sound of chalk virtually scrapping across the sidewalk is preferable to the echo in the wee hours of the morning. When I should be sleeping, but cant find my way to that twilight realm.
Maybe it just seemed a good idea at the time.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Cheater
I'll admit it, I cheat on this blog.
I've often written long blogs that I've placed on my MySpace site and not posted here. Worse, I'm a bit of a blog whore. I blog for my workplace.
I know, I know. You're shocked and appalled, but at least my work blog is about something I love. Cartoons and comics. You can find it here if you wish too, or you can not bother. Either way, I'll still respect you in the morning.
I'd not posted anything in some time, for various reasons, but found myself with a little spare time last night and decided to let everyone know that I was back and that a new Wonder Woman cartoon is coming out on DVD in March.
This morning, I came in to find that a fellow, who will go unnamed unless you check the blog, posted this:
I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND THE APPEAL OF ALL THIS COMIC STUFF TO ADULTS. IT SEEMS SO SILLY, SUCH A WASTE OF MONEY, SO JUVENILE, SO IMMATURE. WHY NOT SPEND THE MONEY ON BOOK, ART OR MUSIC LESSONS?
Yes, it was in all caps in it's original posting.
It struck me as odd on multiple levels, not the least of which is that my blog doesn't spontaneously leap onto your screen. You actually have to seek the darned thing out. So he'd sought it out and unleashed this mild venom.
I though, initially, not to post the comment. I thought it seemed a silly place for such a poorly written comment. Ultimately, I decided that this fellows opinion could be considered valid and he was not vulgar in his language. So I posted it along with this response:
Actually, I spend a great deal more on books and art supplies, since I produce art myself. My music career was a wash as I was sent back to beginner band after the first year.
Still, I would not balk at any of the activities suggested without trying them out first. And really, if someone decides that comics aren’t for them, I have no problem with that.
In fact, I lent a copy of a comic that I greatly enjoyed to a friend She gave it an honest try but decided that the medium wasn’t for her. That didn’t mean that I treasured her friendship any less. And I greatly enjoy her view on various art mediums including visual art, film, music and especially literature. She’s the one who recommended the book Geek Love as well as The Women of Brewster’s Place and I’m extremely thankful to have read those books.
That said, there is still room for comic books and I’d dare to guess that many naysayers have no experience outside of the kiddie books they remember from yesteryear.
Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight is one of the most gritty and stunning stories ever put to paper. I’d say that Kingdom Come, written by Mark Waid and painstakingly painted panel by panel by the incomparable Alex Ross is a masterpiece of word and sequential art.
Still, paintings of soup cans seem silly and a waste to some, as do some books, movies and music. So to each their own.
For myself, I’ll take it all. Sequential storytelling by artists who can produce beautiful pieces on a tight deadline. Moving tunes by audio artists from Mozart to Bowie to Gnarlz Barkley. Cinematic masterpieces like Citizen Kane and Blazing Saddles. I can’t imagine closing myself to any form of art.
But to each their own.
I don't know if the fellow will bother to read it, but I felt I had to say it. Silly though it may be, I've tried to allow myself an open mind in all things. Tasting dishes I thought I'd not enjoy, reading books in genres I thought I would not enjoy and trying techniques in arts in virtually any form available to me.
I guess, in the end, this fellow didn't understand my personal enjoyment. But that won't stop me from reading my comics and allowing myself to believe that a man can fly. To imagine that a teen can take the lesson of power equaling responsibility to heart. Or imagine a child fashioned of clay could grow to be an Amazon princess blessed with divinity, beauty and above all, compassion.
And I'll read as voraciously as I did when I first developed my love of the written word. A love that stemmed from reading the words of a fellow who dreamed of writing the great American novel. A native of New York born to Romanian-born Jewish immigrants who hid his family name of Stanley Martin Lieber under the nom de plume, Stan Lee.
That first Spider-Man comic soon led me to read The Old Man and the Sea and To Kill a Mockingbird before my age reached the double digits. And draws me to read still today.
Of course, Mr. Lee's loquacious nature and affinity for alliteration are with me still. Which is probably why I allowed this post to go this long.
I've often written long blogs that I've placed on my MySpace site and not posted here. Worse, I'm a bit of a blog whore. I blog for my workplace.
I know, I know. You're shocked and appalled, but at least my work blog is about something I love. Cartoons and comics. You can find it here if you wish too, or you can not bother. Either way, I'll still respect you in the morning.
I'd not posted anything in some time, for various reasons, but found myself with a little spare time last night and decided to let everyone know that I was back and that a new Wonder Woman cartoon is coming out on DVD in March.
This morning, I came in to find that a fellow, who will go unnamed unless you check the blog, posted this:
I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND THE APPEAL OF ALL THIS COMIC STUFF TO ADULTS. IT SEEMS SO SILLY, SUCH A WASTE OF MONEY, SO JUVENILE, SO IMMATURE. WHY NOT SPEND THE MONEY ON BOOK, ART OR MUSIC LESSONS?
Yes, it was in all caps in it's original posting.
It struck me as odd on multiple levels, not the least of which is that my blog doesn't spontaneously leap onto your screen. You actually have to seek the darned thing out. So he'd sought it out and unleashed this mild venom.
I though, initially, not to post the comment. I thought it seemed a silly place for such a poorly written comment. Ultimately, I decided that this fellows opinion could be considered valid and he was not vulgar in his language. So I posted it along with this response:
Actually, I spend a great deal more on books and art supplies, since I produce art myself. My music career was a wash as I was sent back to beginner band after the first year.
Still, I would not balk at any of the activities suggested without trying them out first. And really, if someone decides that comics aren’t for them, I have no problem with that.
In fact, I lent a copy of a comic that I greatly enjoyed to a friend She gave it an honest try but decided that the medium wasn’t for her. That didn’t mean that I treasured her friendship any less. And I greatly enjoy her view on various art mediums including visual art, film, music and especially literature. She’s the one who recommended the book Geek Love as well as The Women of Brewster’s Place and I’m extremely thankful to have read those books.
That said, there is still room for comic books and I’d dare to guess that many naysayers have no experience outside of the kiddie books they remember from yesteryear.
Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight is one of the most gritty and stunning stories ever put to paper. I’d say that Kingdom Come, written by Mark Waid and painstakingly painted panel by panel by the incomparable Alex Ross is a masterpiece of word and sequential art.
Still, paintings of soup cans seem silly and a waste to some, as do some books, movies and music. So to each their own.
For myself, I’ll take it all. Sequential storytelling by artists who can produce beautiful pieces on a tight deadline. Moving tunes by audio artists from Mozart to Bowie to Gnarlz Barkley. Cinematic masterpieces like Citizen Kane and Blazing Saddles. I can’t imagine closing myself to any form of art.
But to each their own.
I don't know if the fellow will bother to read it, but I felt I had to say it. Silly though it may be, I've tried to allow myself an open mind in all things. Tasting dishes I thought I'd not enjoy, reading books in genres I thought I would not enjoy and trying techniques in arts in virtually any form available to me.
I guess, in the end, this fellow didn't understand my personal enjoyment. But that won't stop me from reading my comics and allowing myself to believe that a man can fly. To imagine that a teen can take the lesson of power equaling responsibility to heart. Or imagine a child fashioned of clay could grow to be an Amazon princess blessed with divinity, beauty and above all, compassion.
And I'll read as voraciously as I did when I first developed my love of the written word. A love that stemmed from reading the words of a fellow who dreamed of writing the great American novel. A native of New York born to Romanian-born Jewish immigrants who hid his family name of Stanley Martin Lieber under the nom de plume, Stan Lee.
That first Spider-Man comic soon led me to read The Old Man and the Sea and To Kill a Mockingbird before my age reached the double digits. And draws me to read still today.
Of course, Mr. Lee's loquacious nature and affinity for alliteration are with me still. Which is probably why I allowed this post to go this long.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Swimingly
When I was first hired at the paper I work for now, part of the reason was that they were about to launch an entertainment supplement in tabloid form.
Well, that, in and of itself, isn't much of a reason. But, the tab was to launch in 2 weeks and there was no design save for a logo that no one liked. And so I was now gainfully employed.
Actually, doubly so as they wanted me to start immediately and I had an obligation of two weeks at my first job ... Oh, and I was a full-time student supporting my family as well. So, y'know, no pressure.
Shortly after being hired we made plans for the future issues. One thing that came up was a swimsuit issue.
For myself, I could have cared less. I had so much going on and the need to make sure that the mag was done better than about 3 pre-existing magazines in the market. My hands were somewhat full.
But when I was given the photos and designed the pages, even female coworkers were gathering around my desk freaking out at how they liked it. (In those days, this happened to me pretty regularly as most of the stuff at the paper was designed pretty old school.) And the issue flew of the racks.
I was actually a little impressed as I didn't think I'd done so good a job and had been pretty unimpressed by the photos. They were almost great but didn't quite make it over that ridge. I was impressed by a pair of sisters that had modeled for the issue. Beautiful is easy to find, models are harder.
For anyone that doesn't believe that modeling is an art form, try grabbing a good looking person and take their photo. Chances are they are diminished in the image. Talented shooters can still get a beautiful photo but models can make an image much more. The ability to show ease and confidence as well as project emotion and tell a story with one's form and face. It's pretty tough.
The next year the section editor, myself and the mag's editor were planning out the issues when the SE noticed that there was no plan for a swimsuit issue. The editor said that he thought it was more hassle than it was worth but we were still getting feedback from it so I volunteered to organize it.
I had no idea how much work that would entail but the editor had gotten the suits from stores the year before so I contacted the same stores and a few more and managed to get us some suits. They just gave me whatever they wanted to so I had little control. But I did manage to get suits costing from $20 to $250. We used the same location as the year before, but I had an idea of the images I wanted leading to an organized crop of images.
Though I was given no budget (the models all worked TFP) I'd managed to get the two sisters to return, D had become more confident in the passed year and her sister helped her in posing. Another model joined us that year as well and Cindy was pushed as the cover photo. I didn't particularly like the photo as the photographer hadn't accounted for the lighting filtering through canopy of the tree she was under and what the yellow of the suit would do to her skin, giving her a bit of a sickly color. I tried to fix it but I don't think I did a good enough job. Still, I'm proud of the final product.
The issue got more buzz than the first and got no angry letters from conservative readers, as had the first. (The first angry letter was from someone upset that I'd put the tease to the story about the Christian singing group 'Out of Eden' next to the models breast. If you look at the photo, there were two places I could have put the tease and stand by my choice.
I noticed that we didn't have accessories in the first two issues and decided that that had to change. So still having no budget, I put in a couple of hundred dollars on various hats, sandals and jewelry. Nothing very expensive, but I wanted to make certain that an overall feel was created.
Wanting a more urban look, I arranged to shoot the next issue in the storage area of a local building. The sisters and Cindy returned as did a new model and one from the original issue. I also managed to find a male model. Juber was great and funny and confident. Women get a bum wrap about being body conscious but try asking a guy to pose in a swimsuit sometime.
The shoot was actually pretty fun as the models were all laughing. Knowing that I was going to be pretty busy but would want some things being set up so as to move quickly, I had a friend come and help arrange mini sets within the area.
The shoot was actually fun until the mag editor came by. Being a photographer, he'd been shooting something himself that day. I wasn't the one to say that he detracted from the shoot actually but a pair of the models, my friend and model's mother asked what was going on with him there. He'd been at the shoots the previous years but that year it was just odd. Maybe it was that he showed up partly into the shoot when there was already a comfort level crated. I'm not sure and I've wondered about it over the years. One thing that did steal a lot of the feel, I found later, was that he and the photographer were chatting and thought themselves unheard when they made some - I'll say - unprofessional remarks about one of the models. I don't know exactly what was said as her cousin relayed it as the reason that she chose not to participate the next year.
I was pretty ashamed that had happened so I sought out the SE who let me know the mag ed never had to know the location or be on set from there on out. That came to a head the next year when in an open meeting he angerly said that I'd not told him where the shoot was. The SE said, firmly but not agressively, "Everyone that needs to know about it does."
The photographer arranged to have a pair of new models come and I brought both male models we'd used before as well as the E and D and Cindy.
I wanted another urban but definitely a fun feel so I wanted to shoot on a roof downtown. We had some honkers, but other than being told "no stilhettos" there were no problem.
I'd actually not planned for any stilhettos as I'd wanted to create a fun feel reasoning that we're supposed to be showing these suits off, not the models and if you see people having fun, the clothes look more appealing. The other change was that I was getting the suits straight from the manufacturers. They were a little trepidatious but said it was OK for me to get the suits wet, something we'd not been allowed to do in the past. Still, I was not suppossed to let them get in a pool only splash and such. So I went with water guns.
The idea was for it to just be a fun setting, as if we were all just on the roof playing around.
This is probably my favorite issue for the level of fun that the shoot was. As no parents were going to be at the shoot, I had my (now ex-) wife come as well. I felt this would put the new models a bit at ease since I wasn't about to do anything stupid in front of my wife. I'd bought hats, water guns and other accessories but had also made plans to take everyone to dinner after as well.
The photog was still trying to get glamour shots and if I turned my back on him, he would have one of the two new girls posing for glamor shots. One of them smuggled some heals onto the roof despite my specifically telling her to leave them behind. Remember stilhettos were specifically not allowed. I asked her to set them aside and got angry when she snuck them out again.
No idea why she was so adversarial but she kept pulling aside the other new model and dripping poison in her ear as well. The other new model, Berta, lookes beautiful and had a great smile. She didn't like one of the suits but wore it anyway and didn't show any displeasure at it. I wound up using one of her photos as the main photo for the center spread and found out later that the other model had been telling her that I had my favorites already picked out and that none of the two's photos would make it in.
I used them both actually but the other one choose to leave early and took Berta with her so there wasn't a lot of shots of them. Still, Berta realized that I was professional and that saved me the next year.
I wrote a swimsuit fashion story for that issue and we also ran the Spring Break story on the bottom of the page. On the jump page I ran a pic of E as the main image. I added a lot more bricks and ran other photos and the story in a section that looked like it had been knocked out. The photo had been set up as a traditional pretty girl laying on a wall shot, but I handed E a watergun and told her to look like she planned to use it. The expression was fantastic and she shot me almost immediatly after the shutter clicked.
E had started working for a major swimsuit manufacturer and was not going to be allowed to shoot with us that year. I'd asked her to come along because I liked having her on set. She always laughed freely and constantly offered constructive critiques. I've never seen her offer advise to a model wher the photo didn't come out 10-times better for it. Fortunately, the specifics of why she could't model were that she couldn't be photographed in anyone elses designs. As the manufacturere never returned any of my calls or e-mails we were stuck. Until she pointed out to her boss that she'd recently bought three suits from them for her honeymoon trip. So we sidestepped the issue by having her wear only those outfits.
E's sister D is also stunning and professional and fun on a shoot. Cindy impressed me by showing up and looking fantastic despite having the flu. She didn't want to let us down and the photos were fantastic. She is always professional and funny. And all three ofthe models impressed me with their willingness to try something and then add to it.
The boys were funny too. Richard was quiet but smart and funny and Juber was much louder but also funny and sharp. I think everyone there got to hear him joke about his being thankful of getting a Brazillian when he gamingly donned the bannana hammocks (as he called them).
My editors didn't let me use any of the photos of him in the speedo style suit but I still argue that good for the goose should have applied and women's suits are no less revealing. Still, the photos are some of my favorites and I used a pair to do something of a 007 spoof. Or at least it's one in my head.
The next year, the sisters were unavailable, the boys were unavailable and Cindy had become a band teacher at a local Jr. high so modeling in a swimsuit issue could have been a problem. So I really had no models. A friend of my sisters, B, said she'd do it and I managed to find Berta from the year before but didn't hold out much hope when I called her. That's when I learned what she'd been told and came to learn was false the year before. She promised to check her schedule and would call me the next day.
That night she called me to let me know that she and pointed out that she had some friends that were models and some wanted to be in the issue as well. She e-mailed me photos and confirmed who could do the shoots. She really saved me that year as I'd had only a single inexperienced model and I now had 5 with experience as well.
I arranged the suits and now that the manufacturers had seen the issue from the previous year, they let me get the suits wet allowing that the girls could even dive into the water's at the local beach, South Padre Island. I also arranged a primary shoot at a local hotel where we were allowed to use the pools and grounds.
The next weekend we went to take photos at the beach and most of the models were actually booked so there was just B, Berta and her friend Mari who was very professional and because of her skills, provided me with the first shoot where I had a makeup and hair artist. She also switched up the way she tied one of the suits making it work even better than the standard over the shoulder's style. We shot most of the day with the three until B had to leave and the rest of the ladies joined us for night shooting and brought along another model with curly locks.
It's always fun to be on a set where everyone gets along and to watch the girls swarm around the new model (I always take model release forms to shoots fortunately) and help choose the best suits for her and giving her advise was one of the sweetest moments I think I've experienced. One of the ladies had her heart set on one suit but thought her new friend Naria would look great in it so she deferred the suit to Naria. I remembered that selflessness when designing the pages making sure that the two jump pages included images that showcased her legs (her favorite feature) and added the splashing out of the water to the double truck. I would have used the photos of the suits either way, but selflessness should never be unrewarded.
It was one of the most fun shoots I've ever been at and on the drive home I felt a warm feeling when I realized the shooter had deferred to me throughout the day and the previous shoot as well. (He'd fought me tooth and nail to make sure the images were glam until that year. He actually told me later that he'd realized I would make his pix look great no matter what so he'd stopped worrying.) I'd managed to pull off a pair of professional and wonderfully fun shoots.
As usual I let the models keep the accessories that they wanted and provided each of them with a CD of their efforts as well.
The mag was cancelled later that year but the swimsuit issues still stand as bright spots in my carreer. I was able to organize them from knowing nothing about doing such. I also think I improved the issue every year, the last year the section editor, whom I've a great deal of respect for, said that he was surprised by my story as I had been pretty rough when he'd started there three years previously. He said my story felt like an AP fashion story. He'd only added a pair of commas and a paragraph break.
While I've been told by the SE, the previous SE and many others at the paper that I was doing 90% of the work on the mag, I was never allowed to just take it over except for the swimsuit issues. And, while my name was never in the editor slot, I was always the one congratulated for it by co-workers. Which is another great feeling.
People assume that I liked the swimsuit issue because I got to work with photos of beautiful women. The truth is, I think I did a great job on it. Not because it was photos of beautiful women, but because it did what it was suppossed to, and I knew I was responsible for every inch. And others did too.
Well, that, in and of itself, isn't much of a reason. But, the tab was to launch in 2 weeks and there was no design save for a logo that no one liked. And so I was now gainfully employed.
Actually, doubly so as they wanted me to start immediately and I had an obligation of two weeks at my first job ... Oh, and I was a full-time student supporting my family as well. So, y'know, no pressure.
Shortly after being hired we made plans for the future issues. One thing that came up was a swimsuit issue.
For myself, I could have cared less. I had so much going on and the need to make sure that the mag was done better than about 3 pre-existing magazines in the market. My hands were somewhat full.
But when I was given the photos and designed the pages, even female coworkers were gathering around my desk freaking out at how they liked it. (In those days, this happened to me pretty regularly as most of the stuff at the paper was designed pretty old school.) And the issue flew of the racks.
I was actually a little impressed as I didn't think I'd done so good a job and had been pretty unimpressed by the photos. They were almost great but didn't quite make it over that ridge. I was impressed by a pair of sisters that had modeled for the issue. Beautiful is easy to find, models are harder.
For anyone that doesn't believe that modeling is an art form, try grabbing a good looking person and take their photo. Chances are they are diminished in the image. Talented shooters can still get a beautiful photo but models can make an image much more. The ability to show ease and confidence as well as project emotion and tell a story with one's form and face. It's pretty tough.
The next year the section editor, myself and the mag's editor were planning out the issues when the SE noticed that there was no plan for a swimsuit issue. The editor said that he thought it was more hassle than it was worth but we were still getting feedback from it so I volunteered to organize it.
I had no idea how much work that would entail but the editor had gotten the suits from stores the year before so I contacted the same stores and a few more and managed to get us some suits. They just gave me whatever they wanted to so I had little control. But I did manage to get suits costing from $20 to $250. We used the same location as the year before, but I had an idea of the images I wanted leading to an organized crop of images.
Though I was given no budget (the models all worked TFP) I'd managed to get the two sisters to return, D had become more confident in the passed year and her sister helped her in posing. Another model joined us that year as well and Cindy was pushed as the cover photo. I didn't particularly like the photo as the photographer hadn't accounted for the lighting filtering through canopy of the tree she was under and what the yellow of the suit would do to her skin, giving her a bit of a sickly color. I tried to fix it but I don't think I did a good enough job. Still, I'm proud of the final product.
The issue got more buzz than the first and got no angry letters from conservative readers, as had the first. (The first angry letter was from someone upset that I'd put the tease to the story about the Christian singing group 'Out of Eden' next to the models breast. If you look at the photo, there were two places I could have put the tease and stand by my choice.
I noticed that we didn't have accessories in the first two issues and decided that that had to change. So still having no budget, I put in a couple of hundred dollars on various hats, sandals and jewelry. Nothing very expensive, but I wanted to make certain that an overall feel was created.
Wanting a more urban look, I arranged to shoot the next issue in the storage area of a local building. The sisters and Cindy returned as did a new model and one from the original issue. I also managed to find a male model. Juber was great and funny and confident. Women get a bum wrap about being body conscious but try asking a guy to pose in a swimsuit sometime.
The shoot was actually pretty fun as the models were all laughing. Knowing that I was going to be pretty busy but would want some things being set up so as to move quickly, I had a friend come and help arrange mini sets within the area.
The shoot was actually fun until the mag editor came by. Being a photographer, he'd been shooting something himself that day. I wasn't the one to say that he detracted from the shoot actually but a pair of the models, my friend and model's mother asked what was going on with him there. He'd been at the shoots the previous years but that year it was just odd. Maybe it was that he showed up partly into the shoot when there was already a comfort level crated. I'm not sure and I've wondered about it over the years. One thing that did steal a lot of the feel, I found later, was that he and the photographer were chatting and thought themselves unheard when they made some - I'll say - unprofessional remarks about one of the models. I don't know exactly what was said as her cousin relayed it as the reason that she chose not to participate the next year.
I was pretty ashamed that had happened so I sought out the SE who let me know the mag ed never had to know the location or be on set from there on out. That came to a head the next year when in an open meeting he angerly said that I'd not told him where the shoot was. The SE said, firmly but not agressively, "Everyone that needs to know about it does."
The photographer arranged to have a pair of new models come and I brought both male models we'd used before as well as the E and D and Cindy.
I wanted another urban but definitely a fun feel so I wanted to shoot on a roof downtown. We had some honkers, but other than being told "no stilhettos" there were no problem.
I'd actually not planned for any stilhettos as I'd wanted to create a fun feel reasoning that we're supposed to be showing these suits off, not the models and if you see people having fun, the clothes look more appealing. The other change was that I was getting the suits straight from the manufacturers. They were a little trepidatious but said it was OK for me to get the suits wet, something we'd not been allowed to do in the past. Still, I was not suppossed to let them get in a pool only splash and such. So I went with water guns.The idea was for it to just be a fun setting, as if we were all just on the roof playing around.
This is probably my favorite issue for the level of fun that the shoot was. As no parents were going to be at the shoot, I had my (now ex-) wife come as well. I felt this would put the new models a bit at ease since I wasn't about to do anything stupid in front of my wife. I'd bought hats, water guns and other accessories but had also made plans to take everyone to dinner after as well.
The photog was still trying to get glamour shots and if I turned my back on him, he would have one of the two new girls posing for glamor shots. One of them smuggled some heals onto the roof despite my specifically telling her to leave them behind. Remember stilhettos were specifically not allowed. I asked her to set them aside and got angry when she snuck them out again.
No idea why she was so adversarial but she kept pulling aside the other new model and dripping poison in her ear as well. The other new model, Berta, lookes beautiful and had a great smile. She didn't like one of the suits but wore it anyway and didn't show any displeasure at it. I wound up using one of her photos as the main photo for the center spread and found out later that the other model had been telling her that I had my favorites already picked out and that none of the two's photos would make it in.
I used them both actually but the other one choose to leave early and took Berta with her so there wasn't a lot of shots of them. Still, Berta realized that I was professional and that saved me the next year.
I wrote a swimsuit fashion story for that issue and we also ran the Spring Break story on the bottom of the page. On the jump page I ran a pic of E as the main image. I added a lot more bricks and ran other photos and the story in a section that looked like it had been knocked out. The photo had been set up as a traditional pretty girl laying on a wall shot, but I handed E a watergun and told her to look like she planned to use it. The expression was fantastic and she shot me almost immediatly after the shutter clicked.
E had started working for a major swimsuit manufacturer and was not going to be allowed to shoot with us that year. I'd asked her to come along because I liked having her on set. She always laughed freely and constantly offered constructive critiques. I've never seen her offer advise to a model wher the photo didn't come out 10-times better for it. Fortunately, the specifics of why she could't model were that she couldn't be photographed in anyone elses designs. As the manufacturere never returned any of my calls or e-mails we were stuck. Until she pointed out to her boss that she'd recently bought three suits from them for her honeymoon trip. So we sidestepped the issue by having her wear only those outfits.E's sister D is also stunning and professional and fun on a shoot. Cindy impressed me by showing up and looking fantastic despite having the flu. She didn't want to let us down and the photos were fantastic. She is always professional and funny. And all three ofthe models impressed me with their willingness to try something and then add to it.
The boys were funny too. Richard was quiet but smart and funny and Juber was much louder but also funny and sharp. I think everyone there got to hear him joke about his being thankful of getting a Brazillian when he gamingly donned the bannana hammocks (as he called them).
My editors didn't let me use any of the photos of him in the speedo style suit but I still argue that good for the goose should have applied and women's suits are no less revealing. Still, the photos are some of my favorites and I used a pair to do something of a 007 spoof. Or at least it's one in my head.
The next year, the sisters were unavailable, the boys were unavailable and Cindy had become a band teacher at a local Jr. high so modeling in a swimsuit issue could have been a problem. So I really had no models. A friend of my sisters, B, said she'd do it and I managed to find Berta from the year before but didn't hold out much hope when I called her. That's when I learned what she'd been told and came to learn was false the year before. She promised to check her schedule and would call me the next day.
That night she called me to let me know that she and pointed out that she had some friends that were models and some wanted to be in the issue as well. She e-mailed me photos and confirmed who could do the shoots. She really saved me that year as I'd had only a single inexperienced model and I now had 5 with experience as well.
I arranged the suits and now that the manufacturers had seen the issue from the previous year, they let me get the suits wet allowing that the girls could even dive into the water's at the local beach, South Padre Island. I also arranged a primary shoot at a local hotel where we were allowed to use the pools and grounds.The next weekend we went to take photos at the beach and most of the models were actually booked so there was just B, Berta and her friend Mari who was very professional and because of her skills, provided me with the first shoot where I had a makeup and hair artist. She also switched up the way she tied one of the suits making it work even better than the standard over the shoulder's style. We shot most of the day with the three until B had to leave and the rest of the ladies joined us for night shooting and brought along another model with curly locks.
It's always fun to be on a set where everyone gets along and to watch the girls swarm around the new model (I always take model release forms to shoots fortunately) and help choose the best suits for her and giving her advise was one of the sweetest moments I think I've experienced. One of the ladies had her heart set on one suit but thought her new friend Naria would look great in it so she deferred the suit to Naria. I remembered that selflessness when designing the pages making sure that the two jump pages included images that showcased her legs (her favorite feature) and added the splashing out of the water to the double truck. I would have used the photos of the suits either way, but selflessness should never be unrewarded.
It was one of the most fun shoots I've ever been at and on the drive home I felt a warm feeling when I realized the shooter had deferred to me throughout the day and the previous shoot as well. (He'd fought me tooth and nail to make sure the images were glam until that year. He actually told me later that he'd realized I would make his pix look great no matter what so he'd stopped worrying.) I'd managed to pull off a pair of professional and wonderfully fun shoots.
As usual I let the models keep the accessories that they wanted and provided each of them with a CD of their efforts as well.The mag was cancelled later that year but the swimsuit issues still stand as bright spots in my carreer. I was able to organize them from knowing nothing about doing such. I also think I improved the issue every year, the last year the section editor, whom I've a great deal of respect for, said that he was surprised by my story as I had been pretty rough when he'd started there three years previously. He said my story felt like an AP fashion story. He'd only added a pair of commas and a paragraph break.
While I've been told by the SE, the previous SE and many others at the paper that I was doing 90% of the work on the mag, I was never allowed to just take it over except for the swimsuit issues. And, while my name was never in the editor slot, I was always the one congratulated for it by co-workers. Which is another great feeling.People assume that I liked the swimsuit issue because I got to work with photos of beautiful women. The truth is, I think I did a great job on it. Not because it was photos of beautiful women, but because it did what it was suppossed to, and I knew I was responsible for every inch. And others did too.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
sheesh
Having a weak moment in a series of them of late.
Just have a sense of loneliness these days. The friends that I spent time with, there were only two, are pretty unavailable of late. One is actually my ex, but her boyfriend has moved back to the area, so she spends most time with him. The other is married and he and his wife have met a couple that they're spending a lot of time with. Both of these things are great, by the way, and I'm happy for their fortunes.
I too find myself thinking that I'd like to be part of a couple, but that requires another person (preferably with their consent, heh) and I've not found anyone interested. I meet people all the time, but find that I'm pretty much instantly looked upon as a friend, and that's where I stay.
This isn't a new phenomena either. Back in Jr. high (that's what we used to call middle school boys and girls) I would ask girls to dances or somesuch and would get the refrain, "I'm sorry, I don't think of you that way. I just think of you as a friend." It's just one of those things that happens to guys that are pretty nice I suppose.
I don't know how often you ladies (I'm taking a big leap in the idea that, should anyone read this, there may be a double X-chomosome packer among them) have had to deal with this or have delivered this line, but I'll explain why this is one of the more painful things a guy can hear.
First, there is the fact that this is a rejection. That, in and of itself, is a painful thing to deal with. But added to that is the "consolation prize" of being a friend. How many people went home with the Family Feud home edition to look on it sitting on it's shelf and feel the bite of defeat. It's the same with rejection. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying your friendships aren't hugely valuable, they are. What I'm saying is that it is no consolation while you're telling us about the guy that is lucky enough to be in the position we had wished for ourselves just a short time back. We hate him with a passion by the way, through no fault of his own.
The other thing about the "friends" bite is the venom of knowing that this means we are not exactly men in your eyes. We are some neutered thing, not to be thought of for romantic love.
Just consider how painful it is to be emotionally castrated with a hot, dull rock. That's something along the lines of the feeling of knowing that you do have the Y-chromosome, but are not thought of as a man.
Oh, I know, this seems a harsh way of putting it. I must be exaggerating. Really though, it's much more like putting it poetically. The raw emotion is similar to such an event, though, as it's emotional, many a man is adept at hiding it - boys don't cry and all that crap.
That said, I do still put the poetic/proverbial nads on the chopping block from time to time. More often than not, I find myself emotionally grasping my nethers and weeping in a fetal position while saying, "No problem, I understand." The smile must be in place and there is the need to reassure that the person isn't hurting you. It's not really their fault after all. They really are trying to be nice. Right?
A week or two later I'll probably be helping them shop, I've a pretty good eye after all. As I said, friendships are valuable. True friendships are rare and while suffering through the peeling of the scab is rough, I've not enough friends to cast aside the opportunity to make a true one. ... who does?
So I find myself sitting in a silent room, typing this silly tome which probably sounds like I'm borderline suicidal. I'm not by the way, the two of you can relax.
I'm just hoping for an e-mail from the latest person for whom I've let my guard down, with a time and date to meet for coffee. And taking those short bracing breaths before the rock falls.
Just have a sense of loneliness these days. The friends that I spent time with, there were only two, are pretty unavailable of late. One is actually my ex, but her boyfriend has moved back to the area, so she spends most time with him. The other is married and he and his wife have met a couple that they're spending a lot of time with. Both of these things are great, by the way, and I'm happy for their fortunes.
I too find myself thinking that I'd like to be part of a couple, but that requires another person (preferably with their consent, heh) and I've not found anyone interested. I meet people all the time, but find that I'm pretty much instantly looked upon as a friend, and that's where I stay.
This isn't a new phenomena either. Back in Jr. high (that's what we used to call middle school boys and girls) I would ask girls to dances or somesuch and would get the refrain, "I'm sorry, I don't think of you that way. I just think of you as a friend." It's just one of those things that happens to guys that are pretty nice I suppose.
I don't know how often you ladies (I'm taking a big leap in the idea that, should anyone read this, there may be a double X-chomosome packer among them) have had to deal with this or have delivered this line, but I'll explain why this is one of the more painful things a guy can hear.
First, there is the fact that this is a rejection. That, in and of itself, is a painful thing to deal with. But added to that is the "consolation prize" of being a friend. How many people went home with the Family Feud home edition to look on it sitting on it's shelf and feel the bite of defeat. It's the same with rejection. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying your friendships aren't hugely valuable, they are. What I'm saying is that it is no consolation while you're telling us about the guy that is lucky enough to be in the position we had wished for ourselves just a short time back. We hate him with a passion by the way, through no fault of his own.
The other thing about the "friends" bite is the venom of knowing that this means we are not exactly men in your eyes. We are some neutered thing, not to be thought of for romantic love.
Just consider how painful it is to be emotionally castrated with a hot, dull rock. That's something along the lines of the feeling of knowing that you do have the Y-chromosome, but are not thought of as a man.
Oh, I know, this seems a harsh way of putting it. I must be exaggerating. Really though, it's much more like putting it poetically. The raw emotion is similar to such an event, though, as it's emotional, many a man is adept at hiding it - boys don't cry and all that crap.
That said, I do still put the poetic/proverbial nads on the chopping block from time to time. More often than not, I find myself emotionally grasping my nethers and weeping in a fetal position while saying, "No problem, I understand." The smile must be in place and there is the need to reassure that the person isn't hurting you. It's not really their fault after all. They really are trying to be nice. Right?
A week or two later I'll probably be helping them shop, I've a pretty good eye after all. As I said, friendships are valuable. True friendships are rare and while suffering through the peeling of the scab is rough, I've not enough friends to cast aside the opportunity to make a true one. ... who does?
So I find myself sitting in a silent room, typing this silly tome which probably sounds like I'm borderline suicidal. I'm not by the way, the two of you can relax.
I'm just hoping for an e-mail from the latest person for whom I've let my guard down, with a time and date to meet for coffee. And taking those short bracing breaths before the rock falls.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
That kid
You'll probably get pissed early on with this entry (the two of the 6-billion plus on the planet that actually read it I mean) but bear with me for a bit.
I occasionally have an internal debate as to whether to vote or not. In recent years, not voting has started to gain some footing.
The push to not bother is largely based on two points.
Point number one is largely based on the comedy of George Carlin. His argument was based on the idea that, by abstaining from the system, he reserved the right to complain. If I vote for the guy who wins and he turns out to be a tool, as they almost invariably do, I put him in office; it's my fault. If I vote for a loser, it's my fault for not doing more. So abstaining from the voting process, the fault lies on you voters. That'll probably be down to the two that read this by the coming presidential election.
So I can complain based on the idea that you (yes you two again) did this to me.
Thin argument?
Yep.
Point number two plays well into the cynicism that I often wrap myself in.
I'm going to wander off on a tangent here so feel free to wander off for popcorn or to go to the restroom. The words will be here when you get back.
*insert elevator music here*
When I was a kid, I believed. I still want to. God's love and the idea that everything would work out was something that could be wrapped up tight about you, a down comforter to keep you toasty as you waited for the cocoa to be done.
It's a ratty sheet at this point, so I tend to turn to the itchy but somewhat comforting warmth of cynicism.
Cynicism works so well with point two because it's based on the fact that there is no one to vote for.
Re-read that, both of you, please.
I find that more often than not, I'm trying to decide on a new or old devil. And inertia dictates that nature abhors change. So we stick to a guy the person we all know and have known all our lives. We keep him in office even though he's that kid.
You know which kid I'm talking about. The one in class that always asked questions. The one that didn't quite get the fundamental concept that the teacher was trying to impart so they kept asking questions. As the year wore on you started to realize they weren't trying for clarity, they were trying to memorize portions of what was being said. Nuggets of information to regurgitate during the tests. That kid that did well enough to keep from flunking, only because they'd be punished for doing so. That kid whom you initially felt sorry for, but as the year wore on; you started to resent them.
You yearned for the opportunity to learn more but that kid created significant intellectual drag. How could you move on to the theoretical when you couldn't achieve the lift to move beyond the fundamental? So somewhere, deep inside you resented that kid.
At the beginning of the year you'd hand that kid the milk when they couldn't reach it. You lent that kid pencil and paper when they were short. You helped that kid.
Towards the end of the year you realized that, when asked, you'd hand that kid the milk while rolling your eyes. You no longer had paper and pencil to share with that kid, unless grudgingly. And the more the year rolled on the more you realized you were doing this and you resented being this person that is angry at that kid for his shortcomings.
By the end of the year, you just wanted to get away from that kid.
So here we are, just a few weeks from the end of a presidential term. That kid has had the run of the playground. And you have a chance to take the ball bin back for the kids that want to learn. Here's your chance.
But who to give control of the bin too? There's the rub.
Most of the students who are vying for that control are just like that kid. Maybe they haven't been in your class all year, but you can tell them by now. Their shoes are shiny up front but tarnished behind. They care what you think of them coming, but not once they've moved beyond you. And in politics, the playground is filled with that kid and his clones.
We try to see the good kid inside. The sweet fellow that we handed the milk too, shared supplies with, maybe even gave up the after school soda for, to lend them lunch money. We want that kid, the one we loved and cared about. The one we wanted to succeed. That's the kid we want to give control of the bin too.
But politics is filled with that kid instead. So we don't vote for that kid from our class. But we still vote for that kid from some other class, because that's all there is to choose from.
We hope and pray that the kid we wanted to help, that we wanted to share our things with and take care of wins.
Don't you want the kid they were to succeed?
Don't you want to vote for that precious little angel?
And that's where we all fuck up. That precious little angel isn't the one to vote for. He's that kid in gestation.
Why vote for that kid in the hopes that he isn't that kid. The one who should be getting the vote is you. The you from the beginning of the year. The you that held out your hand to the less fortunate. To the less gifted. To the kid you knew was going to hold you back.
That's who I want to vote for.
Vote FOR.
When's the last time you did that?
I want to vote for you.
You, who sheltered the less fortunate.
You, who cares about others.
You, who seeks knowledge with an unquenchable thirst.
I want to vote for YOU.
But you won't run.
I don't blame you. I won't either.
It takes someone flawless in this day and age to run. Or a wish to be torn apart for the slightest of indescretions. The flaws that make you human make you undesireable here.
Or, it takes, a gifted liar.
Or that kid, surrounded by those who can do the lying for them.
There's no one to vote for. That's' argument number two.
It's a really good one too. But it doesn't stop me from dropping my marble in the jar. Not yet.
Because I still want to believe. It's the only argument that I can still hang on to. Not belief. A wish for it.
So I'll see you in line in November.
Because I want to believe.
I occasionally have an internal debate as to whether to vote or not. In recent years, not voting has started to gain some footing.
The push to not bother is largely based on two points.
Point number one is largely based on the comedy of George Carlin. His argument was based on the idea that, by abstaining from the system, he reserved the right to complain. If I vote for the guy who wins and he turns out to be a tool, as they almost invariably do, I put him in office; it's my fault. If I vote for a loser, it's my fault for not doing more. So abstaining from the voting process, the fault lies on you voters. That'll probably be down to the two that read this by the coming presidential election.
So I can complain based on the idea that you (yes you two again) did this to me.
Thin argument?
Yep.
Point number two plays well into the cynicism that I often wrap myself in.
I'm going to wander off on a tangent here so feel free to wander off for popcorn or to go to the restroom. The words will be here when you get back.
*insert elevator music here*
When I was a kid, I believed. I still want to. God's love and the idea that everything would work out was something that could be wrapped up tight about you, a down comforter to keep you toasty as you waited for the cocoa to be done.
It's a ratty sheet at this point, so I tend to turn to the itchy but somewhat comforting warmth of cynicism.
Cynicism works so well with point two because it's based on the fact that there is no one to vote for.
Re-read that, both of you, please.
I find that more often than not, I'm trying to decide on a new or old devil. And inertia dictates that nature abhors change. So we stick to a guy the person we all know and have known all our lives. We keep him in office even though he's that kid.
You know which kid I'm talking about. The one in class that always asked questions. The one that didn't quite get the fundamental concept that the teacher was trying to impart so they kept asking questions. As the year wore on you started to realize they weren't trying for clarity, they were trying to memorize portions of what was being said. Nuggets of information to regurgitate during the tests. That kid that did well enough to keep from flunking, only because they'd be punished for doing so. That kid whom you initially felt sorry for, but as the year wore on; you started to resent them.
You yearned for the opportunity to learn more but that kid created significant intellectual drag. How could you move on to the theoretical when you couldn't achieve the lift to move beyond the fundamental? So somewhere, deep inside you resented that kid.
At the beginning of the year you'd hand that kid the milk when they couldn't reach it. You lent that kid pencil and paper when they were short. You helped that kid.
Towards the end of the year you realized that, when asked, you'd hand that kid the milk while rolling your eyes. You no longer had paper and pencil to share with that kid, unless grudgingly. And the more the year rolled on the more you realized you were doing this and you resented being this person that is angry at that kid for his shortcomings.
By the end of the year, you just wanted to get away from that kid.
So here we are, just a few weeks from the end of a presidential term. That kid has had the run of the playground. And you have a chance to take the ball bin back for the kids that want to learn. Here's your chance.
But who to give control of the bin too? There's the rub.
Most of the students who are vying for that control are just like that kid. Maybe they haven't been in your class all year, but you can tell them by now. Their shoes are shiny up front but tarnished behind. They care what you think of them coming, but not once they've moved beyond you. And in politics, the playground is filled with that kid and his clones.
We try to see the good kid inside. The sweet fellow that we handed the milk too, shared supplies with, maybe even gave up the after school soda for, to lend them lunch money. We want that kid, the one we loved and cared about. The one we wanted to succeed. That's the kid we want to give control of the bin too.
But politics is filled with that kid instead. So we don't vote for that kid from our class. But we still vote for that kid from some other class, because that's all there is to choose from.
We hope and pray that the kid we wanted to help, that we wanted to share our things with and take care of wins.
Don't you want the kid they were to succeed?
Don't you want to vote for that precious little angel?
And that's where we all fuck up. That precious little angel isn't the one to vote for. He's that kid in gestation.
Why vote for that kid in the hopes that he isn't that kid. The one who should be getting the vote is you. The you from the beginning of the year. The you that held out your hand to the less fortunate. To the less gifted. To the kid you knew was going to hold you back.
That's who I want to vote for.
Vote FOR.
When's the last time you did that?
I want to vote for you.
You, who sheltered the less fortunate.
You, who cares about others.
You, who seeks knowledge with an unquenchable thirst.
I want to vote for YOU.
But you won't run.
I don't blame you. I won't either.
It takes someone flawless in this day and age to run. Or a wish to be torn apart for the slightest of indescretions. The flaws that make you human make you undesireable here.
Or, it takes, a gifted liar.
Or that kid, surrounded by those who can do the lying for them.
There's no one to vote for. That's' argument number two.
It's a really good one too. But it doesn't stop me from dropping my marble in the jar. Not yet.
Because I still want to believe. It's the only argument that I can still hang on to. Not belief. A wish for it.
So I'll see you in line in November.
Because I want to believe.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Prehistoric Psychobabble pt. 2: Or, Why do they bother to make porn?
First off, I want to point out that this is somewhat mature subject matter so if you don’t think you can read it without giggling to yourself, you might want to stop here. I don’t think my words are definitive in the least, more like musings, but I do think I’m onto something.
While the connection between pornography and the basic psychology between men and women may be obvious, sit back and think about it for a moment. Is it really?
There aren’t a lot of interpersonal relationships in pornography beyond the corporeal anyway. Really, porn sex is almost a violent act as it’s reduced to the basic mechanics with the addition of uncomfortable positions and odd situating. About the only positive point is that a guy in a porno is more likely to perform cunnilingus in porn than in real life. The same of the reciprocal to such and really, that’s kind of a shame.
The biological action is pretty much what porn focuses on – and not just with the embarrassing close-ups I mean. But that’s really where the connection seems to be made.
In the introduction to Prehistoric Psychobabble, I spoke of he reptilian brain (called the id by Sigmund Freud) and my preference to refer to it as the infant mind. So let’s start there.
If you’re familiar with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, it starts with survival or the basic needs for such anyway.
From a biological standpoint, there are about four real requirements for survival – food, water, shelter and procreation.
Food and water often comes down to the ability to obtain such. I often joke that basic physiology reveals me as a predator because of the eyes on the front of my head for seeking rather than on the sides for evading and canines. But many predators have strongly peripheral binocular vision so that’s not really much of a tell. Add to that the fact that human’s canines aren’t particularly pronounced, and haven’t been for centuries, and you realize how flimsy that argument is as well.
No, our basic design is that of an omnivore. We have the ability and genetic predisposition to seek out both animal and vegetable protein.
This means that by our very makeup we’re intended, as are all living things, to compete for nutrients.
As we have become more adept at obtaining these basic needs, we have been able to drop our guards to a limited extent, but the nature is still there. The subconscious belief that we are competing for the basics is still there. And as money has become part of the picture, competition for such has entered the fray as well.
All animals have this drive to a certain extent. There is this need for self-preservation, but we’ve no proof that they seek ill to befall others unless as a direct result of confrontation. That is just a case of survival instinct so selfishness isn’t really part of the proceedings.
Humans, on the other hand, do have the tendency of wishing ill on the others. We label them in whatever way we choose which is where prejudices are able to take a stronger root. (The detection of differences is another animal trait as almost all animals can tell slight differences and tend to treat “others” differently.) The root is already there, but so too is the ability to reason. It is already there for us and other higher order animals or else problem-solving skills would be unable to take root either.
So we tag on ethnic slurs, we separate based on pigment, sex, religion – our minds are constantly seeking to relegate that around us into compartments and we see each other as things to be neatly categorized as well.
Now here is where I think the mind becomes more like that of an infant.
We are all willing to accept, as a rote, that infants know how the mother is feeling. We’ve all been told such and studies show that the child is attuned to mother’s moods and such. Not only that, but we also know that children commonly display an affection for their mother from an early age and a love is born.
But the suckling child therefore knows that the mother is hurting when she becomes chaffed, if milk production isn’t keeping pace with the growing child or when the teeth begin to come in. So this infant is aware that seeking sustenance is causing another pain. Not just any other, but the person that means more to it than anything else in the world. On a certain level, their mother is their world.
It’s not greed, don’t get me wrong. I did think that this was a certain level of evil for some time but I’ve come to believe that it’s a natural, indeed to a certain extent necessary aggression.
But to call that part of our brain that stores the aggression and darkest parts of our minds the reptilian brain, is silly. Reptiles operate purely on instinct and therefore have no real understanding that what they are doing is causing any harm. It’s a lack of progression in thinking that I’m referring too.
Psychologists have said for years that there is a point where people become aware that the world goes on when they close their eyes. The acceptance of such is one of the reasons that young children are supposed to suddenly develop aversions to sleep as they’re afraid of what they’re missing. But the infant understands that its eyes may be closed, but their mother is still there. So the realization may be there, but really, it’s just a progression into a higher thinking level. And I hold that we are somewhat unique in questioning that there is anyone or anything else there to begin with, putting the infant mind on a higher plane than that of the reptile.
But there’s still the question of the knowledge that gaining sustenance is hurting mom.
This progression of this aggression is necessary for us to make the jump to eating animals and therefore allowing us a significant source of protein. But it also allows us to wish ill on others.
I sometimes think it silly to liken higher thinking to such a thing. But then I think, are we truly doing evil if we don’t know we’re harming another?
Whales have no idea how many countless krill they kill on a daily basis. Could they do so if they thought of each of them as a unique and individual being?
So we’re left to see the idea of the infant mind being of a higher order, but slightly more aggressive than the reptilian mind, specifically because it can reason and therefore know that the consequences for it’s actions will be paid for by another.
In Freud’s terms, I think that this function lies between the id and the superego, leaning toward the id. But it serves as the conduit between these two components of our consciousness. So the lower thinking portion will have the dark thought; the infant mind refines it and then it comes to our conscious thoughts.
The comedy series Scrubs did a great job of showing this actually. One character had a boyfriend and her male friend asked her to study something with him, or something like that. When the male friend was asked what he thought was going to happen he imagined himself and the young lady on a rowboat. They move closer, as if to kiss, and then we see that the boyfriend is tied up on the bottom of the boat, the pair toss him over the side to his death and then embrace.
Silly, of course, but it shows the thoughts that flash in a person’s head. The idea of causing harm to another to get what we want is one of the things that separates us from the animals. We know we’re hurting the other person.
But it’s not confined to pain, it’s actually the basis of rationalizing almost anything. And it can take all sorts of forms.
Which brings us back to porn and procreation.
In order to survive we need food, water, shelter and to procreate thereby surviving by passing our genes along the way. Food and water, we covered, shelter, is pretty much all around us but procreation … the basic principles of hunting and gathering no longer quite apply.
Oh, they’re there to some extent, but procreation requires that the other party agree to such. And at first I thought that was the point behind porn.
Speaking with a pal, he said something along the lines of being able to believe that women would do that in reference to what they’d seen in a porn film. That seemed logical to me. In truth, it’s the case to a large extent. But I think it’s more than that now. (Odd how insomnia and a wish to occupy a bored mind lets ideas bounce and bake in your mind.)
I think porn plays to that place where id and infant meet. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of our minds we see these images and a teeny portion of our mind allows us to think it’s real. To those that self gratify while watching, it becomes harder to distinguish where the reality of the situation ends. Not in the super ego or ego, it’s quite clear there, but deeper.
For the most part, this boils down to porn representing actual sex to that tiny portion of the mind. To that small expanse driven to spread the genetic material. Which also explains why men tend to gravitate more toward porn than women as some conjecture that males look to spread their seed over a broader spectrum than women. Owed mostly to the investment in gestation and the ability for the woman to know the child is theirs. Recent studies support the idea of the child looking more like the father in the first 3 years owing to the idea that this makes the father feel more of a connection.
The idea has been percolating in my mind, for the past month or so, that this is where the connection is made. Meaning that porn predominantly prospers per proliferation predisposition. :D
Basically, porn makes people think they have had sex in the deep recesses of their mind and so sex is readily available for cover price.
Of course, it could all just be that guys likes neekid womens.
Kind of rambling I know, but I usually just write stuff on the fly and this is no exception. The concepts have been running in my head for quite a while now, and the connection locked about a month and a half ago. I’d been looking for a reason to step back into the Pre-Psych topic and knew that I wanted to start with an explanation of the infant and reptilian minds. While I believe the two distinct, I think that they’re often referred to as one and the same in pop psychology. And I believe it’s a disservice for humans to not own up to our vices. How else can we face and try to overcome them/
And one last thing. While I think we all have these thought processes inside us, I also believe that we have the ability to overcome them. Dark thought always percolate in the recesses of our minds after all, its’ what we do with that, and our willingness to look beyond ourselves that truly make us human. Why else does light shine so bright in the darkness?
While the connection between pornography and the basic psychology between men and women may be obvious, sit back and think about it for a moment. Is it really?
There aren’t a lot of interpersonal relationships in pornography beyond the corporeal anyway. Really, porn sex is almost a violent act as it’s reduced to the basic mechanics with the addition of uncomfortable positions and odd situating. About the only positive point is that a guy in a porno is more likely to perform cunnilingus in porn than in real life. The same of the reciprocal to such and really, that’s kind of a shame.
The biological action is pretty much what porn focuses on – and not just with the embarrassing close-ups I mean. But that’s really where the connection seems to be made.
In the introduction to Prehistoric Psychobabble, I spoke of he reptilian brain (called the id by Sigmund Freud) and my preference to refer to it as the infant mind. So let’s start there.
If you’re familiar with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, it starts with survival or the basic needs for such anyway.
From a biological standpoint, there are about four real requirements for survival – food, water, shelter and procreation.
Food and water often comes down to the ability to obtain such. I often joke that basic physiology reveals me as a predator because of the eyes on the front of my head for seeking rather than on the sides for evading and canines. But many predators have strongly peripheral binocular vision so that’s not really much of a tell. Add to that the fact that human’s canines aren’t particularly pronounced, and haven’t been for centuries, and you realize how flimsy that argument is as well.
No, our basic design is that of an omnivore. We have the ability and genetic predisposition to seek out both animal and vegetable protein.
This means that by our very makeup we’re intended, as are all living things, to compete for nutrients.
As we have become more adept at obtaining these basic needs, we have been able to drop our guards to a limited extent, but the nature is still there. The subconscious belief that we are competing for the basics is still there. And as money has become part of the picture, competition for such has entered the fray as well.
All animals have this drive to a certain extent. There is this need for self-preservation, but we’ve no proof that they seek ill to befall others unless as a direct result of confrontation. That is just a case of survival instinct so selfishness isn’t really part of the proceedings.
Humans, on the other hand, do have the tendency of wishing ill on the others. We label them in whatever way we choose which is where prejudices are able to take a stronger root. (The detection of differences is another animal trait as almost all animals can tell slight differences and tend to treat “others” differently.) The root is already there, but so too is the ability to reason. It is already there for us and other higher order animals or else problem-solving skills would be unable to take root either.
So we tag on ethnic slurs, we separate based on pigment, sex, religion – our minds are constantly seeking to relegate that around us into compartments and we see each other as things to be neatly categorized as well.
Now here is where I think the mind becomes more like that of an infant.
We are all willing to accept, as a rote, that infants know how the mother is feeling. We’ve all been told such and studies show that the child is attuned to mother’s moods and such. Not only that, but we also know that children commonly display an affection for their mother from an early age and a love is born.
But the suckling child therefore knows that the mother is hurting when she becomes chaffed, if milk production isn’t keeping pace with the growing child or when the teeth begin to come in. So this infant is aware that seeking sustenance is causing another pain. Not just any other, but the person that means more to it than anything else in the world. On a certain level, their mother is their world.
It’s not greed, don’t get me wrong. I did think that this was a certain level of evil for some time but I’ve come to believe that it’s a natural, indeed to a certain extent necessary aggression.
But to call that part of our brain that stores the aggression and darkest parts of our minds the reptilian brain, is silly. Reptiles operate purely on instinct and therefore have no real understanding that what they are doing is causing any harm. It’s a lack of progression in thinking that I’m referring too.
Psychologists have said for years that there is a point where people become aware that the world goes on when they close their eyes. The acceptance of such is one of the reasons that young children are supposed to suddenly develop aversions to sleep as they’re afraid of what they’re missing. But the infant understands that its eyes may be closed, but their mother is still there. So the realization may be there, but really, it’s just a progression into a higher thinking level. And I hold that we are somewhat unique in questioning that there is anyone or anything else there to begin with, putting the infant mind on a higher plane than that of the reptile.
But there’s still the question of the knowledge that gaining sustenance is hurting mom.
This progression of this aggression is necessary for us to make the jump to eating animals and therefore allowing us a significant source of protein. But it also allows us to wish ill on others.
I sometimes think it silly to liken higher thinking to such a thing. But then I think, are we truly doing evil if we don’t know we’re harming another?
Whales have no idea how many countless krill they kill on a daily basis. Could they do so if they thought of each of them as a unique and individual being?
So we’re left to see the idea of the infant mind being of a higher order, but slightly more aggressive than the reptilian mind, specifically because it can reason and therefore know that the consequences for it’s actions will be paid for by another.
In Freud’s terms, I think that this function lies between the id and the superego, leaning toward the id. But it serves as the conduit between these two components of our consciousness. So the lower thinking portion will have the dark thought; the infant mind refines it and then it comes to our conscious thoughts.
The comedy series Scrubs did a great job of showing this actually. One character had a boyfriend and her male friend asked her to study something with him, or something like that. When the male friend was asked what he thought was going to happen he imagined himself and the young lady on a rowboat. They move closer, as if to kiss, and then we see that the boyfriend is tied up on the bottom of the boat, the pair toss him over the side to his death and then embrace.
Silly, of course, but it shows the thoughts that flash in a person’s head. The idea of causing harm to another to get what we want is one of the things that separates us from the animals. We know we’re hurting the other person.
But it’s not confined to pain, it’s actually the basis of rationalizing almost anything. And it can take all sorts of forms.
Which brings us back to porn and procreation.
In order to survive we need food, water, shelter and to procreate thereby surviving by passing our genes along the way. Food and water, we covered, shelter, is pretty much all around us but procreation … the basic principles of hunting and gathering no longer quite apply.
Oh, they’re there to some extent, but procreation requires that the other party agree to such. And at first I thought that was the point behind porn.
Speaking with a pal, he said something along the lines of being able to believe that women would do that in reference to what they’d seen in a porn film. That seemed logical to me. In truth, it’s the case to a large extent. But I think it’s more than that now. (Odd how insomnia and a wish to occupy a bored mind lets ideas bounce and bake in your mind.)
I think porn plays to that place where id and infant meet. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of our minds we see these images and a teeny portion of our mind allows us to think it’s real. To those that self gratify while watching, it becomes harder to distinguish where the reality of the situation ends. Not in the super ego or ego, it’s quite clear there, but deeper.
For the most part, this boils down to porn representing actual sex to that tiny portion of the mind. To that small expanse driven to spread the genetic material. Which also explains why men tend to gravitate more toward porn than women as some conjecture that males look to spread their seed over a broader spectrum than women. Owed mostly to the investment in gestation and the ability for the woman to know the child is theirs. Recent studies support the idea of the child looking more like the father in the first 3 years owing to the idea that this makes the father feel more of a connection.
The idea has been percolating in my mind, for the past month or so, that this is where the connection is made. Meaning that porn predominantly prospers per proliferation predisposition. :D
Basically, porn makes people think they have had sex in the deep recesses of their mind and so sex is readily available for cover price.
Of course, it could all just be that guys likes neekid womens.
Kind of rambling I know, but I usually just write stuff on the fly and this is no exception. The concepts have been running in my head for quite a while now, and the connection locked about a month and a half ago. I’d been looking for a reason to step back into the Pre-Psych topic and knew that I wanted to start with an explanation of the infant and reptilian minds. While I believe the two distinct, I think that they’re often referred to as one and the same in pop psychology. And I believe it’s a disservice for humans to not own up to our vices. How else can we face and try to overcome them/
And one last thing. While I think we all have these thought processes inside us, I also believe that we have the ability to overcome them. Dark thought always percolate in the recesses of our minds after all, its’ what we do with that, and our willingness to look beyond ourselves that truly make us human. Why else does light shine so bright in the darkness?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Putting asside history's rough draft
I got my start in journalism in January of 1999.
I was four weeks from graduating from Texas State Technical College with an associate of applied science degree in Digital Imaging Technology. I hadn't even applied for the job that I got.
I'd applied to fill an opening for a copy editor, which is basically a page designer of the daily pages with very little editing involved, and I'd put in an application and sent in my portfolio. I was never called back.
After two weeks, I just wanted my portfolio back to send in for other jobs. So I called the managing editor and she said I could come in and get it any time. I had an hour between the end of my morning classes and the time I had to report in to work, so I went to pick up my portfolio.
I thought it would just be handed over until she came to the reception area and I saw that she didn't have it with her. Then she asked if she could see me in her office.
Turns out the Features editor was on his way out, and they were in the process of creating an entertainment supplement. I had been working in a sign shop for two years and the managing editor liked that I had experience. She interviewed me for an hour asking various questions about choiced I'd made in designs that I'd submitted. I admitted that some choices were made because of time limitations and other constraints. Explained that I often gave myself a handicap when working on school projects because I knew that in the real world there would be limitations. (The one that frustrated my instructors the most, and I think taught me the most, was deciding that I would only work in black and white for one semester, because it's cheaper to reproduce and I knew cost would be an issue for some clients in the future.)
After the hour she called in the woman who was going to take over the Features editor position and the pair of them grilled me for another hour. (I would have left sooner as I was running late for work, but I knew the interview was going well and desperately wanted out of my current possition.) And then they said that they were going to call my references and would give me a call when they had a decision.
I expected to be waiting another week or so.
They called me at work 10 minutes later and asked if I could start that day. I said yes.
When I told my employers that I was giving my two weeks notice, they were stunned. I found a replacement and spent the next two weeks training him, designing the new entertainment supplement (they'd only had a logo that they didn't' like and so I had to redesign that too) and going to school full-time.
When I was first introduced around, by the managing editor, she literally did a double take when I asked the head of production if there was anything about the paper or presses that I should be aware of when designing. He did the same. I learned that the presses ran a little heavy on the cyan and had a 10% dot gain.
I was hooked from day one. I've never thought about leaving the fourth estate since. Whenever thinking of looking for a new job, leaving history's first draft behind never crossed my mind.
Until now.
I've been growing so wearly of all the stupid little politics at work and all of the grind of crap that is heaped upon me.
Added to that, I've taken on more than my fair share, always go above and beyond to produce and have sought to constantly learn more and do an even better job than expected. Constantly striving and despite being hobbled by those around me.
But I deeply love journalism.
Still, the idea of leaving is heavy in my mind of late. Advertising seems a fun place to go, but I'm not certain.
Yesterday, I spoke with my immediate supervisor about this, among other sinking feeling. He spoke to me first as a boss and assured me that I'm much more valued in the company than I think and that all management thinks a lot of me.
Then he said that, as a friend, he hopes that I don't leave the industry. He said that he feels I'm an asset to the industry, not just the paper but the industry.
It was really nice to hear. Don't know how much I buy it and how much of it is just trying to make a pal feel better, or even an employer trying to stroke an employee's ego, but it was nice to hear.
I don't know if I'll be leaving the industry. I know that I love what I do, but haven't really felt any real drive in a while.
I still produce on a consistent basis, I'm still doing a solid job, but I find that going above and beyond feels almost hollow. When you know your big reward is just a paycheck — and that the same can be said of those who do the bare minimum, sometimes less than such — it hold less sway.
So at this point, I'm not sure if I produce as consistently, solidly and aggressively because I'm driven by my job, or if I just don't know how to do less. It seems more likely that I just don't know any better.
Still, I honestly love what I do, even if I don't really love the job itself anymore.
I was four weeks from graduating from Texas State Technical College with an associate of applied science degree in Digital Imaging Technology. I hadn't even applied for the job that I got.
I'd applied to fill an opening for a copy editor, which is basically a page designer of the daily pages with very little editing involved, and I'd put in an application and sent in my portfolio. I was never called back.
After two weeks, I just wanted my portfolio back to send in for other jobs. So I called the managing editor and she said I could come in and get it any time. I had an hour between the end of my morning classes and the time I had to report in to work, so I went to pick up my portfolio.
I thought it would just be handed over until she came to the reception area and I saw that she didn't have it with her. Then she asked if she could see me in her office.
Turns out the Features editor was on his way out, and they were in the process of creating an entertainment supplement. I had been working in a sign shop for two years and the managing editor liked that I had experience. She interviewed me for an hour asking various questions about choiced I'd made in designs that I'd submitted. I admitted that some choices were made because of time limitations and other constraints. Explained that I often gave myself a handicap when working on school projects because I knew that in the real world there would be limitations. (The one that frustrated my instructors the most, and I think taught me the most, was deciding that I would only work in black and white for one semester, because it's cheaper to reproduce and I knew cost would be an issue for some clients in the future.)
After the hour she called in the woman who was going to take over the Features editor position and the pair of them grilled me for another hour. (I would have left sooner as I was running late for work, but I knew the interview was going well and desperately wanted out of my current possition.) And then they said that they were going to call my references and would give me a call when they had a decision.
I expected to be waiting another week or so.
They called me at work 10 minutes later and asked if I could start that day. I said yes.
When I told my employers that I was giving my two weeks notice, they were stunned. I found a replacement and spent the next two weeks training him, designing the new entertainment supplement (they'd only had a logo that they didn't' like and so I had to redesign that too) and going to school full-time.
When I was first introduced around, by the managing editor, she literally did a double take when I asked the head of production if there was anything about the paper or presses that I should be aware of when designing. He did the same. I learned that the presses ran a little heavy on the cyan and had a 10% dot gain.
I was hooked from day one. I've never thought about leaving the fourth estate since. Whenever thinking of looking for a new job, leaving history's first draft behind never crossed my mind.
Until now.
I've been growing so wearly of all the stupid little politics at work and all of the grind of crap that is heaped upon me.
Added to that, I've taken on more than my fair share, always go above and beyond to produce and have sought to constantly learn more and do an even better job than expected. Constantly striving and despite being hobbled by those around me.
But I deeply love journalism.
Still, the idea of leaving is heavy in my mind of late. Advertising seems a fun place to go, but I'm not certain.
Yesterday, I spoke with my immediate supervisor about this, among other sinking feeling. He spoke to me first as a boss and assured me that I'm much more valued in the company than I think and that all management thinks a lot of me.
Then he said that, as a friend, he hopes that I don't leave the industry. He said that he feels I'm an asset to the industry, not just the paper but the industry.
It was really nice to hear. Don't know how much I buy it and how much of it is just trying to make a pal feel better, or even an employer trying to stroke an employee's ego, but it was nice to hear.
I don't know if I'll be leaving the industry. I know that I love what I do, but haven't really felt any real drive in a while.
I still produce on a consistent basis, I'm still doing a solid job, but I find that going above and beyond feels almost hollow. When you know your big reward is just a paycheck — and that the same can be said of those who do the bare minimum, sometimes less than such — it hold less sway.
So at this point, I'm not sure if I produce as consistently, solidly and aggressively because I'm driven by my job, or if I just don't know how to do less. It seems more likely that I just don't know any better.
Still, I honestly love what I do, even if I don't really love the job itself anymore.
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