Monthly Archives: September 2006

Too Much Time on My Hands

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Recently someone told me that, because I write a blog, she thought I had too much time on my hands. At the time, I was offended because it lessened something that makes me happy and frankly, I think is pretty cool. Later, I thought…so what? What’s wrong with having time on your hands? What does “too much time on your hands” imply? It implies that you’re not doing anything meaningful with your time; like feeding starving children or curing cancer. It implies that I’m so bored with my life that I have nothing better to do than blather on about absolutely nothing, and share my meaningless and unpaid opinion with faceless readers. It’s an implication that I have nothing better to do.

Do I have nothing better to do? I don’t write this blog as a form of entertainment. It’s simple purpose is as a forum for the thoughts that keep me up at night, the ideas that pop into my head and need a home. It’s a place for me to vent and rant (although, not about work because who knows who’s reading this). If it were about about the satisfaction of receiving comments…I’d be letting myself down. It’s merely something I do to keep myself sane. It also serves as a portal to the past. I can look back at who I was two years ago and remind myself how far I’ve come.

I agree, the Internets is filled with fluff. Blogs are like assholes, everyone has one. It’s not about what it offers to the world, because it generally offers absolutely nothing, it’s about having a place to write. Simple. Some bloggers have made names for themselves, some do it for the glory, some people actually get paid to blog. People like knowing that readers agree or disagree with them, that someone is paying attention, that they’re not alone. Despite living in a world where it’s easier than ever to connect with others, some people are still alone. A blog is a quick cure for loneliness. You can easily imagine that hundreds of people are reading your words, connecting.

I’ve only ever once been paid to write. About four or five years ago, I wrote a Horror movie column for Gothic.Net and Darren was nice enough to pay me. I wrote it for about 6 months until finally they’d gotten over my inability to turn in anything on time. Since then, I wrote an article on The Sims that was included in a book called “The Gothic Bible” by Nancy Kilpatrick. I’ve written several reviews for Virus! Magazine (online) and I write like a fiend for Dark Culture. None of these pay me a dime. I write because I love to write. I write because I think I’m fairly good at it.

Living in Los Angeles, it’s perfectly OK to name drop and boast about your meager accomplishments. Writers in particular, are infamous for thinking they’re better than everyone else. I know several that I could out, but discretion is the better part of valor. Writers, I’ve noted, are either so insecure about themselves and their work, that they find it unnecessary to talk about anything else. Who they know, where they’ve been, what they’ve just written for the The Daily Planet. Boast and brag. It doesn’t make them better writers. Rather, it’s this big neon sign flashing “I’m insecure. Love me because I know how to express my feelings in type better than you can.” I could write entire paragraphs on the subject, but the point is, I’m not that kind of writer. I don’t get paid, therefore some might not consider me a real writer at all. I don’t boast about my accomplishments at work, because honestly, I like to keep it separate from my real life. My job is my job, my writing is who I really am (or want to be).

Is there a fine line between self-promotion and bragging? There’s nothing wrong with wanting the world to read your words. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Writers, in general, want to share their views with the world. Perhaps all writers (including me) desperately need validation. Maybe we really are insecure babies who need faceless readers to love us. It’s not bad when they do. Still, there’s something false about a person who can only elucidate on a subject that they’re being paid 3 cents per word to write about. Can’t you talk about anything else? Or perhaps there are arguments on both counts. Paid to write writers have the monetary excuse to research things they never would have otherwise. Unpaid writers can complain about paid writers because they’re jealous. Naturally, I’d never turn down a paid gig, but it also doesn’t stop me from writing.

It appears the excess time I had on my hands has now run out.

SnackBoy Died

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Before video blogging was all the rage, before YouTube and MySpace, streaming video on the net was hard to find. Just five years ago, the world was still “catching on” to this thing called the Internets, which as you know, is a series of tubes. You didn’t have the over-abundance of video we have now. There were no video responses, favorite clips from movies, video montages, or film maker scams. The Internets was a better place. What we did have were several revolutionary sites that streamed video and entertained bored office workers.

One in particular, was a site called The Sync. They offered short, independently made, videos; some in the style of what we now call Video Blogging, others were theatrical in nature.  They weren’t high quality, by any means, but they were entertaining. I went there for SnackBoy.

SnackBoy was a daily feed hosted by Terry Crummit. Terry lay on a bed, his face in full frame, talking about his adventures in acting, things he’d seen, stories from his childhood. All were accompanied by goofy crayon drawings and his vivacious personality. Apparently, we wasn’t gay, but he could have fooled me. He had a wonderful sense of humor and his stories were (9 times out of 10) amusing. I watched almost everyday for a year. At one point, he went on a road trip and landed in Pasadena by way of Maryland. More specifically, he stayed at the Astro Motel, one of the crack-whore motels on East Colorado Blvd. He and I exchanged emails for a short time. He was adorable and sweet. I chickened out on meeting up with him. Shortly after, my interest in his show waned for one reason or another.

Last night, I was up a little late (but not as late as I used to). I wondered if Terry’s show was still on. I did a search because I couldn’t remember the name of the site. I found the site, but it wasn’t there anymore. What lay instead, was a memorial site for Terry who had died in a tragic automobile accident in 2004. I was unable to formulate how I should feel. I didn’t know him, but we’d exchanged emails. I’d never met him, but he consumed five minutes of my day for nearly a year. I read the long list of Terry memories and realized I wasn’t the only person who’d gone and come back years later, only to find he’d gone forever. The list is also filled with people who absolutely loved him and were deeply saddened by his passing.

In a realm where YouTube and MySpace prevail, where any chump can have a podcast or a video blog, Terry’s show “SnackBoy” really was at the forefront of a coming revolution.

I’ve been thinking about YouTube as an institution. Yesterday I was briefly caught up in a string of videos and video responses about a film project that scammed hundreds of thousands of people into believing it was real. I caught the aftermath, but was curious to see how it turned out and what kind of lame responses angry fans would post. I quickly realized, who gives a shit?!! People were incensed because they’d gotten attached to the main character and felt deceived and betrayed. The main character, by the way, was a hot “15 year old” who droned on and on about her stupid life from her clean bedroom. I watched two of her episodes and my first thought was, how can you NOT tell this is fake?? I guess some people really are that stupid.

Warhol was right when he said “In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” Little did he know, 15 minutes would actually be 15 seconds, maybe less. In our world of ultra convenience, people now have more time than ever to waste. They’re absolutely bored. Idle hands, as they say. Boredom has led to the birth of a magnificent glut of wannabes. The very moment something ingenious sprouts, there are hundreds of copycats. Within days, the cancer spreads and kills.

We live in a world that once was silent, is now overflowing with opinion. When I started The Gothic Preservation Society, there was nothing like it on the net. There were only two or three other Gothic webzines and none of them posted news. In a small way, I was part of a coming revolution. I’m part of it. I was one of the first people to have a podcast that catered to the dark scenes. Now there are more than a handful. As for music magazines, there are far too many to count. Am I famous? Probably not to any real extent, but let’s just say more people know me than I know them. I’m not concerned with fame. I’m concerned with producing things that don’t already exist. Dark Culture Magazine has inspired others to create web-magazines that are often an improvement on the original theme. They’re better than Dark Culture, which leads me to believe the site itself has become trite. If only I had more time, a reliable staff. Lately I’ve been thinking something needs to change.

I digress. In a world where people like Paris Hilton are famous for doing absolutely nothing and Mid-Western video bloggers are our entertainment, I wonder what the future holds. I’m already sick of it. Sick of it, but oddly intrigued.

Fare thee well, SnackBoy. You were at the forefront of a revolution and you didn’t even know it.