As usual, I feel the need to explain myself. Depending on how much you prefer to overthink and overanalyze everything like I do ... (Oh ... not so much? Good for you! Must save you tons on the pharmaceuticals. Oh ... not so much?)
First things first ... pilot episodes usually suck, and I make no claims for a pulitzer. (There is a blog category now, right?) But as with most new television series, the pilot is really rough, maybe even awful. It may not even truly show the qualities that could make it a good show, even though that's its express purpose. Yet with a little nurturing and massaging, the kinks slowls work themselves out, and the series will blossom, developing into a miraculaously consistent form of entertainment.
Or more often ... not.
Yeah, my pilot might have been cancelled, but hey, if this, this and this could get originally picked-up, and this could last a whole season ... well, I feel OK about my odds, especially since I'm my own network exec.
So really, does the world need another blog? I mean there are thousands ... tens of thousands ... hundreds of thousands ... (I could do this all day) ... millions ... point is, whatever the number, there are way too many out there already. This blog is actually my own prescription for my love-hate-hate-love-hate-hate-hate-love-hate relationship I have with writing. Due to my addictive behavior, I anticipate this little space forcing me to get all the shit out of my head, and since my therapist doesn't think my issues are worthy of actual medication, I'm forced to create my treatment.
My need to vent and rant (I hope that's not a dirty word now that Mr. Miller has lost his mind) has been the one thing that ever made me feel truly close to greatness. Back in 1992, when I was at UCLA (notice the word "studying" is conspicuously absent) and writing for the Daily Bruin, I had the pleasure of interviewing Spaulding Gray (a moment of silence, please ... thanks) before the release of his film "Monster in a Box." It's the only in-person interview I did during my three years as an entertainment journalist that I remember vividly. Sitting across from a small desk in a tiny office of some notable (at-the-time) PR flacks, he wouldn't put down my tape recorder, saying it made him feel "in control." More importantly, I'll always remember what he told me about why he writes: he didn't enjoy it, he said. But he had to do it. Every day. If he didn't, he would no longer be able to think. His mind would become too confused. And he would, quite simply, "explode." Writing was obviously his therapy ... I wonder if it simply stopped working.
I haven't come close to reaching that breaking point. In fact, there may often be a looming explosion inside my grey matter, but at some point I've managed to calm it with thought-provoking exercises like watching eight hours of DeVo'd reality TV.
Yeah ... this might be more productive. I'll have to figure out how to balance both, though.
As far as the name ... I mentioned this before, but I spent a lot of time planning this blog and just thinking posts rather than writing it. Much of the time was simply thinking-up a name. I have probably not undertaken a more useless endeavor in the last couple months than whatever time I spent stressing over the right name for this blog and the soon-to-come main website where it will live. (I only said probably.) First I was going to use Late to the Party since all the cool kids in NY and elsewhere (like Pamie and her TWoP friends) have been doing this for so damn long. Then I thought about Outside Looking In since there seems to be this amazing community of bloggers, who know each other online and maybe off and who's writing I'm just crazy enough to appreciate and admire. But I really am not that needy. And while I love reading Choire Sicha, TMFTML or (lord help us all) Eurotrash -- just to mention a few (again ... look right, my children) -- I don't anticipate being able to match the acerbic, biting, brilliant wit of any of them. Nor am I actually stalking any of them. (Well, maybe Eurotrash, Maccers , MT and Queen Elizabeth). Finally, there was that brief flirtation with Procrastination Station when I realized what I was doing, but I didn't feel I would live up to the name if I did not mention to create a Mr. Rogers or Captain Kangaroo (R.I.P. to you both) site in an Avenue Q vein. Then there's also the fact that I didn't want to copy the House of Chen.
And then I flashed back to those Daily Bruin halcyon days. I had a column. I talked about film, TV, music, pop culture, the media ... I even touched upon politics once, albeit in reference to watching a debate on TV versus listening to it on the radio. I wrote about whatever I wanted, and since I was editor of the section for part of my time at the paper, I often wrote for as long as I wanted. I'd sit, and vent, and opine and suddenly I'd be done.
I looked back at a few of my old columns a few days ago (because I'm just pitifully nostalgiac enough to keep that stuff), and it brought on such a strong reaction. Something akin to dry-heaving. WOW, did they ever suck ... in so many ways. But dammit, if the column title didn't work, because I was then, as I often am now, completely Out of Focus.
As far as puff307.com, well ... that's for another day ... maybe when we know each other better. Like any TV series, two episodes is more than enough exposition ... the rest will come out along the way.
Were you the bloke outside my window with the binoculars last night?
Posted by: Eurotrash | Monday, March 01, 2004 at 12:03 PM
Damn ... I knew the miner's light on my hat was too much.
Posted by: Aaron | Monday, March 01, 2004 at 12:21 PM
Also, Maccers says will you please stop breaking into her apartment and sniffing her knickers. She'll send you some in the post if you're that desperate.
Posted by: Eurotrash | Monday, March 01, 2004 at 12:26 PM
Damn. I knew coming out of the bushes was a big mistake.
Posted by: Aaron | Monday, March 01, 2004 at 12:31 PM