I’ve been thinking a little bit lately about those people who identify with things they do. I have friends who are bike people; not to be confused with cyclists. They are camera people; not to be confused with photographers. Cinephiles, gadgetheads, runners, vegans, foodies, gym rats, dancers, partiers, drinkers (not to be confused with alcoholics?) and perverts.

I thought about all of them and wondered what my [something] is.

Am I a camera person? I think I was once. I don’t even quite consider myself a photographer — amateur or otherwise — as I haven’t picked mine up in five months. Five months!

Am I a web design person? Well, I do it for a living, but I don’t eat, drink or crap design either. You won’t hear me extolling the endless uses and virtues of Helvetica anytime soon, though I regularly use the font and enjoyed the documentary.

Am I a cinephile? I enjoy movies. I’m currently disappointed that I missed the Film Forum‘s retrospective on Kurosawa. However I have yet to see Citizen Kane. Also, I couldn’t name for you more than three Michel Gondry films. Well, I can now that I’ve looked him up on IMDb.

Am I a blogger? Haha, clearly not.

Anyway, I thought about all of these things wondered if I’m missing out on something because I can’t categorize myself. And then it occurred to me: I wonder if all of those people I’d categorized would think of themselves that way. I’d bet not. We’re not all just one thing that defines us; and if we are, that’d be pretty sad I think — your career notwithstanding, of course.

So I guess it’s all right.

LittleBill: Hey, are you liking that new Droid?
Sarah: Why yes I am
Sarah: I love my phone except for the one little glitch they all have.
LittleBill: That it’s not an iPhone?
LittleBill: :-D

. . .

Sarah: When you plug the head phones in and then take them out you have to pop the battery out to get sound again.

I was just reminded of some of the "might have beens" that were a part of my life. I thought of these people and I smiled, and I hope they’re well.

That’s all! :)

So, I rejoined my bar pool league tonight. That said, I brought my pool cue to work, eventually to the bar where we had our match tonight, and home with me afterward. After the final game of the World Series, I decided it was time to walk home. On the way home I decided to stop into a burger joint here in Williamsburg, and grab dinner.

As I’m standing there, there’s these four hipsters sitting eating their burgers and drinking their cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Finally one of them turns to me. He’s scruffy and wearing the filthy red baseball cap.

Red Baseball Cap: Nice pool cue.
Purposely Ironic Mullet: Yeah, is that a ninja sword?
LittleBill: If it were, I don’t think I’d tell you.
Red Baseball Cap: Why not?
LittleBill: Because a ninja would lie to you.
Purposely Ironic Mullet: And you’re a ninja?
LittleBill: There’s no answer that would satisfy that.

After a few minutes they come back about the pool cue.

Red Baseball Cap: You can’t hustle with that. As soon as you walk in, you’d be marked.
LittleBill: What’s to say I’m hustling? I’m in a pool league
Red Baseball Cap: Well…
LittleBill: Also, what’s to say I need or want to hustle?
Ironic Mullet: To make money

I look at myself.

LittleBill: I make plenty of money, do I look like I need to hustle? What’s to say I’m even any good?

This is where the hipsters decide to judge.

Red Baseball Cap: You’re saying you don’t hustle with that cue?

(bear in mind I haven’t even removed it from the case)

LittleBill: No… why?
Ironic Mullet: I bet we make more than you do.
Red Baseball Cap: Yeah, how much money do you make?
LittleBill: Well that’s awfully rude.
Red Baseball Cap: Why’s it rude? Are you embarrassed?
Ironic Mullet: I bet we make more money than you.

(pause)

LittleBill: Individually or cumulatively?

(pause)

They go on for a few more minutes about me, about how I’m some obnoxious prick who won’t say how much money I make, so therefore I’m embarrassed.

Finally, my food arrives. I’m ordering to go.

LittleBill: By the way, I make $XXX thousand per year.

I wiped the smiles off their smug obnoxious faces.

LittleBill: Don’t ask if you’re not prepared for the answer. G’nite fellas.

…and walked out the door.

I haven’t doing much in the way of photography lately. There’s both a good and a bad reason for it. The good reason is that I managed to ruin one of my favorite lenses beyond repair, which I have yet to replace. The bad reason is that I just haven’t been getting off my ass to take photos with the camera and lenses I do have.

Perhaps I’m coming down from having broken up with my girlfriend, which is never fun. Even though I wasn’t feeling any romantic interest in her anymore, there’s still a bit of a hole in my world which a person once filled. She was a fantastic companion, and in that respect I miss her horribly.

I’m only now starting to feel restless. It’s definitely a byproduct of my loneliness, coupled with the fact that I’m finding myself suddenly with an incredible amount of free time. This restless of spirit is good though; it’s reminding me that I am — first and foremost — a creative being.

I’ve come into a little bit of money due to a freelance project. Perhaps I ought to replace (or upgrade!) that favorite lens. Maybe it’ll serve as the impetus to get me off my feet, to get me moving again. If nothing else, maybe I can get back into the habit of carrying my camera with me wherever I go.

It’d really be nice to be excited about making something again.

ADDENDUM:

AND FINALLY:

Is it writer’s block or sheer laziness that I haven’t finished a screenplay in a long time, and that, because of this, I haven’t made a single short film (or long film, or any film for that matter!) in the five years I’ve lived in New York?

I just spent ten minutes on “story ideas” websites, trying to get my creative juices flowing. I have some limitations I’ve got to put into place. I see limitations as creative challenges, more than anything, but still — I need an idea. My limitations:

- The story needs to be upwards to 10-15 minutes long. No longer.
- It has to be within my means to film, either in Upstate NY or New York City
- Two to three characters MAX.
- Up to five scenes MAX.
- Nothing that requires extensive (or any) special effects.

Those really aren’t much for limitations. So why is it I just can’t get myself to crank out a few story ideas? The ones I start are interesting scenarios but offer very little in terms of character development or theme. Or they’re just outright depressing.

For those writer friends of mine, how do you break out of a block? Or, better yet, do you have any stories you’d like for me to film? :)

This weekend has left me in a state of disquiet. I’m not sure how better to put it. I had a now-former friend visit for the weekend. I’ll admit to some expectations. I’m not quite sure what they were, but I will say that even my lowest expectation — the manner in which you treat someone you hold dear and close to you — was left shattered.

Simply put, I was lied to by someone I never expected to lie to me. My friend could argue till she’s blue in the face that she had no idea she was offending me and hurting my feelings, but I know her better than that. She is a person who places a great deal of weight in appropriate and proper behavior and knows that what she did was uncool. To say otherwise or to claim ignorance on the matter would be a blatant lie from this particular person. A lie told, incidentally, to my face. In doing so, she betrayed a few other lies to me, some of which may have been designed to spare my feelings; but they were lies nonetheless.

I don’t care if my feelings get hurt. I can get over that. I do care when I call someone on something so obviously rude (details are unimportant for this entry) and I’m lied to by the person saying they had no idea it would be interpreted as such. It not only insults me, but it insults my intelligence, the liar’s intelligence, and it insults the trust I hold in my friends.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m by no means a perfect person and I make my share of mistakes. But never would I tell an outright lie to someone I counted among those I cared so deeply about.

I’m left questioning my judgment in naming a friend as such. And that, more than anything else in recent memory, makes me feel very lonely.

Was just chatting with my designer at work here:

LittleBill: y’know how I was complaining about photoshop’s tools randomly disappearing on me?
Aaron: yeah
LittleBill: ever just press TAB?
LittleBill: TAB turns the tools on/off
Aaron: haha yes
Aaron: that’s what you did?
LittleBill: *hangs head*………. yes
Aaron: haha
LittleBill: Art Director FAIL

I had an amazing night last night. Here’s the rundown:

6:00 – Found an amazing parking spot on the street for my car.
6:30 – Meet up with Will, Meredith, my best friend Mike and his lovely wife Kate, and other new friends for drinks in Manhattan. We all tweet while there. Will calls us nerds — via twitter, of course. I finally meet Xopchipili, whom I’d seen in and around the blogosphere, tweetscape and social networking world, who is also good friends with other friends of mine.
7:40 – Chat up a couple of nice girls at the bar. Their names were Nicole and Alison. They’d just moved to the neighborhood.
10:00 – Slackmistress‘ cousin John and his lovely girlfriend invite us to a birthday party at a bar in Williamsburg.
10:30 – Drinks in Williamsburg.
10:45 – Open Invite to LA from Will to visit his wife, The Slackmistress and him — (hope he told you that, Nina)
11:00 – I meet a “burner” girl. I forget her name. I guess she’s one of those Burning Man types. She’s flirty. Turns out all she wants is free drinks. Drink/flirt FAIL.
11:30 – We all bounce to another bar in Williamsburg so I can achieve my final goal of the night: to meet up with the lovely Tiffany. I’m a sucker for redheads, and women with beautiful smiles. She happens to have both.
11:45 – We meet up with Tiffany as she heads out. No worries, we head in for a glass of scotch. I buy a round of 21 yr old Glenfarclas for the friends.
12:00 – We all head to my apartment 2 blocks away. Will crashes. The other friends leave.
12:15 – One-handed instant messaging Mlle. Wang on my iPhone. I think we decide we should meet up for drinks sometime. This morning she tried to tell me that I drunkenly came on to her via IM. Chat logs refute this statement! Don’t mess with me, yo!
12:30 – SLEEP WIN.

The scotch was too much. That was definitely the final nail in the coffin. I may have not spent the entire day in a painful hungover stupor all day had I not had that glass. Or if I’d done what I know to do: prepare with lots of water before bed.

Also, having someone shake you awake is really jarring. Never had anyone do that to me before, that I can recall. Will needed directions to the subway to get home.

All in all, a good time. It’s too bad Will and Nina aren’t closer by, they’re good people to spend time with. I’ll have to take them up on that LA thing sometime. Will seems to think he can hook me up with some beautiful west coast ladies. We’ll see about that!

You find yourself ruminating for weeks on end. A month goes by, and then another. And you’re still left without anything worthy of production. Nothing of value to show the world.

And that’s okay.

It’s okay because you’ve been processing. You’ve been piecing thoughts together as if they were building blocks. No, better. As if they were Legos. Snapping together, piece by piece you find yourself with a towering structure. But you need to be careful how high you build; after all, it will topple.

And then you’re left with the pieces back on the floor. Ready to be built up again.

At some point you have to declare it finished, even if it’s not so. You have to declare success and move on to the next towering structure. Perhaps there you’ll learn from the first and apply your failures in design to the next.

And again.

And again.

Until you’ve got something worth showing the world.

Soon I’ll have something worth showing the world.

This is an analogy for many, many things.

It’s never as bad as you think it is. That’s the lesson I’ve learned this weekend. This weekend was utter shit, both with my family and personal life. I expect more bad news in the future, and I’m even resigned to the loss of hope for the best. Still, it’s never as bad as I think it is.

That’s because there are lessons taken away from, that can — and will — be taken away from this. The lesson, this time, is to not compare myself to you. Any of you.

It’s the same as what they say, making mountains out of molehills. If you feel you’ve dug yourself into a hole, it’s not nearly as deep as it seems. The very effort to save yourself, no matter how hard it feels, is the first step.

What’s better, is that my molehills aren’t even that steep.

I’ve got this, this is no problem.

And anyone who wants to leave me in their dust are now severely lacking in something wonderful. I may be up shit creek, but I’ve got a paddle.

- – -

I’m okay with the cliché abuse in this entry. Ha.

- – -

Addendum: After talking to my good friend Rachael, it turns out that the shit creek I thought I was in might just be shallow mud. Excellent. Crisis potentially averted.

I’m not sure what to say. The last seven or so has been a whirlwind, starting with utter bliss. Laughter, kisses, bagels and wet socks. Sleep with contentment, without feeling restless. And yet there were no promises made, nor any kept, but perhaps a little bit of optimism in the air. It was grand.

A week later and it’s all come crashing down. I’m finding myself in the lowest place I’ve been in a long time — perhaps ever — not just emotionally but physically as well. I’m restless, lost, confused, guilty, at fault, and certainly not a victim.

I don’t know who I am anymore — and no, I’ve never based self-worth on the validation from others. I just don’t know who I am anymore.

And yet there’s still a few pluses, if you can call it that. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a silver lining. More like life saying to me, “lighten up, you’re only knee-deep in shit, you’re not wading in it.”

I come home and I see what a real nightmare can be. And I’m reminded that, as bad as my life gets, and as bad as life can be here, there’s always someone worse off than me.

And I keep going. I just wish, for once, it wasn’t alone. That said, I’d rather be alone than be with someone who doesn’t want me.

Still, it doesn’t mean there’s no pain,— even if I’m the guy who drove the knife in the first place.

Sometimes you don’t expect the quiet. On Bedford Ave. At 11am.

It’s hard to explain but there’s a difference in the way a car drives down the street in the winter than in the other seasons. I’m not sure what it is. The pitch is higher, the sound of the tires rolling down the street more crisp, and there’s a quiet solitude towards it.

No one is out yet on a Sunday morning at 11am. It’s too cold yet.

The sound reminds me of home — where I want to think things are simpler, easier, slower. But really there’s no difference between here and there. People can find themselves stagnant, stubborn and selfish there just as anywhere else. People can find themselves just as difficult, or fun, or full of zest.

You keep thinking there’s always something better out there. When I lived in my hometown it was here.

Now that I live here I want to point my finger elsewhere. Another neighborhood, another subway stop, another borough, another state, another coast. Something better is only found within. And that’s the most frightening part. Changing requires taking a hard, honest and critical look. Not with the aim of self pity, nor self destruction, but with self-improvement.

So, as another set of tires comes rolling down the street, I take a deep breath and realize that I’ve already arrived. Now it’s time to make my move.

She makes me feel like I’m not alone. It’s really as simple as that. I mean, it’s obvious I’m not alone. I live in a city of millions of people. MILLIONS! Everywhere I turn there are people, and yet — even around some of my best friends — I feel alone. Sometimes painfully so.

But with her, she’s really there with me. Even from a couple hundred miles away. And, despite the fact that she’s physically absent, there she is.

And I don’t know what’s going to happen. After all, she is a couple hundred miles away.

Bud I’d like to find out.