journal page 7
january 4, 2000
as a rule, the first time you see your rough cut you're unequivocally depressed and horrified and balancing that line between declaring it all garbage and giving up and "what was i thinking" because it's the absolute worst state the film will ever be in - and ours is still soundless to boot - yet it's oddly exciting at the same time. because now you get to do everything you can think of to save the damn thing. i remember with 'billy's balloon' editing i was simply convinced that it wasn't funny to anyone but me and promised rebecca that it was not going to get a single award or vote of appreciation because it was just too strange. so reactions? this thing is a mess. it is stranger. it is out there. it's running slow as molasses and the timing is naturally out the window right now. but it's a good mess and a workable mess. i think. a whole bunch of jiggering lies ahead, as well as reshoots and added footage beginning tonight. the thing's running all over the map. peaks and lulls all over the place, just gloriously retarded and sort of dreamlike, yet some of the final shots are somehow rather stunning. this monster is also somehow clocking in at over *12 minutes* as of now, which is rather bewildering to me as i didn't think it would break eight. way too long. bloated bloated bloated. becca's already trimming a fat 30+ seconds this week and we'll be trimming more over the weekend. in the end this odd little thing is going to perplex and amuse people while frightening children at the same time. it's gone through so many permutations i've sort of lost control of it and it's scurrying around on its own now. easily the most experimental, bizarre film of the lot. i thought it was going over here <---------------- and it's going over there --------------> um. i forgot what else i was going to write. back to work with me january 2, 2000
so i've got this giant book which is sort of a world history of photojournalism, endless chronological photos spanning the last 100 years. slowly going through them all, you begin to realize that despite the thousands and thousands of photographs, all of them blend into an identical repeating pattern - people killing each other, people not killing each other and happy that no one is killing anybody, people killing each other. repeat. it is kind of creepy and sad and predictable how the pages lay it all out. you've got a bunch of angry people getting all riled up, one page later they're marching and waving flags and executing people, then five pages of big wars and piles of corpses. then a few pages of photos of people looking world-weary and stunned and going, "what the hell was that all about?", but then three pages later they're all killing each other again. it's a coffee table book. i just read about a 120lb woman who had a giant 200lb tumor surgically removed. the process required her to get 40% of her skin replaced. prior to the procedure, i am not sure if she had to walk around with her 200lb tumor in a wheelbarrow or what. that is a whole lot of tumor. i bet it will be on e-bay in one week. time for bed
december 18, 1999
here is a nice story for you, given the season. this is not my story, and i don't remember where i heard it. so i am almost definitely ripping this off from somebody. isn't the internet great? so there's this guy who has a cult. and in january he announces that he's received a message from the mothership. at the stroke of midnight on new year's eve, the angry monsters from faeryland will come down in their flying saucers and destroy the planet. he's absolutely 100% sure of this. he is the chosen one, after all. and only those in his following will be saved because they are devoted and pure. so the cultists freak out a bit and weep and worship at this guy's feet. they spend the year preparing themselves mentally, saying goodbye to their families, clearing out their savings accounts, and fulfilling their leader's every wish. but most importantly, they are spreading the word, recruiting new members, and saving more souls. so new year's rolls around, and they are all ready. by now this cult has a membership of a couple thousand, and they dress in their ceremonial robes, and make a cross country trek to time's square to welcome the monsters and their death rays. they gather there as their leader stands before them. all eyes point to the heavens. the new year's countdown begins... and ends. and nothing happens. no sign of spaceships. nothing. five minutes go by, and still nothing. the people look at each other, a little perplexed. disillusionment settles in after ten minutes. they look expectantly at their leader, who is staring at the sky, dumbfounded. the people's sadness slowly turns into frustration and anger. finally, their leader breaks his silence - "it's a miracle!!" he announces, "the monsters must have granted us one more year to live!!" the people erupt and break into riots. "hallelujah!!" i just read that it rains diamonds on neptune. it has something to do with crystals. and methane. i hope you are all happy and that you are being nice to each other.
december 3, 1999
i was watching 20/20 or something and they had these people with a bizarre obsessive compulsive disorder. every time they hit a little bump in the road, they become hopelessly convinced that they've just hit somebody, and must constantly pull over and check out the entire area for bodies. often dozens of times on a short trip to the store, they'd hit potholes and go, "oh god!! i have killed again!" and pull over and check for new bodies. a whole show about pale, nerve-wracked people endlessly double checking for carcasses dragging under their tires. and the commentator was saying "this may seem very bizarre to you... or even funny. but it is VERY SERIOUS." when i was little i set out one afternoon to create my very own language. so i sat down with a pen and a piece of paper and proceeded to write down every single word i could think of with its according translation in my new language. so "sky" was "bloog" and "clouds" was "gorf" etc. the plan was that once i had translated every word i could think of, i could memorize all of the translations and presto would have my brand new language. and i got through maybe a hundred words and then i hit "whale", and realized that i had to make a translation for "baleen whale" as well as "sperm whale" and "humpback whale" and "killer whale" and "narwhal" and i started running out of different new terms for all the different sorts of whales i could think of and decided that this was going to take a lot longer than one afternoon. it is very much like the time i tried to build my own video game out of a box, but that is another story. here is the latest world news from roberto, the troubled boy under the stairs: 
NASA engineers are baffled as thier satilite spins out of control in space. A crew of six spider monkeeys desperatly try to open the solar pannels. The frozen wasteland may kill them. sqeak, toto, lumpy, snowflake, ki ki, and jerold all work very hard. snowflake cries a lot. ki ki is just happy to be part of the team  ok so um. i think i had something actually relevant to say, but can't remember now after reading that. that's the way it goes around here, isn't it. hmmm
don
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