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Apr. 13th, 2006 12:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
philrancidThu Mar 13 06 1234 AM
So like, after the obligatory phone post (they're in my contract, you know), I thought I'd scribble a little thing in the Paper Client, see how it grabbed me.
In looking at my Morbid cartoon, and some other shit laying around the apartment, I realized that I want to get back to those free and easy days of creativity, when everything, no matter what it was you were doing, had merit, simply because it was there at all.
I don't know how it is best described, but it seems to me that back when I had a huge fawning audience, the creativity came easier, and the end result was better. I guess maybe because I knew I was good, it made me better.
Granted, the shit I was making isn't the kind of art I strive for, but, fuck, it was something.
I've let my inner critics still me, nearly. I've let the fuckers throttle my energy.
So, I'm going to have to try and relax, have to try and find that carefree place where the ideas are best expressed.
Oh, and if you're wondering why I'm writing tonight, the Bride of Chaos is abed--she's had a lot of shit going on, as thos eof you who stalk her may already know.
I think this critical thinking, this mindset that everything has to be perfect, is the reason so many of my projects in the Art Dept. are thrown on a back burner.
Writing is a different story. I can't seem to find the zone, the focus necessary to properly extract these tales from my head. They're in there, somewhere, but they don't seem to want to come out.
And then there's my job. Nights are cool for sitting up and getting shit done, but for working? Ass. On top of that there's this thing with my wife. Being apart from her REALLY SUCKS. So I spend a lot of time on the phone with her--even at work. That's one thing I'd miss if I lost this job: the ability to talk to Delana on the phone at work.
And on that (the job loss): they passed down word a couple of weeks ago that they kept getting complaints about me. No details (which is par for the course), so nothing to really answer to. I passed word back that I have had a lot of shit going on and that all they need to do is suffer my shit a couple months longer and then, one way or another, I'm out. I also made mention that I knew I was screwing up and that I'd work on it. (These things aren't exactly in the right order) And then, the three days following my response, I fought with maybe a dozen people. It is to laugh. Granted, most of the people I had shit with were drunks and bums, but, they or anyone else complaining isn't exactly gonna 'fess up on the shit they were doing, now are they?
I'm not terribly worried about it, since I have some resources available to me (even though none of them would pay as well for Uncle Unskilled, here) that I could put into use almost immediately. The only part that bothers me is that it'd be a fucking hassle to go out and get something new this close to the end of this chapter.
Hell, I would've pulled out of here long before now, if it weren't for the money. So, we'll hang tight, see what's what. And, hell--if they get around to doing the remodle on this store, I might bail on these bitches anyway.
Yeah, so I'm a mercenary. But that's the difference between a job and a career. When your job is threatened, you go out and get a new one. When something happens to your career, you get upset. you say things like, "Damn, where am I gonna find a place/job/people like that?"
Or something.
Your pal Uncle Rancid Boots is still working on this whole "stay at a job longer than six months" thing. Christ, I've worked in a lot of different places since I gave in and joined the work force at 19. And the jobs I have worked at really helped me with some things. But I think that's a tale for another entry.
Now, I would like to wail and moan at the hellish fate the fickle gods of strife that rule this pain-wracked world have put upon me:
My Tenacious D CD is scratched!!!
And right at the motherfuckin' climax of "Tribute"!! fie! Damn and blast! Hell and spite!
So--anyone feeling bad about not getting me anything for my birthday (or Christmas), could see about sending me a copy of this. But, you should probably wait till I see if it have it on my hard drive still. A guaranteed Uncle-pleasing gift would be a replacement copy of AC/DC's High Voltage (which also skips).
Nah. I'll probably just download it. Cut back on all those fucking CDs in my way.
Coming soon: the sticker experiment.
So like, after the obligatory phone post (they're in my contract, you know), I thought I'd scribble a little thing in the Paper Client, see how it grabbed me.
In looking at my Morbid cartoon, and some other shit laying around the apartment, I realized that I want to get back to those free and easy days of creativity, when everything, no matter what it was you were doing, had merit, simply because it was there at all.
I don't know how it is best described, but it seems to me that back when I had a huge fawning audience, the creativity came easier, and the end result was better. I guess maybe because I knew I was good, it made me better.
Granted, the shit I was making isn't the kind of art I strive for, but, fuck, it was something.
I've let my inner critics still me, nearly. I've let the fuckers throttle my energy.
So, I'm going to have to try and relax, have to try and find that carefree place where the ideas are best expressed.
Oh, and if you're wondering why I'm writing tonight, the Bride of Chaos is abed--she's had a lot of shit going on, as thos eof you who stalk her may already know.
I think this critical thinking, this mindset that everything has to be perfect, is the reason so many of my projects in the Art Dept. are thrown on a back burner.
Writing is a different story. I can't seem to find the zone, the focus necessary to properly extract these tales from my head. They're in there, somewhere, but they don't seem to want to come out.
And then there's my job. Nights are cool for sitting up and getting shit done, but for working? Ass. On top of that there's this thing with my wife. Being apart from her REALLY SUCKS. So I spend a lot of time on the phone with her--even at work. That's one thing I'd miss if I lost this job: the ability to talk to Delana on the phone at work.
And on that (the job loss): they passed down word a couple of weeks ago that they kept getting complaints about me. No details (which is par for the course), so nothing to really answer to. I passed word back that I have had a lot of shit going on and that all they need to do is suffer my shit a couple months longer and then, one way or another, I'm out. I also made mention that I knew I was screwing up and that I'd work on it. (These things aren't exactly in the right order) And then, the three days following my response, I fought with maybe a dozen people. It is to laugh. Granted, most of the people I had shit with were drunks and bums, but, they or anyone else complaining isn't exactly gonna 'fess up on the shit they were doing, now are they?
I'm not terribly worried about it, since I have some resources available to me (even though none of them would pay as well for Uncle Unskilled, here) that I could put into use almost immediately. The only part that bothers me is that it'd be a fucking hassle to go out and get something new this close to the end of this chapter.
Hell, I would've pulled out of here long before now, if it weren't for the money. So, we'll hang tight, see what's what. And, hell--if they get around to doing the remodle on this store, I might bail on these bitches anyway.
Yeah, so I'm a mercenary. But that's the difference between a job and a career. When your job is threatened, you go out and get a new one. When something happens to your career, you get upset. you say things like, "Damn, where am I gonna find a place/job/people like that?"
Or something.
Your pal Uncle Rancid Boots is still working on this whole "stay at a job longer than six months" thing. Christ, I've worked in a lot of different places since I gave in and joined the work force at 19. And the jobs I have worked at really helped me with some things. But I think that's a tale for another entry.
Now, I would like to wail and moan at the hellish fate the fickle gods of strife that rule this pain-wracked world have put upon me:
My Tenacious D CD is scratched!!!
And right at the motherfuckin' climax of "Tribute"!! fie! Damn and blast! Hell and spite!
So--anyone feeling bad about not getting me anything for my birthday (or Christmas), could see about sending me a copy of this. But, you should probably wait till I see if it have it on my hard drive still. A guaranteed Uncle-pleasing gift would be a replacement copy of AC/DC's High Voltage (which also skips).
Nah. I'll probably just download it. Cut back on all those fucking CDs in my way.
Coming soon: the sticker experiment.
