Come again? Some other day.

Laid bare by the ravages of mild weather, warming sunlight, whispering winds and a portent of spring to come, things were starting to get borderline comfortable. Cue a heaping dollop of rain, drenching the earth beneath and soaking through to the core. 10 degrees less and this could’ve been snow. Accordingly I’ve dug back into my winter wardrobe with the addition of my umbrella, equal parts sword and shield. I don’t see any point in complaining, I’d find something to moan about regardless of the weather. Too cold and I freeze, too hot and I melt. Too wet and I forget what it was to be dry. I always want my grass greener, so perhaps it’s time for a change of perception, to focus on the gilded frame of a downpour’s portrait.

I’ve always loved the rain deep down in the recesses of my robot heart. Despite my abiding hatred of wet socks or sopping paper, there’s something liberating about being coated in a liquid sheen. A splash on an otherwise dry outfit is a bummer, but once you’re soaked right through, further water can’t hurt you. As a child, splashing through puddles in big rubbery gumboots was the closest I’d get to any of Jesus’ supposed super powers (though materialising bread or fish at will would be a confounding obstacle for any opposing super villains) and it came with the extra feature of feeling like I had some dominion over the elements (I was always a massive Captain Planet fan). I’d get leaves and fold them back on themselves, creating little boats for impromptu “river rapid racing” in gutters with friends (I desperately wanted to use the word “chums” there). Rain brought out worms of all shapes and sizes. I’d marvel at how huge some were and wonder why the large ones never came to the surface unless water forced them out. I imagined them fleeing their homes, choosing to run in the face of almost biblical flooding. Rain meant mud, mud meant fun. I’d come home dripping, soaking and sopping, caked from head to toe. A hot shower before dinner was like a hug from up on high.

As I entered my teen years the allure of rain began to drain. I now approached the endless drizzle with a “what can you do?” kind of attitude, resigned to the deluge, no point in cursing anything. Our school sweatshirts may as well have been knitted with poison ivy and after a heavy shower they smelled like a wet animal. The one saving grace of a massive downpour was the combination of my raging hormones and the female students’ predilection for wearing the thin white sweater variant of the normal uniform. Being an unrepentant geek, wet weather justified my propensity to stay inside playing video games, neutering my parents’ pleas for us to go outside (their dubious reasoning usually amounting to “just because”). I found that I had an unusual natural ability to control the weather. All I’d have to do was bring an umbrella and “coincidentally” it’d be a clear, sunny day. Of course the inverse would be true. Like Murphy and his law were looking to file an arrest on my arse.

These days rain just seems cumbersome. Rain requires me to plan ahead, to engage in extra effort. If someone tried to splash me now I’d probably respond with an emphatic “fuck you” rather than my former laugh and reciprocal splash. Rain puts a damper on plans, forces me to circumvent my intended course of action. At some stage the magic wore off. I stopped laughing and started worrying. Why? What’s a little water really gonna do to my day? Is that what growing up is? Life becomes driven by practicality over dreams. The things that used to enchant and enhance your life fail to stack up against encroaching responsibility. A large part of me still wants to be that child, to taste the sky on my tongue and remember what it was to wonder. Sometimes though, late at night when I’m in bed, I feel it. The rain beats down outside and I feel warm and safe, like a mother’s embrace. In my heart I still remember. If only my head could catch up.

And what would I know about humility?

About an hour ago I was exhausted and swore I’d get right to writing. The internet intervened. Consequently you’re receiving the same aimless drivel you would’ve gotten an hour ago, but with an additional hour of exhaustion tacked on. Sounds like a great bargain for you guys. I saw my family here for the first time in a while, which was swell. My teenage cousins brought up the idea of “promposals”, which intrigued me for their blatant use of portmanteau. The more that I heard though, the less that simple wordplay could hold my interest in the notion. Basically the idea of a “promposal” is to engage in some high concept public demonstration in an attempt to secure a prom date. My response was typically curmudgeonly. Though I support the creativity involved, the whole thing rubs me the wrong way for a few reasons. I think it elevates the invite over the event itself. With so much effort put into the act of staging the proposal, I’m going out on a limb to assume that the follow through would be sorely lacking in impact.

If I’m wrong here, it begs the question as to why teens are putting so much effort into something as unimportant as prom, when that creativity and effort could be better spent on some more worthy pursuit (like constructing a convoluted plan to obtain alcohol. Kids these days)? I don’t like the emphasis on a public presentation and the escalation for the purposes of peer one-upmanship. It’s fundamentally attention seeking behaviour as a form of social proofing. Furthermore my cousins said some of their friends got these proposals from people they didn’t even know, then felt uncomfortable about what’d happened. Why support a movement that coerces the potential date into saying yes through peer pressure and crowd mentality?

The ethos of this “promposal” notion hits me in an uncomfortable place. It’s forcing me to face the fact that I’m no longer hip or cool with the yooves of today. I find that the quest for validation fueling this endeavour is indicative of the way our society is heading. I think of the younger generation as possessing more of a YouTube oriented mentality. In an environment where the word “viral” is part of the lexicon, it seems to have informed a certain culture. Everything these days looks to crave attention and affirmation. Selfies and other vanity based activities have been around for years, but I think they’re hitting their zenith right now. Teenagers have access to The Internet and are uploading a multitude of self-involved material to the service for the purpose of “likes” and kind words. It’s a time in which token support from a wide social group is more important than heartfelt affirmation from someone close.

Now that I think about it though, have teenagers ever been any different? The mentality has always been the same, it’s just that this generation finally has the tools for the utmost in self-indulgent auto-fellatio. Why condemn teenagers for not being fully realised human beings when this is the kind of stuff that they’ve gotta get out of their system in order to get there? Let them have their proms and their posals and their attention seeking union of the two. I’ll just climb back into my cave until the next time someone needs a grouchy old cave troll to pass judgement.

This whole post is rich coming from a self-professed narcissist. Maybe I’m just as bad as they are.

Since when was 400 a relevant number? It’s like being 17 all over again.

Post number 400. I’d feel trite suggesting once again that I never expected to make it to 21 posts. I’ve got over 200 people following this page now which, while it doesn’t sound much on a medium predicated on the word “viral”, leaves me humbled. My innate narcissism should quickly take care of that ol’ chestnut soon enough though. Things have changed, things also haven’t. Life exists in flux and by that metric I’m living. I’m still happier to be here than back in New Zealand and I have zero intention of heading on a plane that far south any time soon. Some circumstances have left me jumping into today’s entry in a dour mood, so keep that in mind. Let’s dive in and see what’s been happening.

Career:
I don’t feel like “career” is a viable word for what I’ve got going at the moment. If I was to define an area in which I’ve really “failed” it’d be this. I wouldn’t say I’m a ball of optimism about it right now, but a stream of constant rejection will do that to you. A glitch in Bell’s automated email system caused me to be sent the same rejection letter (a job I applied for about 3 months ago) four times today. It was as if they disregarded pouring salt into the wound and instead assumed I was a slug, opting to douse my self-esteem in an effort to disintegrate it entirely. Congrats Bell, you win. The other corporation that I actually had some hope for made my sole great contact there redundant, compounding my dissatisfaction with how things are going on the job front. I spoke the other day about potential radio production work. If that pans out things would get immediately better. The money is great, the work is what I love. It doesn’t involve dealing with customers or children. All aces in my book. If you can all keep your fingers, toes and eyes crossed for me that’d be double-plus cool. I know that I’m finding it hard to stay motivated with this gymnastics thing. It was a part time short term thing that was only ever meant to be thus.  200 posts ago I said I might start getting worried if I was still doing it 100 posts later. Whoops. Real Food for Real Kids is a great job. It pays enough for what it is and the food I bring home is worth more than they money I’m paid. They’ve given me an extra weekly shift, which really helps. I haven’t really been buying groceries since the end of January. With the quality and quantity of the food I’m getting, I think I’ll find it hard to justify eating away from home. I feel like if I was in a better mood this paragraph would’ve flowed in a reverse order with a more optimistic tone. If.

Health:
I had the flu this winter more than most people do in their lives. The sun is finally shining consistently now though, so maybe this’ll turn a corner. If only I wasn’t teaching little plague-bearers how to cartwheel, this could’ve all been different. I’ve been doing personal bodyweight fitness for a little while now. I’m not losing weight, but I’m kind of ok with how my body looks now. I am getting a lot stronger at many of the movements, which means something to me. Buying the home pull up bar was a great call and it’s contributed considerably to strength retention. I had a bit of back pain a while ago, but doing pull ups on the regular has kicked that to the curb. My hand stands, ring muscle ups, floor L-sits, floor tuck hold, L-sit pull ups, pistol squats and one handed pull ups are leagues ahead of where they were. I’ve finally managed to get awkward bar muscle ups under my belt and an impromptu 10km jog leaves me tired but not destroyed. Now that it’s warming up I’ll be able to jog more often, so hopefully I can shift some of that winter weight. Not everything is going to shit around here. No alcohol for the last month has left me feeling sober, lucid and wanting. Let’s see how this plays out.

Comedy:
I haven’t done a lot since the last recap. I got back on stage 7 or so times, but I’ve fallen out of love with the new bits I wrote. I’ve been speaking at some live sex positive story telling sessions, a format that I’m a fan of. To get back in a comedy writing mood I have to immerse myself in the medium and not going to open mics is the opposite of what I should be doing. I want to get back to it, but I want to sort some other things first. The idiocy is that I should be writing while I don’t have much else going on. I need to find my voice and that’s only gonna happen if I put myself through the grinder, challenging myself with uncomfortable situations. I didn’t come to Toronto to live in a hug, I came to start living again. I’ve got potential, it seems a waste to let it rot.

Relationships:
Well there’s finally something nice to write. After a series of passing flirtations and casual dating I learned to love myself enough not to care about it any more. As always, that’s when things start happening. I met the girl I’d always wanted, a version of myself with a vagina, and she’s making me feel alive again. A palette of complex emotions that I’d forgotten have coloured my perceptions once more. Extenuating circumstances have flipped the switch from light hearted flirtation to something deeper almost instantly. I’ve never fallen this hard this quickly and that scares me almost as much as it excites and enthrals me. This has the potential to be one of the greatest things to happen to me if it doesn’t tear me apart first. The stakes are high and I feel like going all in is too irresistible a notion to avoid. She pushes and challenges me, forcing me to face my own bullshit, then pulls on me to do the same. She can elate me with simple words, collapsing into a heaving guffaw. She makes me care, something that’s been missing from my life for longer than I’d realised. She gets me as much as anyone can or has. She makes me want to be the potential she sees in me, that I’ve been afraid to reach for. She makes me feel needed, desired and happy to be able to give of myself to another. She encourages me to play and I feel like I’ve finally got that partner I’ve been waiting for.

Also we’re equally disgusting, which is more satisfying than you’d ever know.

Pop Culture:
Community season 5 was great, but it’s over. Rick and Morty is one of the most flawless shows I’ve seen in years and eventually more people will discover its perfection.True Detective deserves every positive word that people have laid at its feet and then some. If you haven’t seen it yet then I envy you and want to replace that part of my brain with yours. To watch it again for the first time would be like re-living your first orgasm, but without the shame. Broad City was one of the funniest shows in years and I feel like everyone qualifying it as an example of “great female driven comedy” are doing it a disservice by even mentioning gender. It’s just fucking great comedy, period (heh, period). Girls season 3 meant another few months of girls telling me I looked like AdamArcher had a strong season that was a pleasant departure from the norm (which barely needs acknowledgement of its overwhelming awesomeness). Silicon Valley is everything I want it to be. Mad Men started again, but I’m saving it until I’ve got a few stacked up. Louie is a mere week or so away, which tickles me like more of a pleasing ball fondling than uncomfortable torture tickling.

400 entries, eh? Almost 5000 views. People have asked me when this project ends. I think the answer is when my mind stops providing material. Some of you may think that moment’s already passed. You were probably right 200 entries ago. Every now and again though I write something that gives me pause, makes me laugh or swell with pride. I think that’s important and I think it gives me something that my life would be missing without it. If you’re in for more, I  am too. If you’re not I’ll probably keep going anyway, because it’s not for you.

That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it though. I do sometimes.

 

Because crossing time-streams is hungry work, I always make sure to pack a Coffee Crisp.

She was tightly wrapped in a large black coat, a bowler hat atop her cantaloupe of a head. Beady little marble eyes stared firmly in my direction. Looking me up and down as if aiming to bore a black hole into my skull. With each passing step we took in the queue, she’d turn around and gaze at me once more. After the 5th or so time she finally spoke.

“I don’t like you and your hand in your pocket. What kind of weapon are you holding in there?”

I gazed back at her with a bewildered stare. I’ve always thought of myself having a pretty open, amicable demeanour. Had I wronged this woman in some fashion? Did I strike her as a malicious sort of malcontent?

“That’s funny, I was just keeping my hand warm.”

I pulled out my hand and begun to wave my appendage so she could acknowledge my innocence. She flinched. She took another step and looked me up again, how I imagine an evil scientist’s assistant lurching to dubstep.

“I don’t believe you, don’t trust you. Anyone can hide a weapon these days.”

I quirked an eyebrow quizzically hoping to convey that, like The Rock, she possibly was not getting a whiff of my culinary prowess.

“You know we’re in Canada, right? People aren’t exactly knife fighting in the streets.”

People in line had started chuckling at this point. I saw a girl pull out her iPod and click something. She tried to pretend she wasn’t listening. The woman turned straight towards me with a face like a lemur.

“Canada is America and if you don’t understand that then you’re already dead. People have secret weapons you wouldn’t believe. Tiny radio frequency bombs.”

“Like RFID technology?” I interjected. Despite myself I was getting kind of excited.

“Not many people know, but they will. Electric magnet pulses that’ll stop your heart dead. You don’t even know.”

A hand in the distance was raised.

“Can I help someone here?”

She looked at the cashier then back at me.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She scuttled off to make her purchases. As she left I hastily choked out the few words I could.

“Thank you.”

My voice dropped to a whisper.

“Good luck out there.”

I think I met a time traveller. For what arcane purposes was she buying those coffee crisp bars?

Remember that total clusterfuck of a day? Remember all those little flaws that made it perfect in its own way?

I think we’re gonna remember this day. Just in case we don’t, I’m gonna leave a couple of placeholders so that it stays firmly lodged in our collective memory.

 

Remember when you messaged me saying to wake up, because we were going to America? I said ok, that I’d eat my porridge, have a shower and a poo. All of those things happened.

Remember when we drove out past IKEA and we both thought about delicious IKEA meatballs and lingonberry juice again? Is the reality ever gonna stack up to what we’ve built in our minds and hearts?

Remember when we got to the border and we were more concerned with taking snapchats of Niagara falls than the fact that we were in a moving vehicle heading towards immigration?

Remember when US immigration took our passports because I still didn’t have a Canadian passport, then we sat in a room with tons of others? We watched shitty American TV from a distance, with advertisements for Christian Mingle and Farmers Dating websites until they called my name on a tinny ceiling speaker. You couldn’t get over how shitty and bureaucratic their immigration policies were. I was happy you finally got a taste of how it felt to be a foreigner in America.

Remember when you told your realtor that you’d be back in Toronto by 3pm and I told you that you were nuts?

Remember when we got hopelessly lost in Niagara Falls and ended up taking the same toll bridges 4 times? Because you came over the border just to visit a specific bank.

Remember when you started counting elitist hipster things I said about terrible North American chain restaurants?

Remember when you made the joke about Jackie Chan in a recording studio saying “I dun wan any treble.”?

Remember when we asked for directions to their nearest outlet at a Tim Hortons (in America no less) and the guy told us we had to drive to Rochester, an hour away? We surmised that he was a fucking idiot, that he just had a total hardon for Rochester and had secret shrines in his room devoted to Rochester. We decided that whenever anyone asked him for directions he always sent them to Rochester because he loved it so much and wanted to have all of its fucking babies.

Remember when we drove back to Niagara, stopped off at that Inn so I could take a leak? I stole a fuckton of mints from their candy jar and we discovered that the Rochester obsessed Tim Hortons guy was actually right. We dumped our details into the GPS and it basically gave us the middle finger, telling us to drive an hour and a half to some small town called Wheatfield.

Remember when we flicked through the radio and we heard that shitbox song that seemed to epitomise the ultimate paint by numbers lackadaisical pop turd? I googled it.

Remember when we were out in bumfuck nowhere and started joking that we’d arrive after the bank had closed, that the whole day would be for nothing and we’d instead get Deliverance style bum-raped by inbred hillbillies?

Remember when we arrived at the address only to see no sign of a bank?

Remember when I told you to at least walk around, that we didn’t come all this way for nothing, that things would work out?

Remember the sign of relief when we practically ran through the doors half an hour before closing and the employees couldn’t work out why we were almost hyperventilating from laughter?

Remember when the banker said that since the bank was so small, sometimes they ran out of money?

Remember when she showed us her quick system of counting large amounts?

Remember when we went to that crappy diner, pandering to my lusty desire to engage in pumpkin pie American small town greasy spoon values? I had that delicious shitty steak, eggs and curly fries (with a glass of Mountain Dew), you had meatloaf atop pasta and we both shared a key lime pie.

Remember that really intense conversation we had after the meal? Things started to go downhill.

Remember how our GPS didn’t work on the way back and we navigated ourselves back to Niagara from memory?

Remember that weird tyre swing hanging from the tree that looked more like a bondage set up than something safe for children?

Remember how serious we got driving back along the highway?

Remember Canadian immigration giving me shit because I had no evidence of my Canadian citizenship on hand? They just thought I was some random New Zealand dude making shit up about my citizenship.

Remember when that police officer asked me if we were together and I said yes? I felt kind of warm and fuzzy.

Remember when we listened to the entirety of Death Cab‘s Transatlanticism? Every song that came on brought us back to somewhere in our past, who we were then and who we are now. We realised that we were different people than we were years ago, but the album hasn’t changed. Only what it means to us.

Remember how tired we were when we arrived back in Toronto?

Remember how hard you tried to convince me that I was better off without you?

Remember when I wouldn’t let you go?

Remember when I told you the story of our first few dates? Every little moment of happiness we had? That no matter how tired I was that night, I was afraid to go to sleep because I was scared that it was all a dream, that I’d wake up and you wouldn’t exist?

Remember when we stood outside in the cold and I held you? You shuddered hard and I hoped it was from the cold.

Remember the moment when my voice broke and I actually thought I might lose you?

Remember how happy I was when you got back in the car and said you’d spend the night?

Remember how I shook with relief, because I thought that if you hadn’t have come back with me you probably would’ve cut and run?

Remember when I told you to go to sleep because I had writing to do? That I’d join you soon?

Remember when I said that I was kind of afraid that if I turned around you wouldn’t be there?

 

You won’t remember this because you were sleeping, but just before I wrote this sentence I turned around and you were still there sleeping.

You couldn’t see my smile, but if you could you would’ve made fun of my dimples.

I’m writing this now because I think there are things we need to remember. I know there are things I don’t want to forget.

I don’t think I even could, but let’s leave this here just in case.

When I was their age we just skulled Mad Jacks vodka flavoured rum and had LAN parties. When did life change?

Another fun public transport update, since I know I’ll run out of consciousness by the time I can make it back to a keyboard. So instead I’ll spend the majority of my trip out to work staring at my phone typing (instead of just redditing). As we established yesterday, change is exciting. Gonna be a bit of that heading my way soon, I think.

The guy from the radio project called back while I was in the shower (because important people clearly aim for the most vulnerable time to get to you. It’s part of the M.O.) and I called him back while making my morning porridge. I think the routine of it kept me calm and confident. The only issue was wanting him to get off the line so I could enjoy my sweet, delicious gruel. Potential employment is no match for certain sustenance. He wants to put a pitch together to entice a certain company and he’d like for me to whip up a production sample with his recorded voice bits. He’ll get back to me with the specifics by the end of the week (so, tomorrow?). Of course I said it’d be no problem, now I’ve just gotta figure out precisely how I’m gonna do it. Time to unplug that thumb from my poochute. I left New Zealand to escape complacency,  why settle for it now?

Freelancing is such a different road than I’ve ever embarked on. I’ve been looking at local salaries for a similar role, checking people’s hourly rates. It’s tough to figure out what to charge the dude. I don’t want to undervalue my services but I also don’t want to price him out of them. Let’s try and form a fair price that leaves neither of us swindled, but perhaps favours me a tad more. I’ve gotta think of production music, sfx, royalties and assorted etcetera. I’d far prefer to walk into an established role then create my own, but I guess it’s not gonna kill me to lead for once. As someone smarter than me advised, it doesn’t matter what happens as long as I’m charging for my services, that way I’m at least coming out of it with cash in my pocket and experience in my hands.

Just left the TTC for my connecting bus. I’m surrounded by high schoolers. I realised that I’ve finally become curmudgeonly enough to not know what The Kids are up to these days. Do they spend their days snap chatting each other dumb pictures? Debating the appropriateness of Avril Lavigne’s cultural commodification? Huffing jenkum? The more things change, eh?

Got a response from my old audio production buddies that’s steered me in the right direction in regards to freelance production practices. Bless them and their phantom power. Feeling less antsy than I was. I’d still prefer to walk into an established structure and work flow, but I feel less likely to evacuate my bowels out of worry. I’ll just do it because of fiber instead then.

Girlfriend found an apartment, so an impending Ikea trip is on the horizon. I can practically taste the meatballs and lingonberry juice already. My heart swells as my stomach will. This also means we’ve got an impending trip to Miami to pick up her car, then a leisurely road trip up the coast to make our way back. Roadside attractions and financially sustainable alcoholism abound. Let’s see if she can stand me for that long, or if I’m gonna be left stranded in that black hole named Virginia. Much as I love Toronto, I haven’t left the city since I arrived almost 9 months ago. A short holiday isn’t the best fiscal decision, but it’s one I’m certain I want to make. The only issue with having so many part time jobs is organising cover for each of them. Small sacrifice for a chance to break free from whatever it is I’ve carved out for myself here.

Speaking of travel, my commute has come to an end. I hope you’ve all (the two of you who read this (hi mum) that is) enjoyed this transport update that’s had very little to do with transportation. Brought to you by Public Transport Toronto and the SwiftKey app.

In retrospect I guess I can be a bit of a shit at times. C’mon, can you really stay mad at me?

So I guess a few things happened today.

That’s always a nice thing, right? Well, not necessarily. I do feel that if things are happening, whether positive or negative, that’s always an exciting thing. There’s this question on the dating site I’ve used that reads “In a certain light, wouldn’t nuclear war be exciting?” I feel like anyone who answers no to this would be an easy match to cull. Terrifying, yes. Awful and cataclysmic, yes. Exciting, also yes. Just think about the state of pandemonium that the world would plunge into. Utter bedlam as social order broke down and everyone reverted to an animalistic state of feral instinct. Change is exciting, so when things happen excitement surely follows in some fashion. I feel like I’ve just spent a whole paragraph avoiding talking about the premise of the paragraph. What a tease, eh? It’s about to get worse. Paragraph break.

Part of me regrets that I missed out on using the phrase “after the jump”. The more logical part knows that I used it in the preceding sentence. Logic wins. Flawless victory. Is this merely procrastination? Am I pulling on your turgid anticipation? Is there a more universally off-putting word than “turgid”? If there is I kind of want to hear it. Similar to how you guys want to hear what happened today. Well there’s a relevant Rolling Stones lyric here and I bet you all know what it is. It’s so obvious that I won’t even say it, because that’s what you all want and I’m determined to let you stew in it. Okay, I’ll cave. The lyric I was thinking of was “it’s all right now, in fact it’s a gas”. Not because it really was relevant, but because it was the least relevant lyric I could find. Apart from that part in Gimme Shelter when Jagger starts singing “Rape, Murder! It’s just a shot away.” That would’ve been less relevant. I think. I hope. Wait, I know that it is, why am I even contemplating it?

I got offered another shift at my hot lunches in schools job. There it is. Great news. Doesn’t that feel better? Tension eased. I’m gonna start working Mondays now at a great school with an easy program. My freezer is already too full of food for me to eat, so to compound that excellent problem I’m gonna be picking up even more of it. The school is nice and close. I’ve subbed there a ton and my co-workers are excellent. I can definitely use the extra cash, so that was a great email to receive.

Also had a great call today. A few weeks ago I left a message responding to a Kijiji ad asking for voice work. It’s for some new initiative offering personalised radio stations to individual businesses. I called in and gave a brief run down of the types of reads I could do well, giving examples. A guy called me back this morning saying that he thought my voice sounded sharp and he’s interested in getting me on some ads at some point. They’re still building up the business so it’ll be a little while before things will get rolling, but he wanted to check that I was still interested so he could keep in touch from this point on. We talked about money and it’s a pretty decent rate. Enough that a few 30 second ads per month would probably pay my rent. It’d also give me a chance to put together a great voice demo reel that I could get to an agent for potentially more work. Gotta be a hustler.

Ever the hustler, I told him about my previous work in production and knowledge of the industry. He asked me to put something together and send it in. I flicked him my production demo reel and about 10 minutes later he called back praising the slick commercial sound of my material. He said he’d speak to his co-workers, but that he was interested in potentially getting me on board for some imaging work and perhaps more. He asked me to listen to the current stream of a station sample they had and offer comment. Doing so made me realise two things. 1) There’s a shit ton I could do with these stations. It’d be fun to get my hands dirty and knock out some solid work. The stuff they’ve got there is sloppy and I’d be able to kick it in the guts something fierce. 2) I’ve been out of the industry long enough that I’ve forgotten my rolodex of buzzwords to call on. Beyond calling on “target demographics” and “TSL” (time spend listening), my vocab needs as much work as the station sample. If this works out, I could have something nice on my hands.

Speaking of having something nice on my hands, I’m sure a bunch of you read my post yesterday. Consequently, I now have someone in my life I can call a girlfriend (because while we both accepted that labels don’t matter, we also recognised that this label happened to fit quite nicely). Ever the narcissist, I’ve had a lifelong desire to find a better looking version of myself with a vagina. I’d praise her a bunch, but as she’s equivalently narcissistic (being my clone and all) I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of letting her know how great she is. Suffice to say that without telling her my answer, she decided that in a certain light nuclear war would be exciting.

So yeah, I guess a few things did happen today.