Oh, Lordy, has it already been a week? A quick check of my calendar reveals…hey, where the hell’s my calendar?
Well, almost a week, anyway. I owe this blog a handful of oddball posts. In fct, I owe a lot to a lot of people. LAist was gonna get two additional posts this week, but I got so caught up in things that those posts founder in the heavy seas of my mind. Until I get those moving, here’s some oddball stuff for your enjoyment:
I think this image says something about crowds.
This is actually a detail of a much larger picture of a doorway in one of Amoeba’s hidden back rooms.
cat kitten, Henry, as modeled by Amy:
This is Henry a little bit later, taking a ten-minute power nap. Moments after I take this shot Henry is running around again as if sleep were just a momentary annoyance.
This is a contemporary photo of a Santa Barbara flat in which I once lived. 902 Bath Street. Summer of ’93. My door is on the left. The studio consists of a living room/bedroom, a small kitchen in the back and a bathroom that, were it not for the lack of a defeaning roar, feels like one of those coach bathrooms on a Southwest flight to Flagstaff.
The fact that Lauren passes along an article about blueberries and then a moment later I’m taking pictures of them proves one thing – I’m not very good at photographing food.
I spend yesterday and today largely alone. I’ve a million teeny things to do. Dumb stuff, like swing by the Thai place where Jackie bought me dinner the day before to pick up the sunglasses I left there. Like dropping by the Quixote Studio Store to get brads do I can properly bind a script to leave for Brad at Amoeba (yes, the word “brad” figures into that sentence twice.) Like pick up a couple boxes so I can ship my Curve discs and my Thomas Newman discs off to Hungary and Japan respectively.
Today, at last, I have time to write:
Now that I’ve finished the “treatment” for the AirEarthFireWater project, I’m returning to Strange Angels for a while (click the link to see a goofy Flash animation I created months ago.) I write on the laptop tonight, feet kicked up on the coffee table, cell phone nearby in case I need to procrastinate. And deep inside I cradle a nasty coffee craving, but I refuse to honor it. In spite of the gnawing, I get good work done. But since it’s been a while, I have to consult my flow chart:
This is why I do much of my script planning in a sketchbook rather than a notebook.