These are two concept posters for Coma, which at this moment is a secret project. I can tell you it’s not my project and it’s a musical. I’m really looking forward to doing more work on it.
It seems that there are only two opinions about this show, Love and Hate. I never read the books that the show is based on, Charlaine Harris’s Dead Until Dark. I also wasn’t a huge fan of Ball’s previous show, Six Feet Under. It was ok but not enough to get my attention; all this to say that I had very little expectations going into the pilot episode.
Here I stand; she holds my hand.
The smell of wet earth fills my nostrils, and the late summer sun warms my face. The wind blows foretelling a storm.
Everyone is here but you. No one knows what to say but they all look beautiful. Suits, dresses, nice shoes, and colourful ties contrast the grey, green, and brown.
Read more at The Creative Act: http://thecreativeact.wordpress.com/2008/09/18/bye-mom/
Many who work in the industry mock it. Many who study it have decided it is a square vortex of evil. Many more believe it is a vacuous waste of time and energy.
By no means, is television popularly considered art, culturally enriching, or even good; yet millions of people watch television everyday. I’ve met people who blushed and were embarrassed at the fact that they watched television at all. It’s a choice and I can see why people would make it. My favourite line goes something like this, “I don’t watch television. It has nothing but mindless drivel.”
There’s nothing more awkward then asking someone what they think of a television show, or even a movie, and getting a disdainful look followed by an assertion that they only watch art house films. I do my best to assume that these people have chosen a lifestyle and opinion of popular culture that I do not understand.
The more adamant a person is about the evil of television the more likely I am to believe they watch Survivor.
I am a pop culture junkie. I do not aspire to write like Anton Chekhov, Leo Tolstoy, or even T.S. Elliot. They’re good at what they do but my interest lie with, Ray Bradbury, Roger Zelazny, Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King, or Terry Pratchet.
I believe a good piece writing, be it theatre, television, novel, comic, or movie, (I’m sure I left something out.) should have two levels. The first being a story people can associate with while being entertained and second being something to challenge their minds. A great piece of writing should have three, the third being something that challenges their way of thinking.
That way if someone wants, they can partake in the art form and only pay attention to the first layer, therefore being entertained. You can read most of the Narnia series by C.S. Lewis and truly believe it is nothing but a pretty children’s story or you can choose to think about it more deeply and see the religious subtext.
What I’m saying, in short, is that despite our society’s oxy-moronic obsession with openly hating television, it is ok to admit you like it. There is nothing wrong with watching television.
My Name is Éric and I am Canadian… Watch Television.
Stay tuned for my TV Show revues.
As I sit in front of my glowing screen, my mind wanders. The small insignificant sounds of an office are overshadowed by the fantasy world my mind has escaped too. I keep working but I am not truly here. The running water of a tap becomes a spring somewhere in the distance. The bright florescent lights become a tireless and cruel sun. The soft padded chair is now a horse, sounds of my typing its hooves.
My insides tremble at the thought of ever-looming adventure. My heart jumps at the thought of riding into battle. Narnia, Midle Earth, Pern, or Eberron, they all call to me and in the doldrums hours between arriving and leaving I answer. I do not waste time, I invest it. I do not dream, I travel! I do not imagine, I create! And at the end of the day, I am no more or less sane then before.
My cubicle is not my jail cell; it is the repository for my body.
I like to think of myself as a romantic fool. A Nostalgic Dreamer. I almost used that as the blogs name but it didn’t represent the goal. The goal is to upload my creative activities. I aspire to, many things and I’d like to think that in some cases I actually succeed.
So welcome and here’s one of my favourite photos for the moment:
Previously Posted at my Livejournal. Written for my great aunt that died around that time.
Ode to J—
Previously Posted at my Livejournal.
A long walk.
“Not all who wander are lost.” Tolkien
Sometimes sadness needs to be walked away. I was sad, I and don’t know why. For some reason as I was on the bus towards home today, my brain flickered back on. For the past month, the lights were on but there was no one there. After the events with my father I could only feel anger and I couldn’t let myself think. So I turned off my brain. Smartest thing to do before exams I know. Now for some reason it turned back on tonight.
I had the overwhelming urge to walk, so I got off the bus at Lincoln fields. I walked passed the mall, then the Wendys. That’s when the memories started to come. My mind flashed with the memory of filming the tribute video and the movie night we walked to wendys. I passed the chiropractor and said hello to Murray. He’s a skeleton on the roof. His hat changes with the season. Good guy that Murray. I passed the Mcdonalds and remembered all the times me and neil stopped there after English class. There’s a girl in our class who’s cute but pretty nutty. Not in the normal way but in a scary way.
She reminds me of my first girlfriend Natalie. Poor girl was strange but I thought I loved her. When I realised I didn’t and I started disliking her I broke it off. That was in 10th grade. I didn’t see Nat often after that, not until 12th grade when I found a note in my locker telling me she was planning on jumping off a bridge. I knew she was serious because she had already tried to hang herself. I panicked, having no clue what to do. My guidance counsellor wasn’t there that day and my girlfriend at the time was at coop. I talked to a friend and we called my girlfriends mother who worked with troubled youths. She took care of it.
Passed the McD I decided to turn. I crossed and found a park. I whent towards a cute little rock. I was going to sit on it until I see it was really a fountain. Very pretty. I moved on to another massive rock. This rock had intricate carvings of butterflies all over it. When I get a camera, I’m returning there. I stood in the middle of the park at 11pm and tried to scream. I wanted to let out a gut wrenching scream to show the frustration I had, It came out as a weak yelp.
I continued to walk not knowing where I was going or why, I just walked. The neighbourhood became more residential. I glanced up at a window. It was a girl’s room; she had pictures of guys pasted all over her room. It reminded me of Lynne my cousin. I spent many hours as a kid talking with her in her room, or pushing toy cars across their hall with Denis. I remember a Halloween party she true when we were in 7th grade. I was the only boy allowed to go. I dance with a large plastic pitchfork and hit the girl I had a crush on.
I remember being at the grocery store with my mom in 5th grade. We had class elections and I asked her how to write a good speech. She told me to be honest. I was lost till finally that night I had an idea. I when up and crumpled up my papper. Trew it back and simply said, “I had a whole speech written, but the truth is if I’m class president, I will work for what you want.” I won that election and did exactly what I said. No one need know that I never had a speech prepared.
I kept walking, pausing to smell the smells of the city, touch the trees and objects, all while listening to David Usher’s new album. I then saw the Ikea and decided to cross the 417. I stood on top of the bridge and watched the cars go by. As I walked towards the Ikea, I saw a photograph on the ground. It was a woman holding a kitten in an old kitchen. The picture was faded with rain and sun. It reminded me of Nicole, then the giant corn roast in VG, then Gauthier Lake. I used to swim there every year. I miss the freshwater. Then I thought of fishing. I fished with my mom once and we spent the day getting sunburned and feeding the fish. It was a good thing because my mom wouldn’t have known what to do with the fish. She only touches dead fish that have been cleaned.
That reminded me of a memory that I had forgotten. I don’t remember when but I once went fishing with my dad. I remember waking up at 4 am to leave and being in the car forever. I also remember Hiking for what seemed most of the day. But it was worth it. We fished besides waterfalls of pure blue water. It was pure beauty. I love my dad.
I then saw the chapters and hoped that maybe the Starbucks was open. It wasn’t and I was starting to wonder what I was doing. I went into a shell and bought a drink. Then I headed out again. As I walked down the dark streets of an unknown section of Ottawa, I thought of my years here. I remember the first week I was here. I was so stressed having lived alone for 3 months with no one but the sweet old lady downstairs to talk to. I ran out of my res and went to chapters. I spent 7 hours in there browsing. I remembered the movie nights we had in res, just me, marie-eve, Pierre and steph. I remembered the life I had then and how afraid I was of everyone.
I walked the wealthy neighbourhood and glanced in the windows wondering about their lives. It reminded me of a few weeks ago when I was watching tv and Chris called Jon. A commercial came on and jon started saying something interesting. I turned the sound down and Alex looked at me and told me to put it back up. He told me it was rude. He was right of course. I wonder at my unending curiosity. I spend to much time listening to others lives. I had never realised that maybe it was wrong. I don’t do it hurtfully I just enjoy other peoples lives and trying to understand them. I’m very strange.
I walked and the streets got narrower and then there was no sidewalk. I was in a rich neighbourhood. I started to worry that I was lost. Every once in a while I would take of my earphones to listen and find my way to the 417.
I was mugged maybe a half dozen times. They were all in my mind and all played out differently. Sometimes I was attacked and I panicked other times I was to stupid to be afraid and I died. Then I started to worry about wild animals. The worst thing I met was a gopher. He saw me looked puzzled, gophers always look puzzled and when back into his whole.
I walked into a park then saw not only the 417 but the lights of Bayshore. My feet had brought me home. I followed the park till it ended in a dead end of backyard fences. I climbed the fence and saw a road. Richmond I think. Crossed it and saw a mini forest with a path through it. The path was covered in a thin fog. I decided that it was to mystical to avoid. (Pun un-intended) I when through the little forest and found myself next to the 417 It was maybe 12 by then and I realised that It was a long way around. Seeing Bayshore shinning in its artificial lights I decided to cross the major highway named for Her Majesty. I ran across my heart beating. I paused in the middle feeling the wind of transports and then crossed again. Finding myself behind the mall. I walked home.
Once home I sat down on a plastic chair and thought a little more. Turns out that sometimes doing something totally stupid can remind you that you are alive and that life is worth living. Then Jon came out and we talked about Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.
In the end, it was an interesting night.