To be fair, this was unintentional. Had I known the actual truth (as I do now) I may have very well snapped the remaining thread of sanity holding me upright or thrown myself from a balcony screaming.
On my way home from work yesterday I put together some thoughts for a video blog. I wrote down eleven points I wanted to discuss including an upcoming trip, a holiday card I’m sending to readers, and a story about not picking up my dog’s poop (which I still don’t do even though I promised you I would).
I got home and set up the camera and laid out my notes. Usually what happens is that I have to film the segment multiple times. In the first few takes I’ll inevitably screw up the timing a joke or jumble some words or forget what the hell I was going to talk about next.
Once I get a solid full-length recording I’ll review it from start to finish with a discerning eye. Ten times out of ten I realize I waxed on too long about something that wasn’t entertaining or funny. Since my videos are only a few minutes long, I decide to re-record the entire video. This takes another two to three attempts.
Then I edit and produce. The whole project from start to finish takes about an hour to complete a two-minute segment. And if you’ve seen my videos, you’ll be surprised to learn that I can’t do it quicker. I’m not exactly Federico Fellini, for chrissakes.
Back to last night – I started recording and kept screwing up the intro. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to thank everyone for reading my blog or wish them a happy holidays first. The words kept stumbling over themselves and I found myself doing take after take. I couldn’t get the intro right no matter what. I even rehearsed a few times after a dozen missteps. Nothing was working.
But I had committed to getting this video done. Plus, I have done enough of these vlogs in the past to know it just takes a few more attempts. I would eventually get it.
Four hours later, without a break, I got it done.
My voice was croaky and my eyes bloodshot. I couldn’t stand for more than a few seconds because I would get dizzy. For four hours I made mistake after mistake and couldn’t land the plane. My dedication, however, was unwavering. I kept going. And going.
I called Beth after I was done. She’s been on TV dozens of times and never needed more that one take for her segments, and many are filmed live in studio where mistakes are not permitted. I figured she’d get a kick out of my failures.
—
Had a little trouble tonight with the video – I’m pretty sure I did around seventy-five takes.
Holy shit, that’s nuts! You’re crazy.
Yes, going to pass out now.
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So tonight Beth came over and, just for a goof I suggested I count up all yesterday’s takes, because that whole evening had been a blur. I probably had done more than seventy five.
Well, I started with file 18 – and then each take goes up sequentially by one. I ended up with file 216.
Yes, without exaggeration or mathematical error, I made 198 different attempts to film a two-minute video.
I couldn’t hardly believe it myself, but yet, there they were.
I’d like to think that I’m a hero to the undisciplined, that this is a shining example on how tenacity and perseverance can get you places. And I guess, in some small way that’s true.
But this was just plain lunacy. I remember at one point I noticed I had been unconsciously picking at a callous on the bottom of my big toe. I reached up to scratch my nose and I saw blood on my fingers. I had ripped through the callous into the actual skin. Didn’t feel it – had no idea. And I’m a guy that has never picked at himself – not even a scab.
I was out of my mind, I guess.
It’s clear I was having an off night. In fact it was the most off night I’ve ever had, creatively.
I’m not sure what to make of this psychologically. I was a rabid dog that was clamped onto a mailman’s leg unwilling to let go. And the end product wasn’t even that entertaining. Just a dumb “here’s what’s been going on” video.
So there it is folks. My craziness, front and center. I’m going to let it retreat for awhile in the corner of my psyche where it can rest. It’s earned some well-needed time off.
]]>Packing for a weekend home with my parents I aim high. I bring jeans, two pairs of dress pants, several solid color t-shirts, two button-down shirts, a polo, and workout clothes.
I also pack a book, my HD webcam, and notepad. Of course I pre-load the phone with audiobooks and podcasts so I won’t be bored during the drive.
Here is my actual plan…
During Drive Goals
- Call four friends that I’ve been putting off.
- Listen to more of Outliers by Gladwell.
- Play last weeks’ This American Life and The Moth.
- When brilliant joke and blog ideas come into my head (and they surely will) have pen handy to jot down the awesomeness.
- Spend 15 minutes with just me – no noise. See what feelings and thoughts come up.
What Actually Happens
- I call one friend, monopolize the conversation and twenty minutes later hang up after he tells me he “really has to go.”
- Listen to four minutes of Outliers as Gladwell’s voice puts me into a Valium flashback.
- After twenty minutes of TAL they introduce a fiction piece – I turn off. I want to hear real stories like on The Moth – but sometimes The Moth is super depressing. Best not risk it.
- One good joke comes into my head, but by the time I fish around for the moleskine notebook it disappears into the ether. I return to thinking about the Coexist bumper sticker I just saw and wonder if the dude who made it gets any royalties.
- I spent 5 minutes with just me – no noise. Start interviewing myself as if I’m on a talk show. Realize this is severe narcissism and stop thinking altogether.
When I get to Peoria, my plan to work out, finally get my QuickBooks thing up and running, complete my to-do list of activities, record a vlog about some funny story from my childhood, respond to every tweet and blog comment from the past week, call several friends who live in town and go out every night to meet up for drinks.
Smash cut to Saturday night where I’m passed out on the family room couch from eating too many ribs. I will nap from 6-9pm and then wake up, check my email, and go back to bed by 11pm. I will arise the next day at 9am. Since I still had those two PayDay bars I bought at the gas station on the way down, I will find them in my overnight bag and eat them for breakfast. Clearly I’m not in shape to run after that so I head to the kitchen, eat some fruit while baking seven strips of bacon. I will also have chips and salsa.
Even though my mom has said since Friday, “Why don’t we all go to church on Sunday? C’mon it’ll be fun!” My sister and I will look at her with blank stares. She will not be able to get us out of bed in time for service, and I will also complain that I forgot to bring home a suit.
No workouts will be completed, no wearing of the dress clothes, no hanging out on the town. Just a lot of food and sleep. And spending time with the one group that doesn’t care how much I accomplish or not-accomplish – my family.
And yes, the dog is coming. Photos to follow.
That was the last time I took a bath. Well, it’s Saturday night and my dance card is empty, so it’s time for a soak. …In a porcelain tub with a glass of water. And a cat walking around. And a dog hiding because she thinks I’m going to pull her in (which I totally do, it’s how she gets bathed).
Okay, man, we get it! On with the post!
Well, technically, I’m not in the bath yet. I turned the water on to start to fill it. Then I ran around the condo shadow-dancing to an old Led Zeppelin song I have memorized.
By the way there are two types of bath people:
- Those who wait for the bath to fill up before getting in.
- Those who start out laying in the empty tub, and hang out while it fills.
Here’s the problem with the first group. They think they’re too good to hang out while the tub is doing it’s thing. It’s beneath them. They have shit to do. While it’s running they’re going into the nice candle drawer and fishing out the one that smells like passion fruit. They’re pouring a carafe of white zin. In short, they’re making too big a deal about a bath. Sadly, this is me.
Next is the person who lies down in a empty tub naked, turns on the faucet and waits. This individual also adjusts the temperature by turning the knobs with their toes. Yes, this person is sad and pathetic. They shouldhave something better to do than watch this kettle boil. But they don’t. No candles will be burning, no Enya pumping through their docked iPhone. But they love baths way more than the first group. They’re purists. They’ll deal with the first three minutes of fanny on dry porcelain. They’ll jump in a bath in 100 ° weather after a six mile run. The live to bathe.
One thing both groups have in common is a designated “dry†hand. You must keep a not-ironically-named hand towel to set near the bathtub. This is for anything like grabbing a pretzel rod, the paperback, your phone, or to type on the computer perched on the toilet lid. Don’t forget this or else you’ll have to use the full body towel, and then it won’t be totally dry when you use it later, and, c’mon, you’re better than that.
This time I screwed up my bathing experience. When I got back, the tub was full and I didn’t realize I had it on the hottest setting. I tried to get in and had to jump out because my ankles buckled. Not the most masculine scene.
So, I’m actually writing this from atop the toilet. Well, not actually at the top part. I’m sitting on the toilet as you normally would, except with the lid closed. I had already shed my clothes before. This is an odd scene. Grown man, naked, sitting on a toilet, lid-down, with laptop on his lap, writing about bathing. Except he can’t bathe because it would fry his reproductive system.
Okay, the water has cooled down from physically boiling to a temperature I can tolerate. Excuse me while I fashion my shower gloves.
photo credit: Dennis Wong via photo pin cc
]]>In a weird way, it’s almost like a mini vacation. I wake up, and for a second I don’t know exactly where I am. The room is totally foreign from this vantage point. I’m not sure why I get such a kick out of it. When I was married and also with past girlfriends, I haven’t found anyone that gets as much pleasure from this simple change. I feel like my current girlfriend would do it, but only because she knew how excited I get. But in her mind she’d think it was stupid. It sort of is.
I get the same pleasure putting things in my garbage disposal. The other day I had a full ear of corn (husk and all) that was starting to go bad. Instead of placing it in the rightful place, the garbage, I decided to drop it in the disposal. It took a good three minutes to go down, and little bits of corn were flying around. It was awesome.
Occasionally I’ll be washing my bed sheets and it will just get too late and they won’t be dry at a reasonable hour. Instead of pulling out other sheets I have in the armoire, I go and pass out in the guest bedroom. Another fun vacation-like activity. I did a whole week there two weeks ago. No particular reason. Just was having a good time.
Last week there was some work done to the water here at the condo building. Not sure why exactly, but for some reason in my master bath the shower now doesn’t have hot water and the pressure has dropped down to near-nothing. Apparently I’m the only one experiencing this out of the thirty-three units.
Instead of getting bummed (which never occurred to me) I saw this as an opportunity to use the guest bathroom (which I never do, except a few times a year to take baths – the last time I did, I filmed it). I’ve been showering in there for over a week and it’s pretty fun. I never realized I had my dog’s protein shampoo in there right next to the really nice Kiehl’s stuff my sister got me. Guess what I’m doing tomorrow? Yes. Yes I am.
Anyway, I need to remember that changing things up and having fun can be done without any new stuff. I’m always looking for new items to excite me, or save me, or make my life whole. And sometimes new stuff does do that. But often it doesn’t. To know that if I just flip myself around in bed once a fiscal quarter I’ll have a fun experience – there’s a sort of freedom in that, you know?
No, you probably don’t. Because normal people don’t sleep backwards or use their dog’s shampoo, or put full rotisserie chicken carcasses in the garbage disposal while giggling.
But thank God you happen to like reading about it.
The double chin shown in the video is a special effect I used. Naturally.
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