Saturday, June 21, 2008

I'm flattered but....no

The other day I was chatting with my friend in the arts office about the usual stuff. How did the movie look? Did I work the camera like a kangaroo on Starbucks? How's the family? Stuff like that.

I always ask about video shoots because I want to go along on one and see how it's done. Usually all the video shoots are in the early morning or on days when I am working on something. At some point in my recent years I have started being fascinated with film and drama. I'm amazed by it, I love to learn about it, and see it happen.

I was asked if I would like to be an extra in one of the movies. I very quickly said no.
Public appearance stuff is about the only line I am not willing to cross.

I will write something for an audience, but I can't stand up and speak in front of them.

I can use a camera to record someone speaking, but I dodge the lens when I can.

I don't even have yearbook pictures when I was old enough to avoid them, I didn't want to remember what I looked like about 20 years down the road. Denial is good.

I really don't mind doing about anything I am physically capable of doing to help out, but I am scared to death of being in front of people. I didn't use to be so shy, but I don't feel that comfortable in my skin anymore. So part of it is wanting to be behind the scenes and another part is I am terrified to be seen.

You add that to Youtube and that makes me duck or turn around when I see any flashing red lights. I love Youtube, I can listen to my bad 80's music and see some stuff that entertains me, but I don't ever want to be on it.

Besides am I the only one that thinks this....I think I sound pretty nice and don't mind hearing me talk as a general rule. I listen to a recording of me though and I go "WHO IS THAT?!" I sound like a mumbling nasal teenager. Knowing that alone makes me not too eager for recorded medium. I mean I can't even watch my vacation videos without cringing.

So this shoot that is coming up, pray that I stay strong. If a bunch of guys try to talk me into it I have to remember that I will live to regret it. Let's keep as much of Janus as we can off other forms of media.

no no no.

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Thursday, June 19, 2008

Telly's new place

I am slowly getting back up from being sick.

Has it been a month?

Does anyone read this anymore?

Why do I ask questions that are pointless?

Today I saw Telly. To fill you in, I used to take care of Telly but he went to "a home" over a month ago. So on the way back from the Box I decided to drop by and see him. It is very difficult to talk to him because he has a problem hearing but also not a lot to say.

When you live in a place and the highlight of the day is waiting an hour for dinner since you want to get there early and get a better table.... It was hard to see him to be perfectly honest, since I didn't know what to talk about.

"How do you like it here?" Good... "How is the food" Good....

It was also hard to see that he is getting older and slowing down even more. It has been about a month and he seems to have aged years since our last meeting. Same shirt, same smile, but something different.

I also saw a room full of people that had the same sad looks. People with gray and white hairs, people that had walkers and wheelchairs, people that had a problem even holding their head up. Quite different from the independent living homes, a nursing home seems more like a gloomy prison. The staff was nice enough, but you can't help but feel the futility.

I know that they have a few other floors for people that have Dementia. I thought the first floor was gloomy enough. I think I will stay away from that floor unless I have to.

I fear getting older. I am scared I will end up in a cafeteria with a bib anxiously awaiting my hot dog for an hour so I can have a chair facing a TV. This reminds me of why I do what I do, to try to bring a little light in that darkness.

He asked when I was coming back, I told him I would drop by next Thursday on the way back from work. Somewhere along the way I got adopted into his family.

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