October 31, 2008
October 28, 2008
writing 10.28.08
I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast. I feel like crap on toast.
It's true I really do feel like poo.
It's true I really do feel like poo.
October 22, 2008
October 20, 2008
writing 10.17.08
A blank Word document.
Nothing is so intimidating to me as a blank Word document.
That little cursor blinks at you stupidly; almost mocking you that you haven’t made it cha-cha across the page. Well, little cursor man, I refuse to be intimidated by you! And if I don’t want to watch you cha-cha I don’t have to!! I’ll let you sit there for hours on end, just blinking at me. You can be a wallflower at the writing dance, while I work in my notebook (old school!) jotting down notes that may be worthy enough to grace your virtual page dance party.
So take that!!
…Umm…ok, so this could also be how I console myself when I have a minor dose of those two dreaded words: writer’s block. Now, iTunes, about a real dance party? Yes please!
Nothing is so intimidating to me as a blank Word document.
That little cursor blinks at you stupidly; almost mocking you that you haven’t made it cha-cha across the page. Well, little cursor man, I refuse to be intimidated by you! And if I don’t want to watch you cha-cha I don’t have to!! I’ll let you sit there for hours on end, just blinking at me. You can be a wallflower at the writing dance, while I work in my notebook (old school!) jotting down notes that may be worthy enough to grace your virtual page dance party.
So take that!!
…Umm…ok, so this could also be how I console myself when I have a minor dose of those two dreaded words: writer’s block. Now, iTunes, about a real dance party? Yes please!
October 15, 2008
October 14, 2008
writing 10.13.08
The day reminded me of those “Need a penny take a penny signs” that I used to see by cash registers in my childhood. More than once today I thought, wouldn’t it be great if I could dip into a bin like that when I am just a little short creatively? Need the right adjective/starting point/big idea?
Can’t think of one?
No problem!
Let me just slip over to that “Need a creative thought, take a creative thought” bin and grab the shiniest one in the bunch….Oh look…it’s perfect!! Why didn’t I think of that? Oh well, pay the bill (i.e. finish the assignment) and move on.
Instead, I found myself with my brow furrowed pouring thoughts into my notebook that would be worthy of a “Need a mediocre thought take a mediocre thought” bin.
Le sigh thank gawd for my work partner, Bernadette.
Can’t think of one?
No problem!
Let me just slip over to that “Need a creative thought, take a creative thought” bin and grab the shiniest one in the bunch….Oh look…it’s perfect!! Why didn’t I think of that? Oh well, pay the bill (i.e. finish the assignment) and move on.
Instead, I found myself with my brow furrowed pouring thoughts into my notebook that would be worthy of a “Need a mediocre thought take a mediocre thought” bin.
Le sigh thank gawd for my work partner, Bernadette.
October 10, 2008
October 8, 2008
writing 10.7.08
...my words are often found not in my own voice, but in the voices surrounding me, so you'll find me:
Listening to the subway clank its way to the West Village.
Listening to the sound of my mother in Ohio.
Listening to the rumblings of my stomach.
Listening to the worry in my head of a fast approaching deadline.
Listening to the whispery, country musings of Miss Neko Case.
Listening to the wind in the park.
Listening to Bernadette.
Listening to the squirrel that kept us company.
Listening to the thoughts tumbling around in my head.
Listening to the words jumping off the pages of advertising award show books.
Listening to the sound of my keyboard.
Listening to the stranger across from me.
Listening to subway meandering back to Brooklyn.
Listening to my footsteps on the deserted sidewalk.
Listening to Peter be happy about his new girl.
Listening to my keyboard finding its voice.
Listening to Einav hugging me through the phone.
Listening to my keyboard asking for more time to write – even though its 2am.
Listening to my body tell me its time to stop writing.
Listening to the sound of my worries slipping out the front door.
Listening to the subway clank its way to the West Village.
Listening to the sound of my mother in Ohio.
Listening to the rumblings of my stomach.
Listening to the worry in my head of a fast approaching deadline.
Listening to the whispery, country musings of Miss Neko Case.
Listening to the wind in the park.
Listening to Bernadette.
Listening to the squirrel that kept us company.
Listening to the thoughts tumbling around in my head.
Listening to the words jumping off the pages of advertising award show books.
Listening to the sound of my keyboard.
Listening to the stranger across from me.
Listening to subway meandering back to Brooklyn.
Listening to my footsteps on the deserted sidewalk.
Listening to Peter be happy about his new girl.
Listening to my keyboard finding its voice.
Listening to Einav hugging me through the phone.
Listening to my keyboard asking for more time to write – even though its 2am.
Listening to my body tell me its time to stop writing.
Listening to the sound of my worries slipping out the front door.
October 7, 2008
October 5, 2008
writing 10.3.08
Boring, idle silliness fills the spaces in my brain. Today, I’m full of anticipation for a big project I’m working on to be O-V-E-R.
This project is dragging on longer than a country road in Ohio. But, instead of turning back around I find the courage (or stupidity, or pure responsibility-it is my job after all) to grin and bear it. I hit the accelerator and find the words flying past me on the screen. I’m on cruise control and the faster I see the road in my rearview the better. Before I know it, the sun is high in the sky and I’ve made it past the most treacherous portion of the road. I take lunch as my reward and my hands are happy to be off the keyboard highway. Now, they keep themselves busy carrying forkfuls of salad to my eager mouth. My work partner, Bernadette, keeps me company and as we eat laughter fills the gaps in our conversation. But as our lunch progresses, images of the keyboard highway come to mind and I am reminded of the long journey that lies ahead of me. There are still many, many miles to be traveled today and so we begin our trek back to the office. As we meander through the West Village back to our desks we stumble upon a thrift store. Considering it’s a Friday and neither of us are particularly looking forward the project we’re returning to, we go in. My hands find themselves pouring over abandoned treasures and once they grab onto a snakeskin belt they refuse to let go. I pacify them and make the purchase and we are back at our desks within ten minutes. As I sit down to continue my journey I find myself unable to merge seamlessly onto the keyboard highway and instead am attracted by the bright lights of the Internets. Unfortunately, I end up wasting a good 20 minutes before my better judgment makes an appearance and demands the hands to get back on the highway. She’s such a drillmaster. Sometimes I wish she’d just take a chill – the whole point of having a creative job is to enjoy the process, after all. Sheesh! But alas, I know she’s right. Luckily, the hands don’t put up a fight and we’re back on the keyboard highway in no time. Autopilot turns on and the words fly past the screen at terrifying speeds. The remainder of the day passes this way and I exit the keyboard highway unscathed (thanks autopilot!) and full of optimism for the weekend.
This project is dragging on longer than a country road in Ohio. But, instead of turning back around I find the courage (or stupidity, or pure responsibility-it is my job after all) to grin and bear it. I hit the accelerator and find the words flying past me on the screen. I’m on cruise control and the faster I see the road in my rearview the better. Before I know it, the sun is high in the sky and I’ve made it past the most treacherous portion of the road. I take lunch as my reward and my hands are happy to be off the keyboard highway. Now, they keep themselves busy carrying forkfuls of salad to my eager mouth. My work partner, Bernadette, keeps me company and as we eat laughter fills the gaps in our conversation. But as our lunch progresses, images of the keyboard highway come to mind and I am reminded of the long journey that lies ahead of me. There are still many, many miles to be traveled today and so we begin our trek back to the office. As we meander through the West Village back to our desks we stumble upon a thrift store. Considering it’s a Friday and neither of us are particularly looking forward the project we’re returning to, we go in. My hands find themselves pouring over abandoned treasures and once they grab onto a snakeskin belt they refuse to let go. I pacify them and make the purchase and we are back at our desks within ten minutes. As I sit down to continue my journey I find myself unable to merge seamlessly onto the keyboard highway and instead am attracted by the bright lights of the Internets. Unfortunately, I end up wasting a good 20 minutes before my better judgment makes an appearance and demands the hands to get back on the highway. She’s such a drillmaster. Sometimes I wish she’d just take a chill – the whole point of having a creative job is to enjoy the process, after all. Sheesh! But alas, I know she’s right. Luckily, the hands don’t put up a fight and we’re back on the keyboard highway in no time. Autopilot turns on and the words fly past the screen at terrifying speeds. The remainder of the day passes this way and I exit the keyboard highway unscathed (thanks autopilot!) and full of optimism for the weekend.
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