#and also random crap like luggage and wrapping paper.

[hellenhighwater]

Hmm....how hard can large scale mosaic possibly be? I feel like my plans for the room I'm working on could use something really shiny and impactful and maybe I want to make a fold-down cutting table and maybe I want to do it out of mosaic, even though that will be ungodly heavy.

It's a fun idea. I'm not sure if it's a good idea.

I haven't done mosaic since a one-off high school art class but I feel like the component skills are ones I already have, sooooo....

I have been keeping to a blue and gold celestial theme for both my guest room and my art workspaces, because if and when I move those spaces are likely to be combined. Cutting table, even though it would be for a different room, falls in the same vein, so I'm thinking something with a nice dark night sky and maybe some branches or leaves...

[orbmanson7]

I'm bored at work so I decided to screenshot and list all the random crap you can see in Herbert's room in Re-Animator, for anyone curious.

(heads up, the third screenshot contains a dead animal)

On our first glance, we can see the following:

-An obligatory poster with multiple diagrams of the human brain with extensive information relating to each part

-A mini-fridge containing multiple chemical solutions, Herbert's reagent, multiple petri dishes with some kind of sample growths inside them (some of the jars may also contain samples), and a dead Rufus

-Atop the fridge, we see a binder filled with a documentation log, a thick reference book, another smaller textbook, a metallic bowl with some sanitized cloth under it, an additional sanitized cloth under Dan's hand there, a small tube with a screw-on cap that could contain just about anything, and a wrapped power cord with an old-style plug that may or may not be connected to the small lamp sitting above it

-In the wideshot, we can see a nightstand of sorts (it's more like a coffee table that runs alongside Herbert's bed) that holds a small old-style lamp, more reference books and papers, a few more sanitized cloths, a closed but not sealed cardboard box, at least six miscellaneous bottles that appear to be liquid and/or tablet-form medications, a larger bottle of chemical solution, a cup or mug with a stirring implement sticking out of it, and what appears to be an infrared thermometer but I don't know that those even existed in 1985 so it could be a large inhaler or other medical device instead

Next, when we revisit the room in the Integral Cut, we can see there's a few new items added, especially the contents around Herbert's bed.

-There is a typewriter that was there in the earlier scene, but we can see it more clearly now, with paper inside and half a page already filled

-There's a desk lamp switched on to illuminate the typewriter and multiple books stacked on the desk next to the typewriter, as well

-A human skull has been added to the pile of contents atop the fridge, along with several more reference books and papers (and the brain poster has now been moved behind it, blocking the window shade, for some reason)

-On Herbert's bed is a suitcase with an exact copy of his current wardrobe of a white, long-sleeved button-down shirt and a black tie (and probably pants, too)

-Next to his bed, on that long table, we can see a new cardboard box that's open and contains large bottles of what are likely more tablet-form medications as well as what looks like a can of something (likely a chemical)

-Next to the box is the same closed box from earlier, but the cloths have all been used up save for one. On the other side, there's what is either a well-used magazine or a workbook sitting under a thermos among a large bottle of chemical solution, six more bottles of tablet-form medications (two still inside boxes), two boxes that seem to either be bandages and/or nylon bands (both used for injections), and that same old-style lamp from before

(I don't think it's worth mentioning the large white board on the bed that is likely there for white balance in the shot rather than an actual prop, especially since it's not there in the immediate next shot)

-On the bed behind them appears to possibly be a swiss airline luggage tag (those big ones you can use to make it easier to locate your luggage at baggage claim), likely still connected to Herbert's suitcase

-On the other side of the bed, there's far more innocuous items, such as an open can of diet 7-Up in front of a small biohazard sign, an overturned open book, a large canister for water (likely used for tea or coffee), another reference book, and memo pad papers scattered back there, too. There's also some kind of large implement of some sort (maybe just the weirdest paperweight to exist), if it was upside-down then it could closely resemble what someone may use to polish shoes? It could also just be a bizarre lamp that's not plugged in, I don't know

-Also interesting to note that Herbert kept the window next to his bed slightly open, his bed is always messily made, and he never has anything on the floor despite the mess of clutter he stacks everywhere else in his room

Anyway, that's it! I always find it interesting what gets chosen by set design when cluttering a lived-in space (especially in 80s movies) for these kinds of shots, even if it's haphazardly done on a cheap budget. They can say a lot about a character, and I think there's certainly some unique notions to made about Herbert based on what can be seen here.

Do what you will with this information.

[loserbeam]

2016 retrospective

I usually do these right after the new year, but I’ve been getting clusterfucked so here we are. Sorry for making you wait, literally nobody!

JANUARY

Stepping off of a burst of energy from wrapping up finals and celebrating the new year, I lapse into a heavy depression.

Consequently I take time off stage. This is death to me.

My roommate takes full advantage of my insecurity about not performing. My home life is a lot of hearing about how I’m not a comic if I’m not performing.

And why? I don’t know. He fed me the line, “I’m just trying to help you.” This is a classic tactic of emotionally abusive people and, as I’m gullible, affable and eager to please, I fell for it hard. 

The idea that I’m not doing well in comedy is a much bigger road block to doing well in comedy than actually not doing well in comedy.

Instead of working on my thesis, I read a lot of comics and hide in bed.

FEBRUARY

My roommate took our utility money without paying the bill and our gas gets shut off. This sparks a mood swing that ends with me punching out a window. 

I start writing poems during math lectures again.

I get back on stage slowly. I feel like a newly born giraffee up there (google it (but not at work)).

In typical bipolar form, I obsessively chase the only thing consistently making me feel good. So I dedicate myself to writing a new character every week.

MARCH

Lapsing out of my depression one warm day I realize how many of my troubles are in my head. In an effort to take back my life, I pitch my show as a SPANK and, surprisingly, it gets accepted.

I wonder briefly about life post grad school and, terrified, eat a sandwich instead. 

My brother mentions that he needs someone to apartment sit in LA for the summer. In the parallel structure that underpins the crap novel that is my life, I am reminded of the summer I spent with my sister immediately after graduating undergrad--which was the last few months before I finally got treatment for bipolar. So I agree to go for a few weeks only, in case it all goes awry.

APRIL

With my birthday, I am faced with the cruel reality that I am absolutely not a kid anymore. I’m 25. When my grandpop was my age he had three kids and a drinking problem. It’s time to act my age.

With no sense of irony, I purchase the entirety of the Naruto manga.

For the first time in memory I have a birthday I enjoy. A last minute change of venue put us at the Stonewall on a slow night; celebrating in such a historic place made me feel connected to being a gay in a way that random grindr hookups and being self conscious about my body never has. A smattering of people from all walks of my life come together. There is much love in the room. Perhaps I am not a bullshit person.

My roommates ask me to leave the apartment because I punched out a window.

I realize I have done almost no work on my thesis.

Oh no. I am a bullshit person.

MAY

With my thesis due in under a month, I end up spending 2 weeks nonstop on a breakneck schedule: wake up at 8 am, in the library by 9 am, there until 12am, home by 1 am, bed by 2.

I fail a final and laugh at the possibility that that might doom my degree. (It doesn’t.)

In the same week, I put up a SPANK, turn in my thesis and move out of my apartment. Then I go to LA.

The plan is to literally go straight to the airport after moving out of my apartment. I enlist the help of one of my roommate’s estranged ex’s, now a good friend (because he has taste, at least), in moving my things to a storage unit. She yells at his bed, hoping she can yell loudly enough give advice to herself in the past, and we briefly contemplate stealing his dog.

We should have, but we didn’t.

The night before I go to LA I decide to leave my apartment early and stay up all night to go to BYOT, the mic I frequent at UCB. This is an act of defiance against the universe, which is my oppressor, because I no longer have authority to revolt against.

The night is great--a great set, a great time, great friends. It feels like the last day of school. A chapter in my life is closing.

Before I head to the airport I decide to get something to eat. I am caught with my luggage in a rain storm and get completely soaked before sadly eating McDonalds. This is an omen.

JUNE

My expectation is that LA will be a place I want to move in my thirties--quiet, calm, a better quality of life but so much less going on. I am completely right.

My only chore at my brother’s apartment is moving his car to avoid parking tickets. Twice a week I nervously get behind the wheel and inch it down the street--because I have only driven 5 times in my life, the 5th being the license test. The first time I move it I have to google “which pedal is the brake?”

I acquaint myself with LA busses, which are essentially NYC subways but with all the crazy people jammed into one car.

Which is wear I witness the best dialogue I’ve seen in person. My favorite: A grumpy old man yelling at everyone; a tired queen headed home from WeHo. Queen: “Stop being a dick.” Old Man: “Stop sucking dick. I worked with Sinatra you fag, who are you?” Q: “If you worked with Sinatra then why are you riding a bus?”

I do an escape room for the first time with a friend from NYC who was also venturing out. We keep this up back in New York for quite awhile.

I also spend a lot of time with my uncle, who is a very successful writer and producer. He imparted some very important knowledge, including haranguing me for not working enough, which stung but I needed to hear it. Some other highlights:

I had picked up a habit of judging improv and other comics from my shithead roommate (who is a stand up, kind of). I got coffee with my uncle after seeing a weekend team at iO that was fun but a bit underwhelming. “But you know, that’s improv,” I laughed. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “What do they have on you except 10 years of performing experience?”

Another time we met at a cafe he liked. Everyone--I do mean everyone--was on a laptop writing a screenplay. “What a cliche,” I joked. He looked at me very sternly. “I want you to understand this,” he said, “Everyone in here is working and you are drinking coffee I bought you. Okay? They’re doing the work and you’re making fun of them. That’s the difference.”

Ow!

I shit on my own experience, talking about having bar shows where the audience is the other comics, performing for 3 people at a time, etc. He tells me the story of his own big break--as a two man group he had a show at a new club. Three person audience. Instead of being flippant about it they put on the best show they can; one of the people was there to review the club. They got mentioned in the paper. It snowballed.

“And stop talking shit about your material,” he said, “You’re just telling people you’re not worth watching.”

JULY

On the plane home I write the entirety of a pilot I had been thinking about but was afraid to put down.

I check my email as soon as I touch down in NYC. A festival I had never heard back from had a drop out and needed me to do 20 minutes of stand up.

The show has a 6 person audience. I’m about to feel bad about it until I remember my uncle’s advice. I take it seriously. i do well. This show puts me in graces with an artistic director who would go on to stage many of my shows. Good advice, that.

UCB finally gets back to me about my SPANK. It is rejected.

The ebbs and tides of my life feel more like droughts and tsunamis.

I live for the month with my good friends Ryland and Dave. They are the absolute best to me. Dave smokes in his room and ashes on the window sill. Cool breezes blow through as we watch Buffy. One night we try to find the documentary Tickled, but it’s just out so we can’t find it. We settle on watching one of the actual competitive tickling videos. It’s a little hot.

I go on a date with my now-boyfriend. He is cute.

AUGUST

I finally lock down a new place. My new roommate? My ex. Why? I love a story.

The apartment is a trap. The gas isn’t set up, the construction isn’t finished. We struggle to find someone for the third room.

One night when things have finally calmed down, I throw myself a small dance party and in the midst of it notice a bed bug crawling up my wall. This is the death of my happiness, I decide, and for the most part I’m right.

We find someone to move in to the third room. He is a bland twink and could be replaced in the story of my life by a mannequin.

I spend a lot of time at boyfriend’s, consequently.

I call him my boyfriend for the first time at his birthday party, which felt tacky cause I didn’t get him anything (per request) and I hope he didn’t think that was, like, my gift.

SEPTEMBER

A friend from grad school hooks me up with my first ever teaching job. I am an adjunct instructor, but I like to tell people that I am a 25 year old professor, which I very much get off on.

The only perks of the job are getting off on calling yourself a 25 year old professor. It’s fun but I’d get paid more as a doorman.

After hosting some stand up, I mention to my director friend that I’m working on a show. He agrees to put it up.

OCTOBER

For the first time, I put together a one-man show. I perform it as an 18 year old womyn doing her one woman show about her family. It is fun and stupid and a handful of people come.

I produce two running shows at other theaters about town. They have no audience but nobody knows that when I say it.

I make my boyfriend do a couple’s costume. 

NOVEMBER

My friends from BYOT and I form a sketch group, CHUMBLE. (We’re a fan of caps lock.) They ask me to direct the inaugural show, which will need to be written and rehearsed in under a month.

We pull it off. It’s great.

On election day I go back home to vote. I get dinner with my mother and a work friend of hers, a mouthy French woman who is a delight. Slowly word eeks out that Trump is winning. This memory feels a bit like the band playing while the Titanic sank.

I end up writing more about nazis than I thought I would be.

I start going to workshops for Queerball, an LGBT thing at UCB, where I meet a new director for my one man show.

We both, incidentally, end up in the same scene of a film shoot where our characters have our dicks stapled together by a murderer. (It’s a horror comedy.)

DECEMBER

My one-man show premiers on the mainstage at PIT, paired off with Ryland’s. It’s a good night to be human.

But I don’t get to celebrate much, because I have to be up to teach in the morning.

Christmas is a rough patch. Bland roommate decides he will move out, telling us to use his deposit to cover his January rent--which sucks, because we aren’t a management company. I go broke. My boyfriend and I have a spat. (But we make up.)

I get to spend New Years with Ryland and Dave and so many of my best friends.

Ryland drinks his favorite beverage, a large cup of midori. And its flavor matches my year: a dose of thick cough syrup doused in neon green.