Water tastes better in a pretty glass...
This year, at the ripe old age of 48, we bought my very first home. It has been quite exciting. I am still getting used to a lot of things and am constantly surprised at the new adventures. One in particular has been discovering the joy of cooking in a well equipped kitchen. I love to cook and bake and especially when others enjoy me enjoying it. Cooking for a crowd is great fun when you have the space and tools to make the job successful.
12.10.2009
The Art of Gift Giving... or... Learning to Love Your Vacuum
Every year my male clients will ask me for advice about what they should give, or more often, tell me what they got their wives for Christmas. Most often, their wives are my clients too and I usually respond to the “I got her a new vacuum! It’s AWESOME! It picks up dog hair!” with “Oooooh. You like sleeping on the futon in the basement.” I promptly give them some ideas that will at the least save their backs and at best, save their marriage. None of which include tools, even if they’re pink, or shelving for the garage.
12.07.2009
Kindred Spirits
It has been suggested to me by some of my more enlightened friends that people are brought into our lives or put in our paths at certain times for very specific reasons. The people who possess certain gifts or virtues or who require the gifts and virtues that we ourselves possess will somehow, manifest themselves to us at the perfect time. I have been pondering this suggestion for a bit. While I'm not certain how or why it happens there are particulars of which I am certain.
Shake the Tree
I taught a theory class to a bunch of hair dressers on Monday. It isn’t a class people take because it’s fun or exciting. Sometimes, they take it because it’s available and convenient. Sometimes they take it because their managers think they need it. Sometimes they take it because they didn’t read the description and thought it was a hands on color or techniques class. Some of the trainers on the team don’t like to teach it either. It isn’t creative enough or hands on enough. And, the evaluations we get from our attendees tend to be a bit lower for the color theory class and no one wants that.
Naps are Good, Don't Throw Your Food and other Points for Survival
We had a staff meeting today. The boss started out with a question and asked everyone to tell one thing they learned in kindergarten. Most said things like “play nice”, “share”, “follow the rules”, “raise your hand”. I said “Naps are good” and “don't throw your food”.
There's a bit of discontent where I work at the moment. When you put a fairly large number of people in a relatively small space, there is bound to be an occasional bit of turbulence. Particularly when said large number of people happens to be, more specifically, female.
Generally, we are a pretty happy family; rare conflicts are more often than not handled privately and between the offending parties; most of us are team players and those who are not put up with the rest of us; when someone needs a hug, a hand, or a hint, another is usually nearby with an ample supply. Actually, we're not like a family at all. We get along too well to be considered family.
Many of us have been there since our salon and spa opened, three and a half years ago; many more came within the next year, and a small handful are newbies; (a year or less). The fact that we all get along and actually like each other, along with the low turn over, is no small accomplishment.
It hasn't always been that way. In the beginning, when we were all new, we had some growing to do. We had to learn that this one wasn't mean - she was shy. That one wasn't arrogant – she was intimidated. The other one wasn't untalented – she was inexperienced. We became a team in spite of obstacles; Friends in spite of differences; Stronger as a group without sacrificing our individuality. It has been amazing to watch and experience.
Every now and then, a new hire comes along and fits right in. It feels like they've always been there and we can't remember what it was like before they came. Other times, it doesn't work out quite that way.
Which brings me to our current situation. Occasionally, a new hire comes in and doesn't immediately mesh. Sometimes it takes a couple of weeks or a couple of months. Heck one stylist took a couple of years. Usually, when that happens, the new hire leaves with a bad taste in her mouth for the staff and the company. We have been accused of eating new hires for lunch but I vehemently deny this. They are much too bitter. It always bothers me a bit when someone leaves though. I go over it again and again wondering if I did enough. What could I have done to make it easier for that person. How did I contribute to their dissatisfaction. I typically reach the same conclusion: more often that not, it is an act of omission rather than commission. Either by not recognizing early enough that they needed help or encouragement or not speaking up when someone else was being unduly ungenerous. (That's the bit that causes me the most regret.) I would not want to be a newbie coming into our space. It's like working at a family owned business and being the ONLY employee not a member of the family.
Anyway, I have been mulling over a particular situation at work. I appreciate these types of reminders. As one capable of learning from others' behavior, it is conflict that gives us the opportunity to apprize our own behavior and choices.
In keeping with my need for justification, adjudication and reconciliation, all preferably without personal involvement, I have made the following observations:
It takes two.
I choose to be happy.
I am solely responsible for my own success.
I choose the way I respond to people and situations.
Situations are neither positive or negative. The positive/negative in any situation is found in my reaction.
Objectivity is always easier from a distance.
I must not allow another person's uninformed opinion influence mine.
I do not possess THE answer. I only possess MY answer.
Successful people do the things unsuccessful people don't want to do. (eric fisher)
I can choose to be part of the problem or I can choose to be part of the solution.
The way I treat other people defines my character to others. The way I behave when no one is looking exposes my character to myself.
Whenever I forget any of the above principles, I can pretty much sum it up with these two:
Naps are good.
Don't throw your food.
Deny, Defy, Disregard
I did not enjoy my 20’s. Much like middle school, my 3rd decade was brutal. When I look back and remember that particular time in my life, I hardly recognize myself. Like most young and directionless I sought approval from those who didn’t matter and more often than not, let down those who did. I do not remember my 20’s with fondness. I was weak and frightened and I didn’t like who I saw looking back at me in the mirror.
Houdini Cured My Writer's Block
Houdini used to say that he could get out of any jail cell in less than an hour if he were allowed to go in with his street clothes on. A small town in the British Isles invited Houdini to prove it, he accepted the challenge and amongst fan fare and cheering crowds, he strode proudly into town, and into the jail cell. They closed the door behind him. Houdini then took off his coat and produced a thin 10 inch piece of steel that he had hidden in his belt. It was strong and flexible. He went to work. I can only imagine the self satisfied grin on his face. After the first half hour, I imagine that grin had faded a bit. By the end of the hour, he was sweating profusely and agitation had set in. He worked on that lock with his piece of steel with quiet determination growing more and more frustrated. He had promised that there was no cell that could hold him but this particular door was proving to be more of a challenge than he had anticipated. At the end of 2 hours, Houdini collapsed against the door in exhaustion. And the door opened. It did not open because Houdini was a master magician, even though he was. It did not open because his willpower and determination did not allow him to give up. It did not open because there was in fact, no cell that could restrain him. The door opened, because it had never been locked. However, even though it had not been secured from the outside, it might as well have been locked with a thousand keys. Because, even though it was unlocked from the outside, in Houdini’s mind, it was just as locked had it been barricaded by a ton of steel.
The moral to this true story is this; other people, circumstances, or situations, can stop us temporarily. Only we can stop ourselves permanently. We limit what we are able to accomplish by what we think and believe. Houdini went into that cell with a certain thought process. He had decided before he entered that cell, what he was going to do. He thought only of his part in the equation. He did not consider how others played a part in his situation. It never occurred to him to try the door first. He just assumed the door was locked. It was a logical assumption, to be sure. It was also incorrect. The mistake Houdini made was that he thought he knew everything he needed to know to get out of that jail cell. But what he knew was incomplete. He knew his own skill. He knew he had a plan and how to implement it. But he didn’t know anything about the door or the people on the other side of it.
Life is often like that. It is human nature to think of ourselves first and to depend on our own judgments without fretting over the rest of the world. We put forth a bit of effort and think we know all that is necessary to accomplish what ever it is we are striving to achieve. We get to a point in our lives, careers, with our friends and families that we think we know all there is to know. But the key to success of any kind is being teachable, flexible, and adaptable. Zig Ziglar said “If you want to achieve your goals, the chances are 1000 to 1 that you are ever going to make it by yourself.”
I have been suffering from a bad case of writer’s block. Normally, I sit down at the computer, lay my hands on the keyboard and the words write themselves. For several weeks, however, the norm has been abnormal. I would have an idea but it never materialized into anything I or anyone else would want to read. When I sat down to write this blog, the idea had come from ruminations on humility. I had all kinds of grand ideas. (Get it? Grand ideas / humility?) None of which ended up in this blog. However, over the past week, our little community here has been suffering. For whatever reason, there are several situations which are leaving a gray cloud over our collective sky. Like Houdini had ideas before he entered that cell, I had some imposing ideas about how I wanted to present a message about humility, among many other blogs I have tried to write over the past weeks. And like Houdini, I ultimately ended up with the outcome I had hoped for; he got out of his jail cell; and I managed to write a blog or two. Neither one of us accomplishing our goals the way we had planned. Neither one of us considering the outside influences that would shape our respective outcomes.
I suppose this blog was about having a humble heart after all.
The moral to this true story is this; other people, circumstances, or situations, can stop us temporarily. Only we can stop ourselves permanently. We limit what we are able to accomplish by what we think and believe. Houdini went into that cell with a certain thought process. He had decided before he entered that cell, what he was going to do. He thought only of his part in the equation. He did not consider how others played a part in his situation. It never occurred to him to try the door first. He just assumed the door was locked. It was a logical assumption, to be sure. It was also incorrect. The mistake Houdini made was that he thought he knew everything he needed to know to get out of that jail cell. But what he knew was incomplete. He knew his own skill. He knew he had a plan and how to implement it. But he didn’t know anything about the door or the people on the other side of it.
Life is often like that. It is human nature to think of ourselves first and to depend on our own judgments without fretting over the rest of the world. We put forth a bit of effort and think we know all that is necessary to accomplish what ever it is we are striving to achieve. We get to a point in our lives, careers, with our friends and families that we think we know all there is to know. But the key to success of any kind is being teachable, flexible, and adaptable. Zig Ziglar said “If you want to achieve your goals, the chances are 1000 to 1 that you are ever going to make it by yourself.”
I have been suffering from a bad case of writer’s block. Normally, I sit down at the computer, lay my hands on the keyboard and the words write themselves. For several weeks, however, the norm has been abnormal. I would have an idea but it never materialized into anything I or anyone else would want to read. When I sat down to write this blog, the idea had come from ruminations on humility. I had all kinds of grand ideas. (Get it? Grand ideas / humility?) None of which ended up in this blog. However, over the past week, our little community here has been suffering. For whatever reason, there are several situations which are leaving a gray cloud over our collective sky. Like Houdini had ideas before he entered that cell, I had some imposing ideas about how I wanted to present a message about humility, among many other blogs I have tried to write over the past weeks. And like Houdini, I ultimately ended up with the outcome I had hoped for; he got out of his jail cell; and I managed to write a blog or two. Neither one of us accomplishing our goals the way we had planned. Neither one of us considering the outside influences that would shape our respective outcomes.
I suppose this blog was about having a humble heart after all.
Miracles and Mirrors
She walked into my salon not long after I had opened the doors for the first time. She had been referred to me by a friend she said. She lived close by and her friend had promised that I could work miracles, if not with her hair, at least she would enjoy the atmosphere.
She was tall but she took short, small steps. Her shoulders drooping as much as her hair. She looked very tired. As with all my clients, I pulled up my cutting stool and sat down so I could have a consultation with her eye to eye. Her eyes didn’t meet mine though. They batted a lot, and looked down a lot but never at me or in the mirror. I notice things like that when I sit and talk with people. She didn’t fidget but she was not comfortable. I gave a good once over and decided she had not had a good day. “What’s on your mind?” I asked. “What?” she looked a bit startled. I re-worded my question. “What would you like for me to able to do for you?” “I’d like you to cut my hair and do something about this wretched color that will make me look and feel 20 years younger but since I don’t really believe in miracles I’ll settle for a trim and some highlights. “ I laughed out loud. I didn’t expect that from this very tired, not too confident lady. I assured her that when she left that day, she would indeed believe in miracles.
We talked a bit more. I asked lots of questions and pulled a few teeth trying to get out of her what I needed to know to give her the miracle she was looking for. She wasn’t much of a talker. More of a grunter. She was a little curious as to why I needed to know what she did for a living, what she liked and didn’t like about her hair, what tools and products she used, what time she got up in the morning etc. At one point she asked if I was going to take notes because I had asked so many questions there was no way I was going to remember all this. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! I remember everything I NEED to remember and I forget everything I should NOT repeat!” At the time, I’m pretty certain she did not believe me.
I worked harder on the consultation than I did on the hair but when we were finished she actually grinned at herself. When she caught me grinning with satisfaction she was a bit embarrassed. She shuffled out the door with the tiniest bit more bounce than when she had come in. As she was leaving, I asked her how she felt about miracles now. She shook my hand and thanked me for being an honest person.
About six weeks later, she was back. Same shuffle, same droopy shoulders. I met her at the door and opened it for her. I asked her about her dog. We had talked just a bit about her dog the last time. She was stunned that I had remembered. She talked a bit more this time. Nothing personal. This time she asked questions. She was my last client of the day, all the rest of the staff had gone home so we were alone. I turned up the classical guitar music I had going, made her some hot herbal tea and told her what I thought was a fairly dreary story about my day.
For nearly five years, this lady came into my salon every 6 weeks. She often tried to come when she could be the last client of the day. She was shy, quiet, and she seemed lonely. She was hesitant to talk about herself but I always managed a smile out of her and every once in a while she would talk of her love for books, music, antiquess and how she had always wanted to learn how to skate. I never really felt like I knew her very well. I knew she was married and had children but she did not speak of them much. Sometimes, she would just read a magazine while I did her hair and I would let her have her silence. Other times, she would almost daydream out loud and then apologize for boring me. I assured her that she was not boring. Every time I asked how the skating was progressing she would chuckle.
On her next to last visit with me, she informed me that her husband had been transferred to St. Louis and without talking to her first had taken the voluntary assignment. They would be selling their home, she would have to give up her job of almost 20 years, and she was devastated. I didn’t say much that evening. I nodded, told her she was not being unreasonable to be sad, and told her I was going to miss her very much. This last comment made her stop. She looked at me for a long moment and said “I believe you will.”
About 5 years after she walked through my door for the first time, my friend walked through my door for the last. I had a gift for her. The book “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein, some travel size products, her color formulas and a little book light so she could read at night. In the card, I gave her my email and cell phone number and told her that if she ever needed a giggle to give me a call. I’d save one for her.
We didn’t talk much again that night. She didn’t read a magazine or stare into her tea cup that evening. She watched me. I told her a couple of funny stories and asked for details about the move, the selling of her house, etc., but mostly, she just watched me in the mirror. When I finished her hair for the last time, I hugged her. I had gotten into the habit of hugging her because she always seemed to need it. Not so much from what she said, but more from what she didn’t say. She was always a bit tense and then she would ease up and almost hug me back.
With more candor and strength than she had ever shown before, these were her last words to me…
“ I am going to miss you very much. You are the only person who is ever glad to see me. The only person who laughs at my jokes, touches me, or asks my opinion about anything. You are my best friend and moving away from you is harder than leaving my job or selling the home I raised my children in.” With that, she hugged me, turned and left… and I sobbed.
I have a unique opportunity in what I do for a living. I have the opportunity to be a good and positive point in the lives of the people who sit in my chair. I have to get in their space to do my job and with that comes a responsibility that I take very seriously. I never went out of my way for this client. I treated her the same way I treat all my clients. I didn’t know she was unhappy. I thought she was a bit shy, a bit withdrawn but I didn’t suspect mistreated or unloved. I am grateful that I was a bit of light in her otherwise dark world. And I wish I had expressed to her much more fervently and before it was too late, her many good qualities. While I wish I had done more, I know I had done enough.
She hugged me back.
She was tall but she took short, small steps. Her shoulders drooping as much as her hair. She looked very tired. As with all my clients, I pulled up my cutting stool and sat down so I could have a consultation with her eye to eye. Her eyes didn’t meet mine though. They batted a lot, and looked down a lot but never at me or in the mirror. I notice things like that when I sit and talk with people. She didn’t fidget but she was not comfortable. I gave a good once over and decided she had not had a good day. “What’s on your mind?” I asked. “What?” she looked a bit startled. I re-worded my question. “What would you like for me to able to do for you?” “I’d like you to cut my hair and do something about this wretched color that will make me look and feel 20 years younger but since I don’t really believe in miracles I’ll settle for a trim and some highlights. “ I laughed out loud. I didn’t expect that from this very tired, not too confident lady. I assured her that when she left that day, she would indeed believe in miracles.
We talked a bit more. I asked lots of questions and pulled a few teeth trying to get out of her what I needed to know to give her the miracle she was looking for. She wasn’t much of a talker. More of a grunter. She was a little curious as to why I needed to know what she did for a living, what she liked and didn’t like about her hair, what tools and products she used, what time she got up in the morning etc. At one point she asked if I was going to take notes because I had asked so many questions there was no way I was going to remember all this. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! I remember everything I NEED to remember and I forget everything I should NOT repeat!” At the time, I’m pretty certain she did not believe me.
I worked harder on the consultation than I did on the hair but when we were finished she actually grinned at herself. When she caught me grinning with satisfaction she was a bit embarrassed. She shuffled out the door with the tiniest bit more bounce than when she had come in. As she was leaving, I asked her how she felt about miracles now. She shook my hand and thanked me for being an honest person.
About six weeks later, she was back. Same shuffle, same droopy shoulders. I met her at the door and opened it for her. I asked her about her dog. We had talked just a bit about her dog the last time. She was stunned that I had remembered. She talked a bit more this time. Nothing personal. This time she asked questions. She was my last client of the day, all the rest of the staff had gone home so we were alone. I turned up the classical guitar music I had going, made her some hot herbal tea and told her what I thought was a fairly dreary story about my day.
For nearly five years, this lady came into my salon every 6 weeks. She often tried to come when she could be the last client of the day. She was shy, quiet, and she seemed lonely. She was hesitant to talk about herself but I always managed a smile out of her and every once in a while she would talk of her love for books, music, antiquess and how she had always wanted to learn how to skate. I never really felt like I knew her very well. I knew she was married and had children but she did not speak of them much. Sometimes, she would just read a magazine while I did her hair and I would let her have her silence. Other times, she would almost daydream out loud and then apologize for boring me. I assured her that she was not boring. Every time I asked how the skating was progressing she would chuckle.
On her next to last visit with me, she informed me that her husband had been transferred to St. Louis and without talking to her first had taken the voluntary assignment. They would be selling their home, she would have to give up her job of almost 20 years, and she was devastated. I didn’t say much that evening. I nodded, told her she was not being unreasonable to be sad, and told her I was going to miss her very much. This last comment made her stop. She looked at me for a long moment and said “I believe you will.”
About 5 years after she walked through my door for the first time, my friend walked through my door for the last. I had a gift for her. The book “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein, some travel size products, her color formulas and a little book light so she could read at night. In the card, I gave her my email and cell phone number and told her that if she ever needed a giggle to give me a call. I’d save one for her.
We didn’t talk much again that night. She didn’t read a magazine or stare into her tea cup that evening. She watched me. I told her a couple of funny stories and asked for details about the move, the selling of her house, etc., but mostly, she just watched me in the mirror. When I finished her hair for the last time, I hugged her. I had gotten into the habit of hugging her because she always seemed to need it. Not so much from what she said, but more from what she didn’t say. She was always a bit tense and then she would ease up and almost hug me back.
With more candor and strength than she had ever shown before, these were her last words to me…
“ I am going to miss you very much. You are the only person who is ever glad to see me. The only person who laughs at my jokes, touches me, or asks my opinion about anything. You are my best friend and moving away from you is harder than leaving my job or selling the home I raised my children in.” With that, she hugged me, turned and left… and I sobbed.
I have a unique opportunity in what I do for a living. I have the opportunity to be a good and positive point in the lives of the people who sit in my chair. I have to get in their space to do my job and with that comes a responsibility that I take very seriously. I never went out of my way for this client. I treated her the same way I treat all my clients. I didn’t know she was unhappy. I thought she was a bit shy, a bit withdrawn but I didn’t suspect mistreated or unloved. I am grateful that I was a bit of light in her otherwise dark world. And I wish I had expressed to her much more fervently and before it was too late, her many good qualities. While I wish I had done more, I know I had done enough.
She hugged me back.
Dandelion Garden
When we moved into our maintenance free town home in early December, and before we bought our home, I was quite excited about the shoveled sidewalks, nicely manicured lawns, trimmed trees all without any effort on my part. I enjoy gardening. I just don't have enough time to produce a garden worthy of anyone's appreciation.
About a week ago, right on the corner where the soil meets the porch, a dandelion had bloomed. I know it's just a weed. I know that people with lovely yards do not see any intrinsic value in them. But when I saw it, I had to get a photo. It was the brightest yellow, all the more dramatic against the dark brown earth beneath it. It was leaning slightly toward me as if it wanted to be noticed, not fearing destruction, but rather hoping for acceptance.
When I entered the house, I went about my normal routine of settling in and decided to grab the camera. Thinking I would just take a quick shot or two, in case what I saw in person would translate through the lens. I ended up spending quite a bit of time with that dandelion. Shooting from different angles, up close, far away, in color and black and white. We got to be good friends, that dandelion and I. I thought about how we sometimes miss the most marvelous things because we don't take the time to observe them properly. I thought about how I'd like to get some shots of it once it had turned to seed and then put the photos side by side. There is something lovely and comforting in the cycle of life, particularly when we look closely.
I got some lovely shots of my dandelion and I was quite excited when I ran back into the house to show my split apart my "garden photos". He enthusiastically agreed that it was indeed a magnificent garden. :-)
The next day, however, when I got home from work, it was dark but I noticed right away. My garden had been pillaged. My dandelion was gone. Apparently, our maintenance crew is prompt. While I appreciate the job they do immensely, and our community is always lovely, I miss my little dandelion garden.
That others don't appreciate how lovely and delicate they are is not a surprise to me. That others see them as a blight on an otherwise immaculate lawn, is understandable. But what other dandelions do we miss because we fail to look closely? Are there people, things, circumstances that, upon closer examination, will reveal themselves to be more than they appear? And, furthermore, are they different because we see them differently? Or are they as they have always been and we are what has changed?
I miss my dandelion garden.
About a week ago, right on the corner where the soil meets the porch, a dandelion had bloomed. I know it's just a weed. I know that people with lovely yards do not see any intrinsic value in them. But when I saw it, I had to get a photo. It was the brightest yellow, all the more dramatic against the dark brown earth beneath it. It was leaning slightly toward me as if it wanted to be noticed, not fearing destruction, but rather hoping for acceptance.
When I entered the house, I went about my normal routine of settling in and decided to grab the camera. Thinking I would just take a quick shot or two, in case what I saw in person would translate through the lens. I ended up spending quite a bit of time with that dandelion. Shooting from different angles, up close, far away, in color and black and white. We got to be good friends, that dandelion and I. I thought about how we sometimes miss the most marvelous things because we don't take the time to observe them properly. I thought about how I'd like to get some shots of it once it had turned to seed and then put the photos side by side. There is something lovely and comforting in the cycle of life, particularly when we look closely.
I got some lovely shots of my dandelion and I was quite excited when I ran back into the house to show my split apart my "garden photos". He enthusiastically agreed that it was indeed a magnificent garden. :-)
The next day, however, when I got home from work, it was dark but I noticed right away. My garden had been pillaged. My dandelion was gone. Apparently, our maintenance crew is prompt. While I appreciate the job they do immensely, and our community is always lovely, I miss my little dandelion garden.
That others don't appreciate how lovely and delicate they are is not a surprise to me. That others see them as a blight on an otherwise immaculate lawn, is understandable. But what other dandelions do we miss because we fail to look closely? Are there people, things, circumstances that, upon closer examination, will reveal themselves to be more than they appear? And, furthermore, are they different because we see them differently? Or are they as they have always been and we are what has changed?
I miss my dandelion garden.
Plastic Fish, Batman, Dead Guys and Scribbler
They're all in the same vid! It's true. I made a vid. I'm in it. Along with a few of my favorite toys. This is no small thing. I don't like to talk into the camera. I don't like Vista. I don't have a lot of patience when my vids won't upload - there are just a lot more obstacles than there are hours in the day.
In fact, with this particular vid, it almost didn't get uploaded at all. I can't get my software to cooperate with Vista. I almost always have to embed because if the stars aren't aligned properly, VH won't upload my vids (although every other ning site and LV will) I have vids I've thought of posting but if I have to embed, no one sees them anyway.
So here's the story...
I spent a small amount of time getting clips of some of my favorite toys as a response vid to my buddy, SisterNan who posted a delightful video from her office. I was uncharacteristically motivated to respond. Since I don't particularly like to talk into the camera, I spent an entire day editing and cutting and pasting and taping and gluing and nailing together clips and photos of some of my office treasures. As I watched the rough draft of the vid it was glaringly apparent that not even Nan would want to labor through it and I'd have to pay people to watch it, regardless of the magnetic appeal of life sized cardboard cutouts, lava lamps and plastic fish. At this point, I had already spent, roughly a small insects life span working on the damn thing, I wasn't willing to just give up. So, I chopped, I cut, I clipped and unglued and started over.
And, I spoke. Now, I realize that my personal appearance didn't actually improve the vid, but shortening it by half and omitting half the crap I had originally included certainly did.
Anyway, after, oh, say a couple of dog years, I had a vid that at least included a clip of my cardboard super-hero, the m&m boys and a dead guy which, I feel captures the essence of the cyber cafe' complete with a snappy tune. Ok, much more time consuming than I had anticipated but that's cool.
So, now it's time to save the vid, publish the vid, and post the vid. I hit the proverbial snag. The vid I have labored over like a christmas quiche, won't save. Not on my hard drive; not on my flash drive; not onto a cd; not into an email; not onto camera. Ok...tiny glitch...check size; check available memory; clear cache; delete unneccesary files; email to self to open on other computer; sleep on it; repeat above mentioned steps; 20 times. Delete all files; say some bad words; retrieve deleted files; repeat above steps; say some more bad words; sleep on it some more; ok, so, the world doesn't really want to see my plastic fish. I don't care.
So tonight, I open the file for one last try. If it doesn't work, I'm really going to trash the crappy project and I won't do another vid till I'm tagged for some other crappy project that I won't be able to save. Just when I'm ready to throw in the towel, the vid miraculously saves to email and gives me the option to save a copy on my computer. Unbelievable.
So now, SisterNan can see some of my treasures. Oh, there's no duct tape, office supplies, disco ball or crazy glue but I did record myself long before I turned into a raving freak show because it wouldn't save.
I don't know if I should take pride in my perserverance or seek counseling for my ocd'ish need to spend 3 days on a 3 minute vid.
This is why I blog...
In fact, with this particular vid, it almost didn't get uploaded at all. I can't get my software to cooperate with Vista. I almost always have to embed because if the stars aren't aligned properly, VH won't upload my vids (although every other ning site and LV will) I have vids I've thought of posting but if I have to embed, no one sees them anyway.
So here's the story...
I spent a small amount of time getting clips of some of my favorite toys as a response vid to my buddy, SisterNan who posted a delightful video from her office. I was uncharacteristically motivated to respond. Since I don't particularly like to talk into the camera, I spent an entire day editing and cutting and pasting and taping and gluing and nailing together clips and photos of some of my office treasures. As I watched the rough draft of the vid it was glaringly apparent that not even Nan would want to labor through it and I'd have to pay people to watch it, regardless of the magnetic appeal of life sized cardboard cutouts, lava lamps and plastic fish. At this point, I had already spent, roughly a small insects life span working on the damn thing, I wasn't willing to just give up. So, I chopped, I cut, I clipped and unglued and started over.
And, I spoke. Now, I realize that my personal appearance didn't actually improve the vid, but shortening it by half and omitting half the crap I had originally included certainly did.
Anyway, after, oh, say a couple of dog years, I had a vid that at least included a clip of my cardboard super-hero, the m&m boys and a dead guy which, I feel captures the essence of the cyber cafe' complete with a snappy tune. Ok, much more time consuming than I had anticipated but that's cool.
So, now it's time to save the vid, publish the vid, and post the vid. I hit the proverbial snag. The vid I have labored over like a christmas quiche, won't save. Not on my hard drive; not on my flash drive; not onto a cd; not into an email; not onto camera. Ok...tiny glitch...check size; check available memory; clear cache; delete unneccesary files; email to self to open on other computer; sleep on it; repeat above mentioned steps; 20 times. Delete all files; say some bad words; retrieve deleted files; repeat above steps; say some more bad words; sleep on it some more; ok, so, the world doesn't really want to see my plastic fish. I don't care.
So tonight, I open the file for one last try. If it doesn't work, I'm really going to trash the crappy project and I won't do another vid till I'm tagged for some other crappy project that I won't be able to save. Just when I'm ready to throw in the towel, the vid miraculously saves to email and gives me the option to save a copy on my computer. Unbelievable.
So now, SisterNan can see some of my treasures. Oh, there's no duct tape, office supplies, disco ball or crazy glue but I did record myself long before I turned into a raving freak show because it wouldn't save.
I don't know if I should take pride in my perserverance or seek counseling for my ocd'ish need to spend 3 days on a 3 minute vid.
This is why I blog...
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