My American Apparel Pants

I bought a pair of American Apparel pants.

They cost $70.00. I had to buy them with my credit card. The card is called a "Freedom" card. When I bought them, I felt like the card was actually giving me more freedom. I know that living on credit is bad and all, but the last "affordable" pair of pants I bought cost $25, ripped within a week, and weren't that awesome in the first place.

In 2008, I moved to NYC, and by 2009, I felt like I didn't belong. It was a vague feeling, but it gradually gained focus. When I felt that outsider feeling, I began to focus on all the guys who had skinnier, more rock star-like legs than me, all the trustafarians, all the non-trustafarians whose self-destructive hard work intimidated me, all the girls who refused to smile or blush when I talked to them...

All the nice things cities like NYC had- nice things that were so close to my dreams that I became painfully aware that I was a demographic, not a unique snowflake...

All the things that I rebelled against by refusing to listen to music that wasn't folk music for nearly a year...

They all could be encapsulated in one brand:

American Apparel.

When I thought of American Apparel, I wanted to take the A train all the way to JFK airport and pick a destination.

But, in July 2011, I was still in NYC, and I really wanted to have a nice pair of pants. I also really didn't want to sift through a thousand thrift stores to find one. I wanted to possibly get to talk to a hot sales clerk in the process, rather than chitchat while avoiding eye contact with homeless white dudes.

I also really wanted to support a business that continues to pay its employees American wages and keeps its factories in America, and refrains from changing those practices even though it could very well go under in 2012.

So I went to American Apparel. I'd describe the shopping experience, but many blogs have already done that better than I would, and, in any case, it was pretty much exactly the way I imagined it two paragraphs ago.

Hiatus, or something

Hello reader(s),

I am about to go on my first intentional hiatus from this blog. It's funny. I've had weeks at a time where I've been in bad shape and just not posted without acknowledging it. But right now, I'm in good shape, but for a reason I don't quite get yet, I don't even feel that old "I'll post eventually" feeling. A large part of it, no doubt, is my new job. It's turned out that it's not as stressful as I thought it would be, but ever since I started it, I've had more ambivalent feelings about blogging. I either want to make this one more narrative and personal, and meant more for friends... or scrap it entirely and begin a totally new, less personal, more SEO-friendly blog. Until I decide on that, I will turn in my title of "blogger" and exchange it for my new title of "commenter."

If you could listen to only one album...

This is the first post in this blog since September 2009 that I did not work on all day at work.

That's because I got a new job where I don't get to mess around on the internet 90% of the day.

I thought this time crunch would spark me to new intensity and efficiency when it came to blogging and keeping in touch with other bloggers. But I haven't had as much free time (that I don't choose to spend doing online shopping and getting my Facebook fix). As before, when I get home, I usually would rather do something different than what I do all day (what I do all day = using a computer for a function other than watching TV).

I also realized that my chair in my apartment is uncomfortable for blogging. I'm going to have to hunt for a new one if I wish to comfortably blog.

I've thought a lot lately about how situational our talents and pursuits are. Many of us grow into one awesome thing as children and more-or-less follow that path to its logical extent.

But many of us end up giving up on that awesome thing due to circumstances. Some of us get that same awesome thing back or find another awesome thing to replace it. But it's so much easier to just quit doing awesome things forever.

I'd like to say that I'm sure that won't happen to me. But I'm not sure. Confident, yes. Confident like I'm confident I won't get hit by a car in Manhattan. Confident that if I dodge them, and if I hang out with people who look out for me, they won't hit me.

This morning, as I listened to it for the umpteenth time, I had the shocking epiphany that Bert Jansch's LA Turnaround could be the only album I'd ever listen to for the rest of my life and I'd probably survive.



It's got the British folk sounds I love and it's got the Americana sounds I love. I'd like to hear more than just those sounds in life, but I could probably get by on those sounds alone if I had to.

Don't get me wrong- if you told me that I'd have to eliminate all but one album from my life, I'd be pretty sad. But if it were LA Turnaround, I'd survive. In fact, I can pretty vividly imagine my schedule in this dystopia:

Saturday, 6pm: Music hour. Time for my weekly listen to LA Turnaround.

7pm: Watch Doctor Who for a while on Netflix.

9pm: Go out to bars where there's no music playing, because the only record that exists is LA Turnaround. Talk about the decor where I'd otherwise talk about music. Talk to dudes about how overplayed round, three-foot wooden stools are. Have a conversation with a girl about how underrated green lamps are and how cool it is to meet someone else who loves green lamps in the same way.

3am: Go home with her. Say, "Hey, let's listen to a record." Open up the cabinet that holds my record collection. It's only one record: LA Turnaround. Place it on the turntable, which feels a bit like a sacrament, because it repetitively plays the same thing. Giggle at the steel guitars- or maybe not, since maybe, in this world, steel guitars have ended up sounding ultra-sexy to us. Start making out around "Travelling Man." Remember some decor-related joke the two of you had back at the bar and laugh pretty hard about it.

11am: She's out the door and our separate days have started. Take a shower. Think about going back to sleep again, but decide not to ruin the day. Wonder if she wants to see me again... or if I want to see her again. Put on LA Turnaround once again as I contemplate. Hungover-dial one of my friends. Laugh about how we're both gonna be in our underwear all day. Talk about the separate egg sandwiches we're cooking and how awesome they are. Talk about the awesome music each of us had been listening to lately, which, for both of us, is LA Turnaround.

If I could choose between being in a world where I could only own one album, and I had to go to other people's houses to hear other awesome music, and a world where there was only one awesome album to represent all music, I think I'd choose the latter.

[If you leave a comment, I'd like to hear which you would choose.]

My Attempt to Be a Professional Video Editor, or, How NOT to Pursue a Career, Part III: Editing Internships in NYC

When I first made the decision to focus all of my energy on video editing (at the end of Part I), I thought I was about to get on a direct path from internship to job.

In the middle of January, I began pounding the internet-pavement and found a video editing internship posted at Red Car, a well-known NYC commercial editing agency with a flashy website and a flashier office. I got an interview, but didn't get the internship. But that gave me some serious confidence that I could do it. If I got an interview at a major place within a week of my decision, something awesome was bound to turn up, right? It felt like someone up there wanted me to be a video editor.

After a random encounter with a friend from Albany, I began interning with her uncle, who owned a stock footage library. It was a very small business- just him and one other dude, and they had a considerable amount of downtime. I didn't get to do any video editing, there wasn't anything else that really interested me there, and it was very far from my aunt and uncle's house, so I stopped doing that when I found something that looked better.

This was the beginning of a pattern.

I found another unpaid internship in which I was promised that I'd eventually get to do some video editing if I'd transcribe video clips from home for a while. The clips were from an interesting documentary about an American Indian high school and the director of the project had been an assistant editor on some other well-known projects. But I never got to speak to her; I just got to speak to a friend of hers who was volunteering his time to the project, and his volunteer-role in the project, as far as I could tell, was to amass volunteers for the project.

Perhaps things would've turned out well for me if I'd stuck with that, but I was bored and felt like, even if I'd had the most awesome networking skills and the fastest transcribing fingers in the universe, I couldn't have overcome the fact that they wanted to get free labor and to not be bothered. Maybe if I'd transcribed even faster and emailed him more frequently, it all would've turned out better? Who knows. In any case, when I found a new opportunity that looked better, I quit.

This new opportunity, which I also found on the internet-pavement, did involve some actual video editing. A director had shot a documentary in Cuba and it looked very cool. It had something to do with the power of the cigar to unite people. It looked super interesting and it would give me the opportunity to actually practice editing somebody else's work.

She desperately needed a rough cut in a week so that she could submit it to a workshop. I asked her what she wanted from me, and she drew me a diagram that represented the souls of the people she met while shooting the doc and all the boundaries they transcended. But she needed to work on that diagram, she said. She needed to speak with her story consultant  a few more times before she could figure out what her movie was "really" about. I asked her how long she'd been working on it. She said, "Two years."

Then she spent about an hour trying to find one clip, and told me to chop it up in a way that would make it look more like a "journey." I gave it my best shot and chopped it up in the style of a low-budget sixties music doc, with long shots followed by abrupt cuts that were slightly off the rhythm of the background music (a la Woodstock). She loved it. She I thought that maybe working with her would be a good idea after all.

While I was working on this project, my aunt told me about a guy who she had taught in Hebrew school in the early '80s. He had worked on an oscar-nominated documentary and wanted some help on his new project. He had told her that, if I wanted to help out, there was no money, and I'd be doing menial things at first, but it'd be interesting. I said, "Maybe." I felt like I'd switched internships too many times and it was becoming too much of a habit, and I thought that maybe I'd have a good time with the Cuban doc.

After about a week of working on the Cuban doc, the director found out that the deadline for the workshop had been extended, so now she didn't need to "rush" so much. If she was drawing diagrams and hiring story consultants when she had time constraints, I couldn't imagine how little direction she'd give when she didn't have a time constraint. I got a bad feeling about the project. She said, "I think the only person who can really edit this project is me, and now that I have all the time in the world, I don't need anybody's help." 

I then asked my aunt to put me in touch with that guy she had taught in Hebrew school.

***

I recently looked up the movie I did the transcription for. It premiered on the National Geographic Channel in October 2010. I looked at the Cuba documentary director's website recently. It's the same as it was in 2009.

(Names have all been hidden to protect the innocent and also to protect myself from attentions of those who obsessively google themselves.)

What Happened to the album format?" Is "The Album" dead?

I recently played keyboards and sang on some songs with some old college-era bandmates.


We had a conversation about which songs should be on the album and which wouldn't. An email thread started on the subject.


Eventually, I e-interjected with a "Guys, seriously, nobody listens to albums by unknown bands anymore."


Then we discussed releasing songs on the internet, and then releasing an album later.

I've begun to feel like albums are kind of pointless when you're a minor musician. I don't think I'd ever release an album unless I was Kanye or Radiohead.

I came up with a timeline of the history of the album. It made me realize what a short history the recorded album has had. It made me wonder if it has a future at all. I really don't know if it does, but, in any case, I thought it'd be fun to look back on the lifetime of the medium.

1950: Hey, we can get a bunch of songs at once!

1965: I liked that single... I hope the album will be as good.

1968: I love this band, you should totally check out their album.

1975: Now, even soul and funk artists concentrate on producing full albums instead of singles. Thanks, disco DJ's (who are about to dis-employ tons of musicians).

1983: Albums can be even longer and are also the same size as 45's. Long live the long-player.

1999: If I only like one song, I can download it for free!

2000: Shit, I'll download the whole album for free.

2001: I can pay for it if I want. Thanks, iTunes. Good to know you're looking out for us [muffled laughter].

2005: Now I can only download full albums as torrents, and single songs are nearly impossible to find in that form. Paying for single songs that download really quickly doesn't seem so bad anymore. Thanks, iTunes.

2006: ...or I can stream that one song on Myspace or Youtube. 

2009: I love this band. Have you checked out their Myspace page?


2010: So that Myspace band just released an album. That's crazy. That's like, what Kanye and Radiohead do.






I know, The Album, that you're only 60 years old, (ie 18 years younger than Peter O'Toole), but I hope you're not offended if I give you a Lifetime Achievement Award.

My Attempt to Be a Professional Video Editor, or, How NOT to Pursue a Career, Part II: The value of film school

I had a complicated, unconsummated relationship with film school and we'll probably never reconcile.


My first year of college actually was film school. For the 2003-2004 college year, I went to Ithaca College. I applied for a scholarship that was only available if you applied to the Television department (even though I wanted to do film). I didn't get the scholarship. I thought to myself, "When I get there, I can just change majors, right?" But when I arrived at the Park School of Communications, that didn't seem to be the case. My advisor said that it was school policy that students within Park can not change majors. I think she said it was something to do with them already having too many students. Later on, I heard of many people with different advisors actually getting their majors changed.


It's funny how silly I often feel when I tell people about things that happened in college nearly ten years ago. It's kid stuff. It just feels silly to talk about. But the fact is, if, 8 years ago, I'd had a different advisor, I probably never would have transferred out of Ithaca College, and, if I had never left Ithaca College, I wouldn't be who I am today. It's not that who I am today is something I really, really understand... but in any case, I'm pretty sure that if I'd stayed at Ithaca, I wouldn't be that dude.


I left Ithaca because I felt simultaneously intimidated and superior to all the students that surrounded me in the Television department, who seemed to be competing for scraps in a rat race that, at the end, lead to another rat race. I left because I hated the South Hill campus, which looks even more like an abandoned Soviet government center than Albany, NY.

Ithaca College

Albany, where the author spent 22 years of life

But, most of all, I left Ithaca College because I was hemorrhaging a whole lot of money and, after a whole year, nothing clicked to make me feel like it was all worth it.

But, nonetheless, a nagging question floats to the top of my mind sometimes: If you had gotten into Ithaca as a film major, or had even taken some of the more creative classes in the TV department, would I have stayed?

The answer is almost definitely a Yes.

And I say that because I've realized that, once you pass a certain age (21? 25? Hell, 19 for some people?), you realize that your life is just a collection of things that stick and things that don't. And film is one of the things that stuck. 


I graduated from SUNY Albany with a degree in literary theory, and it didn't stick. I can recall it very well when it comes up in conversation and there are still bits and pieces of it that help to inform a lot of my opinions... but overall, it didn't stick. I made a few videos between the ages of 5 and 18, and one since, but film still managed to stick. I feel normal spending hours talking about it. I feel normal spending hours working on it. I didn't touch Final Cut Pro for a year, and, when I picked it up again, I was actually better than I was before. 


If I'd started off in the classes I wanted, I probably would have just rolled with it. I probably wouldn't have questioned it.


The film program I did attend (after SUNY Albany), at the Digital Film Academy (whose website really should be quieter... come on, guys, some of us are at work!), did a good job of introducing me to a lot of aspects of filmmaking. In many ways, it's superior to a longer-term program. The instructors say, "Here's the equipment you're going to use, and here's how you can try to make art with it, and we're going to hold you accountable for following through with your project." And that's it.

School can shape your identity, and identities are nothing to scoff at. If you go to film school, you're going to reinforce the part of you that sees yourself as a filmmaker. If you don't study it, you'll have to reinforce that some other way. But know that the people who studied it will always have that advantage- they invested a lot of time in it, and, no matter how much they complain about what a waste film school is, film school was responsible for reinforcing that identity of theirs.


My film school was awesome and relatively inexpensive, but it lasted under half a year and has virtually no connections (and no clout) within the industry. The capital "F" Film Schools (a category which certainly includes Ithaca) are connected to the industry and they last four years. They do more damage to your bank account, but they do more to reinforce the idea that you are a filmmaker, and they also situate you better overall for being a lifer.


When I began this post, I thought that my bit about film school would just be an intro to the next chronological part of the story... but that didn't happen. Next time, I'll pick up where I left off.


Until then, if (doubtful), you feel like this post was too short, or (more likely), you want to read more on this subject from someone with more experience, "Is Artsy Fartsy School a Necessity" by Hipstercrite is a good place to start.

My Attempt to Be a Professional Video Editor, or, How NOT to Pursue a Career, Part I

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999) died 12 years ago today. I remember it really well because, at the time, it felt like I was alone in thinking it was a big deal. A guy who was a big deal had died, and it felt like it was just me and THE MEDIA. It didn't even occur to me that there were other ordinary-seeming people who also cared about Stanley Kubrick. In my mind, knowing who Stanley Kubrick was put me in an elite class, and, in my mind, there were only two zones in which I could camp: lonely middle-school existence, and THE MEDIA. In my mind, I was destined to be part of the professional media, because it looked like there was absolutely nowhere else to go.

***


I had a realization two days ago that at least 90% stuff I write about in this blog is:


1) not the stuff I think about every day
2) not the stuff I do every day


That's going to change a little, at least for the purposes of this entry, which will be about things I used to do every day, and still do think about every day.


***


When I came to NYC in 2008, I had the somewhat vague idea that I wanted to work in movies, but was also pretty sure that I wanted to be a video/movie editor.


I didn't have a clear vision of how any of those things could happen, but I had a few hints that provided me with enough fuel:


1) Many people work in the film/video industry without going to film school.
2) No matter what you study or how good you are, the way you get started in the industry is through internships.
3) Some regular-ass guys like me make money editing videos.
4) Lawrence of Arabia had good editing.
5) Editors don't have to run around on set.


I moved to NYC in June 2008. I enrolled in a class at the Digital Film Academy in September 2008. I took the class more to give me confidence and to give me a kickstart. I knew that film school doesn't get people jobs, but it does help them develop the focus that leads to jobs. I also had a temp job at a call center that was decent enough and exhausting enough that I really felt like I was a member of the NYC community.


When that job ended in October 2008 and the temp agency had nothing else for me, I lived on couches for a few weeks, nearly worked as a telemarketer for the notorious scam company Madison Who's Who, and then moved to my aunt and uncle's house in the far reaches of Queens while collecting unemployment. In early 2009, I began working a part-time job as a respite care worker before realizing that, due to our country's screwy welfare system, I lost $50 from my unemployment check every day that I worked at that job, while the job only paid about $30 a day. It was a no-brainer- I told the employer to stop paying me, and then I quit.

In retrospect, I wish I had volunteered my services there, just to keep me more connected to the working world and to get a good reference, but at the time, my logic was, "It's a job, so if I don't get paid, why do it?"


So, at that point, I decided to continue to collect unemployment while trying to build a video editing career. I had the security of unemployment and my aunt and uncle's hospitality and I'd heard of people getting video editing jobs after just a few months of full-time interning. It all seemed pretty lined-up and I felt the most focused I'd ever felt since high school.


It was the beginning of the most single-minded period of my life. A period in which I worked really hard, got high on my own imagination and potential, and put way too much faith in an industry that I really, really didn't understand, and, in 2009, probably didn't even understand itself.