Clever, distinctive ending seeks brilliant beginning.
I uploaded a remix of monicaxmonica's video last night. This is an edit of that. I am MUCH happier with this. I still like the beginning and the end best.
More static. Static is nice.
Aside from MarieIV's animation at the beginning, which I didn't touch, I made it so the animation appeared as flashes coming through static.
Also, feedback. Added feedback.
So kids say things. A lot of things, some of which are amusing. Maybe you have your own, maybe you’re a parent and similarly torture your children, but me and my brother cannot escape certain things that we. said. once.
Now my brother is older than me – 7 and a half years older – and my half brother. Our father is Italian-American. My mom is that vague American mix of a bit German and a lot of who really cares. My brother is blond. He was about 5 when my parents got married and felt the need to declare loudly and often, “She’s NOT my mother.”
At some point they went to a restaurant, and, as they were ordering, a little voice piped up, “Excuse me, excuuuuuuuuuuse me. Do you have a soup and salad bar?”
Also half the time he’s referred to as “Guckin” not Justin.
I was a little shit of a sister. When we moved to North Carolina from Kentucky, it was the summer before my brother started the 8th grade and I started kindergarten. Justin stayed in Kentucky to finish middle school and moved to North Carolina for high school. This was the first time we’d ever lived together for more than a week at a time. My parents decided to take advantage of the fact that there was a 15-year-old living at home and left him with me if they needed to go to a business dinner or something. I, being a little shit, used to write down everything that he did wrong and wait up for my parents.
“I’ve got it all right down here on paper!”
We can never live these things down.
“Why do you have a key on your wall?”
“Oh, that? I thought it looked nice.”
“It’s big and old and clunky but quite detailed. I like it. I guess it’s because I grew up with old things. I’d like to say I collect them, but I just have the one.”
“You mean it doesn’t go to anything?” “When was the last time a key like that open anything?”
“So it’s not a family thing?”
“You didn’t get the history behind it?”
“I got it at a flea market, not an antique dealer.” “But it’s so interesting!”
“I know; that’s why I got it.”
“No, I mean the history behind it.”
“If you say so.”
“Just think what it might have opened! Maybe an old chest, maybe a church, maybe the town hall…”
“Maybe everything with a key that size?”
“It’s an old key. It’s a skeleton key. Look at the actual key part of it. Doesn’t it look like every other old key you’ve ever seen?”
“Yes, but there must have been something to…”
“No, not really. If it looks the same, then it is the same. It’s not like there was a chip in it or something.”
“Then how did people keep their things safe?”
“By not having things. Or by having men with weapons guarding their things.”
“Surely things must have been stolen though!”
“That’s why people spent a great deal of time and effort making more sophisticated but dull keys.”
“It is lovely though.”
“What? The key?”
“Yes, you should get another.”
“I don’t imagine I’ll be able to find one quite like it.”
The last bit was something I've been trying to work by head around explaining for the past couple of weeks.
Other things of note: 1) Yes I do talk about poop a lot.
2) I'm in public health. My brother is in public health. My parents are in public health.
3) Stories forthcoming about my boss. Who I adore but am generally frustrated by. There's one here already with a sickeningly long title.
(And I suck at talking into a webcam. Hooray for lacking technology.)
You know that one guy at the office? The one that never seems to leave?
Mine is called Bartleby.
That’s all I know. Yes, I know that he does something bleak and dull in accounting. The substance, though, where he’s from, if he’s married, his first name for Christ’s sake, remains a mystery.
Ours is a social office. Every few weeks we take a long lunch on Friday, go out, and relax. Whenever the e-mail is sent out, almost immediately we get Bartleby’s reply:
I would prefer not to.
Sometimes people bring in cake or something. We take a break; let everyone know what’s going on. Bartleby replies:
I would prefer not to.
Once, Andy tried to bring him a piece. He never looked up from his screen. He didn’t seem to realize anyone was there.
I’ve never had reason to talk to him – again, accounting, bleak. Sometimes I hear someone else talking to him. The conversation invariably ends with that damnable line:
I would prefer not to.
Do we actually get to say that and keep our job?
Honestly, though, I worry about the guy. If I get in at 5, he’s there. If I leave at 11, he’s there. I’ve never seen him get up for lunch or the bathroom. He never gets coffee or water.
One day he’ll keel over at his desk. As they carry him away, I swear we’ll hear him croak out:
I would prefer not to.
[A modern take on Herman Melville's Bartleby the Scrivener. Public domain, etc.]
HAH! After I've made this, Mayb3Tomorrow has given her video a title, "Spiders have feelings too". Actually, probably before I made this but I didn't check.... whatever.
So I think we should break up.
It just isn’t working out.
I’m just not happy.
But we’ve been having a great time –
I know, I just—
We went to the zoo together –
We did –
And we talked about the kids chasing the peacocks and you said that OUR kids would never act that way --
I wasn’t being serious.
How was I supposed to know that?!
Come on, this doesn’t have to be this difficult.
You met my parents!
--And they were very nice, it’s just –
I just don’t like you.
What do you mean you don’t LIKE me?
No, I don’t like YOU.
What happened? Why don’t you like me anymore?
Ever. I don’t think I ever liked you. I mean, you’re beautiful but you’re insufferable.
You’re kind of a jackass.
You’re kind of being a bitch.
Well, isn’t that wild.
What? What the fuck is wild about that?
WHAT THE FUCK IS WILD ABOUT ANYTHING YOU EVER CALL WILD?!
What are you talking about?
You. You are an asshole. In fact, you’re THAT asshole who says things like, ‘that’s wild’ after someone tells you they ran out of soy milk at the fucking coffee shop. WHAT THE FUCK IS WILD ABOUT THAT?! Nothing. There is nothing out-of-the ordinary about a lack of soymilk.
You are. You're that asshole who says, ‘that’s hilarious’ when a) it’s not and b) you’re not laughing.
We’ve been together for more than a year and you’re breaking up with me because of shit I say to fill up silence?
You don’t get it.
No, I don’t.
Of course you don’t.
... Well, this is awesome.
"I can't believe you just did that in front of me!"
"What do you mean? You asked me to do it in front of you!
"Yeah but I didn't think you'd actually do it! I didn't really want to see you do that!"
"Why would you ask me to do it in front of you if you really didn't want me to???"
"I don't know! Just to see if you would, I guess."
"And I did!"
"I know! I can't get the image out of my mind... my opinion of you is forever changed now."
"Oh come on! Don't say that! What can I do to fix this?"
"Do it again."
"Hello, welcome to the Holiday Inn, how are you?"
"Great, thanks....so I saw on the sign outside that kids stay for free?"
"Yes they do! Would you like a room?"
"Your son is adorable, how old is he?"
"He just turned six."
"Great! Well, here's your key. You are in room 127. Would you like a complimentary breakfast!?"
"That would be terrific, but you can give the key to him."
"Thanks for everything....we'll be back to pick him up in a couple of days."
“If you hold that shell to your ear, you can hear the ocean.”
“It just sounds like someone sighing forever, like my mom.”
“I found it on the shore.”
“It turns to yelling if you wait long enough.”
“It’s from the sea, your mom’s from Minnesota.”
“It’s still sighing, it came from a passive aggressive ocean.”
“Just put it down, man.”
“The waves aren’t mad, they’re just disappointed.”
“Your father’s never seen the Pacific, that ocean never birthed you.”
“I can hear my mom calling her sister.”
“Put the shell down.”
“I know you’re there. “
“No, you don’t.”
“I see your feet. I know you’re there.”
“You see nothing.”
“You’re salivating! I’m going to drown in all the drool.”
“Preposterous. You will do no such thing, as I am not ‘salivating.’ It’s a glandular problem, you know that.”
“I do know. Would you like a tissue? A sock, perhaps?”
“Ahh, yes, what a grand idea. Just dangle your leg over the side, I’ll pull the sock from your foot.”
“…Wait a hot second, you’re trying to trick me! I won’t fall for it, though, I’m too smart for you. I eat my Wheaties.”
“Trick you into what? Helping out a friend, like you offered to do?”
“And now you’re guilt-tripping me. I have half a mind to come down there and drool all over you, see how much you like it.”
“You wouldn’t fit down here, anyway. I barely do as it is.”
“Ah hah! So you admit to being there!”
“Shh. Just help an imaginary monster fellow with a glandular problem out, dangle one of those meaty, delicious, sumptuous little feet of yours over the end and lend your buddy a sock.”
“Meaty little what?”
“Shhhhh. Go to sleep.”
“Start whenever you’re ready.”
“Um, I just have some questions about the character first.”
“Of course. You’ll want to fully understand what is motivating the character in this scene before you start.”
“Well, it says here the character just lost the love of his life.”
“But it also says he was in love with a blade of grass?”
“And he accidentally mowed it?”
“Yes! Do you think you can possibly understand how the character feels? Can you show me the pain, the guilt, the self loathing of having killed your one true love?”
“But it’s a blade of grass.”
“But he LOVED it. It was HIS blade of grass. He shared his life with it, his dreams, and then he ultimately destroyed it!”
“Can’t he just choose another blade of grass?”
“You can’t just replace the love of your life so easily. The audience won’t buy that!”
“But they’ll buy that he’s heartbroken over a piece of grass?”
“With the right actor performing it they will! Now can you show me how you would handle this scene?”
“Er, okay. Let me try a few lines.”
“Okay. One, two, three…action!”
“Oh my love, my love, what have I done?”
“ I cannot go on without your herbaceousness lighting up my lawn.”
“I cannot bear never again seeing your emerald green on a rainy day, or your golden yellow on a dry summer’s day… “
“MY HEART BREAKS INTO A THOUSAND PIECES EVERY TIME I PASS THE WEED-BE-GONE!"
“Hold it! Hold it! I’m sorry, I’m not quite believing you. I’m not feeling your pain.”
“Believe me, this IS painful.”
AKA Everyone in the pool! SOUND!
In conversation with writergirl811, I changed a few things: 1) got some of LRRH's reaction and 2) made the wolf less obviously wolfy at the start. Also used the magic of copy and paste to fix some aspect ratio issues. And timing and animation issues
I used Amy's vo and suggestion for the music, made some sounds, used some others. These will make their way onto the site within the next few days.
I'm calling this v2; I'm not wedded to any of the sound. I'd like to say I'm done with the animation though.... We'll see how that goes
(Update: I think I've added all the resources....)
When I heard Casa di loops by Malicore this idea came into my head - make a video where each loop gets its own animated/whatever loop.
So here it is. Started it 3 or 4 times... Towards the end, I just couldn't here or distinguish some of them, so it's kind of a best guess. And I think most of the percussion ended up getting lumped together....
Most importantly: Thank you everyone for your records. You made everything a million times easier!!!!