4th of July San Francisco

A classic case of of hopes, expectations, and buildup. For most people, the inconvenient fog that rolled in just in time to blanket and mask San Francisco's main fireworks display was unfortunate and frustrating. You could hear it vocally expressed around the small crowds that made up maybe two, three-hundred people that had ascended Corona Heights' craggy paths to what is surely one of the best panoramic views in the city.

But there were also those that were quiet, huddled against the cold wind with family members, friends, and lovers. To some of them, and to me, the booms of invisible, distant explosions were not insults: they were a backdrop to the massive orange glow of city light, delimiting street lamps, and local neighborhood fireworks.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that it's all around you. The glow, the colors, the joy, and tolerant life. It's all around you. Open up to it and breathe it in with a smile.

—July 2010

Welcome to my new domain. Like the old domain, but with less titular Dominickness. Because absurd is better, right?

P.S. I've only been to jury duty once, and I liked it.

Have fun,

—July 2010

Against my better judgment, you may begin to see little bits of Flash animation popping up here and there on this site; I'm learning it, it's new and fun for me, and this aint no goddamn portfolio. Not yet, at least.

Also, what was I thinking by using myfullname.com? "Sheesh" is an appropriate interjection. The domain name will be changing soon; appropriate parties will be informed. No RSVP needed.

—May 2010

Buddha 3 Stop Motion

My first attempt at stop-motion animation. Photos taken with my Canon Rebel XS. Painting done on a "Buddha Board" (the "paint" is just water, which evaporates rather quickly on the board's surface). Animation put together in Flash, and sound was recorded into Pro-Tools. I hope to develop this style further in the near future.

—May 2010

---Because---Sometimes---All---it---Takes---is---a---Little---Tilt

Wondering Wandering Thoughts—

How i've been a critic--or at least a constant critiquer--most of my life. Quick to complain, though usually with good intentions of improving the issue/item at hand. Wanton idealism?

I've been aware of it now for a while. Sorry, Alcoholics Anonymous, but Step 1 shouldn't be "admission", it should be "awareness"--you have to be aware before you can truly admit. I feel I've been wanting more and more to curb this habit of critiquing left and right. I'm always curious about the disconnect between subjective and objective, formalism of opinion, contextualism of the self. How it's unwritten law that we are to assume when someone says that "x is great", what they really mean is "I think x is great". Sometimes they think what they think is great coincides with what really is great, whether universally or just humanly.

But I digress. I've ignited efforts to stop my own wanton criticism, to focus on spreading word of what I like (with the assumption that those around occasionally want to know what my tastes are), and not so much saying this is bad or that is bad, unless we're formally deconstructing something.

[Ratatouille semi-SPOILER ALERT! (go watch this film tonight if you haven't seen it yet)] A salient reminder: Ego's review/monologue at the end of Pixar's superb Ratatouille. So eloquent, so pithy. I get chills just thinking about the ending, especially this quote:

"We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so."

A film about taste, aspiration, friendship, creativity. I still know people that will call such works "cartoons", often ignorantly and not condescendingly. Regarding Pixar's talented Brad Bird, via wikipedia.org:

"When Bird and producer John Walker recorded the Director's Commentary for The Incredibles' DVD, he jokingly offered to punch the next person that he heard call animation a genre instead of an art form."

How delightful! Ratatouille and Pixar's others are no cartoons: They're finely-crafted stories that evoke, explore, and teach some core, true human emotions, usually while dazzling the eye and ear. In middle school "awkward phase", I'd dream of entering college so I could forever be done with [list your favorite worst memories here], and either A) design video games, or B) help create animation in what was then a new "genre" of film: Pixar. Since graduating college some five years ago, I've done one of these things to a satisfactory level of success. Perhaps one doesn't have to indulge all of one's idle "dreams" that were solidified by the stale walls of brick and book reports. But it never hurts to be inspired.

—sometime around Dec. 2009

so many books describe characters with grey eyes. i don't recall i've ever seen anyone with grey eyes, let alone so many of them.

Don't forget to color.

—April. 2010

My Favorite Books of 2009

This is not a "Best of 2009" list; rather, it's a list of my favorite books that I read in 2009. If you and I have discussed literature before and—however faintly—share a similar taste, you may benefit from some of these suggestions. I'm also proffering this list not just as a suggestion, but as a window into my tastes for those that don't know me that well. Books, by nature, are more of a commitment than an album or a film, and receiving a good recommendation from a friend is a prize that I cherish.

In no particular order:

Watt by Samuel Beckett [Irish]. Thanks to Kristen for recommending this. Beckett's permutational enumerations can be grudging to get through, yet they may in fact be the least frightening aspect of this confounding and unsettling beast of a novel. Highly recommended for those that wish to be confused about life and art. Try reading it out loud if you don't "get it".

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett [Irish]. Technically a play, but still. If you think ten sentences is the bare minimum needed in order to describe a character putting on a piece of clothing, this may be for you. Also: you think God is dead.

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami [Japanese]. Thanks Andrew + Michelle. Reading about a character doing their laundry has never been so entertaining as it is here. Also, it's pretty mysterious.

Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger [American]. This was my 2nd time reading this collection. If you list Catcher in the Rye as one of your favorite books, promptly repent by reading any of his other works. You'll be doing me and Mr. Salinger both a favor (I've read that he hates that he's most known for Catcher). Nine Stories is a good place to start. Read the Glass family quadrilogy next. Franny and Zooey gets more attention, but don't forget about Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters, and Seymour: An Introduction.

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess [English]. Terrific language. Make sure to grab the edition with the extra final chapter; it's what the author intended but publishers originally omitted. Gives a different vibe than the (excellent) film version.

In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan [American]. If you've ever wanted to live on a commune built on absurdity and love, if you think poetry isn't dead, or if you've ever loved someone who is built from different ions than you, read In Watermelon Sugar.

The Third Policeman by Flann O'Brien [Irish]. Thanks, again, to Andrew + Michelle. 2nd time reading this one as well. The best novel about murder and bicycles that I've yet read. That said, no synopsis can really prepare you for what lies within the pages here. Marvelous.

—Jan. 2010

green

People we know have done this. You may have done this. It's ok. But listing "the color green" as one of your favorite "things" in a favorites list is a tired practice (slightly less egregious is listing it as a favorite "color"). I admit, it's a great color. Likeable, symbolic, and all-around robust. But our eyes are built to like green; the rods quiver and shake in its presence. We're senstive to its presence as a poet is senstive to every goddamn thing he or she perceives. There's a plethora (pleth-flora?) of shades to choose from. Make and choose your own. Here are my favorites:

robin-hood green
straight-up green
light-saber green
dashing green
neon green
tinsel green
forest green
sea-glass green
green-green

Instead of a win via quick wit, I think about it, this "assessment" which probably got applied to a fair number of people that walked by. He certainly didn't seem the clairvoyant type, but maybe there was something to his behavior. I thought about how I've slowly been dripping small amounts of caffeine back into my diet after cold-turkying it about 3 years ago. That much was true. And, yes, poetry dabbler, word tosser, prose adorer; fuck the structure, except for exercise. Haiku this. ABAB-that. I'll take a slant rhyme, but in music I like dissonance, and in words I like the unexpected, the mouthful. But, again, this episode got me thinking: This annoying gutter lad, whether it be his intent, got a self-dialog going within me. There are poems scrawled, in my horrible hand, written down over pages and pages, some good, some bad. Lots "bad". But they need some air, man. Trapped in head, or on the page, like poor to-be-slaughtered sow and vacant-eyed veal,... man. Let them be—be for at least some to see, not lost, self-hoarded relics.

So, thus instigated, I'm going to be putting some things of mine up on this website. Not just "poems", but anything I find suitable, not-suitable, rasterizable, neologizable, glossolalial. Probably sloppily, without the safe, pre-formatted blog style that was so tempting to nearly be a fate.

—Oct. 2009