July 13th, 2005


Slightly Less Dead

For some reason that reminds me of "Tastes Disturbingly Like Chocolate!" Some day I'm going to Photoshop myself a picture of a tub of that. "Ingredients: [censored], [censored], live baby [censored], essence of [censored], dibenzylatose tri[censored]ide, natural and artificial flavors. Contains no chocolate. Purchase of this product may result in a temporary increase in Terror Alert levels."

Joined Netflix yesterday. First season of Teen Titans and, er, something I forget is on its way. My queue has 11 movies in it already, and I don't remember what ANY of them are. This should be fun.

Certain of the people I work with are silly, silly art people. (As a member of the Ineffable Mystery of the Artist/Tech, I am permitted to mock either so long as I do so equally. I mocked techies last post.) My last day of training, the person who had the job before me made up a document with phone numbers and passwords and the like. Only she and I would ever see this document, and both of us already had -- yet she insisted on spending fifteen minutes making the text different colors so it would be pretty. No wonder I'm wowing everyone with how much faster I work than she did! Even worse was what happened on Monday -- since I am now the official office EDL expert, one of the producers asked me to make an EDL for her new series. Keep in mind that an EDL, once complete, is fed directly into the computer. No one ever actually looks at them, except to proofread -- the computer copies text out of the cells and plugs it into a web page template. No visual element of the EDL survives. So what's her comment after I finish? "It looks funny. Make all the cells the same size." "The computer doesn't care what size the cells are." "While you're at it, let's color code the different episodes so you can see where the divisions are."

As I said, silly, silly art people.

I had a really freaky dream the other night, and, as it is very rare for me to remember my dreams, I shall relate it here.

I'm walking through a sort of warehouse, with exposed pipes and bare walls and such (after waking, I recognized it as the basement of the house we lived in until I was in 6th grade). I am investigating this warehouse, where something evil (I'm fuzzy on the details) is going on. The owner, who is about half my height and wearing a trench coat and broad-brimmed hat so I can't see his face, shows me to this door. I open it, and inside see a bunch of cherubs (winged, baby-faced, naked, genderless, and about half my height) making lots of life-sized dolls of Zidane (picture) from Final Fantasy 9. I take my own tail in my hand and look at it -- I look exactly like the dolls. Then I look at the guy in the trench coat, who I now realize is a cherub in disguise, and he shrugs, as if to say "It's not my fault." The dream then shifts. Somehow, I have infiltrated the Zidane-factory, and none of the cherubs notice I look exactly like the dolls. I grab a two-by-four and start smashing one of the dolls. This infuriates the cherubs, and I notice that they have lots of really sharp teeth, like a shark. Around there, I woke up.
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