Jason Porath

has a website, i guess

Month: July 2004 (page 1 of 2)

Infodump!

Sweet Monkey Jesus, I miss having reliable internet. The one I have at home cuts out every 3 seconds. Literally. I am lucky to get in 5 clicks before it dies and I have to wait for it to randomly reconnect. My record is like 12. Granted, I am just freeloading off the wireless from my friends upstairs until SBC gets off their butts and gets my DSL working, but still.

It is The Suck.

So, catching you all up on current events:

THURSDAY: Finishing up the webpage project for work that I’ve been doing, Colin, one of the 3 guys besides me left at work, comes up to me and remarks that he is mightily impressed with my coding, and wonders if I might be interested in staying on and helping them do some R&D stuff. Nifty keen, I think. Erin is not so thrilled on my continued work as a purely technical geek, but it’s money, it’s a learning experience, I am happy to have the opportunity.

FRIDAY: My boss comes up to me and says, “So hey, since we’re not going to have you around next week, is the webpage all up and running?” I’m like, “huh?” So I don’t have a job. I am glad I stayed on as long as I did (one of three left!), and frankly, I’m happy to have the time off.
During the day, I am trying to figure out how I’m going to get to Comic Con, as the route which I had worked out had fallen to pieces during the middle of the day, and there was nothing I could do about it. Luckily, Colin happened to be going, and gave Erin and me a ride, which was nice of him. We shared the car with his ex-girlfriend Stephanie, and it was a fun ride down. Stephanie was a concept art person on Episode 3, done some comics work, and was helping staff the booth of the main artist behind Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, and more (his name escapes me). She was like a grown-up Daverede, except 30% more cogent, and 50% more hilarious — though I think most of that was her playing off Colin.
Anyways, 4-5 hours later and 8-10 inconvenienced and/or pissed off people later, we were at our hotel.

SATURDAY: I wander around Comic Con for some time with Erin, treat Sara, Kirby, and Theo to lunch, and then proceed to wander even more. I saw panels for the adaptation of Frank Miller’s Sin City (AWESOME. So stylized. Must see.), Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s puppet farce, Team America (hilarious, I’ll pay to see it), and Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow.
Now. Some may think I am a sadist for going to a panel on a film I worked on. You would be right. They brought out the director, art supervisor, several producers, and Jude Law. Yay rah. Show an extended clip of the robot attack. Whoo. Then open it up to a Q&A. Perhaps it is my jaded POV, but it really seemed to me that everyone on the panel was afraid of the main producer (read: money man) of the project. He was the one to do most of the talking, and everyone looked to him first before answering any questions. When they started going on about how fantastic it was, how it was united under one vision, and how -easy it was- to get it done, I just left. I couldn’t take it anymore. Y’arrgh.
At that point, I was going to try to meet up with my friend Matt (FX guy at work, colorist on Preacher, Hellblazer, and others — awesome guy) for drinks, but Erin didn’t want me wandering around downtown San Diego drunk and disoriented. So I didn’t end up meeting up with him, which is a bummer — I thought I could later in the day, but it never worked out. We caught up with Sara, Kirby, Theo, Lori, and Meg, went to dinner, went to hotel, yadda yadda.

SUNDAY: Wander around Comic Con a bit more. Bought Torso (by Brian Michael Bendis — very good), Tommysaurus Rex (by Creature Tech’s Doug TenNapel — alright, not as good as CT, but he did autograph it), and whatnot. It was a good time. Got back home at a reasonable hour, saw that the texture baking (CG geek stuff — a computer process that takes FOREVER) of the house on this stupid short film I’m working on had finished, set it up to bake the trees.

MONDAY: Yay! No getting up at 6 AM! Go to Ikea at 11. Run into my friend Gabe from school, he gives me a ride back with my set of drawers. Well, the set of drawers is the wrong type — cream instead of frosted glass. Urg. Oh well. Start assembling it. Oh. It’s also faulty. These boards don’t have holes bored in them. Lovely. So get my housemate Alex to drive me back, where I wait in line at the help desk for an hour, stuck behind two people who look like Miss Piggy and Van Wilder (a couple so f-ing obnoxious I actually went to the bathroom once to prevent myself from punching them), and finally get home. Put together my shelf. All is well.

TUESDAY: Get some more house stuff done, take care of stuff around USC, decide to dump some serious time into some studio pitches, and take Erin out for dinner.

WEDNESDAY: Not much. Waiting for trees to finish baking. Computer unusable. This is pain. I wish for it to be over. Write livejournal entry. Read some comics (Powers vol 2 by Brian Michael Bendis — very good).

Pissing on our own armed forces

Mmmm, lemon rice! My favorite!

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Hypnotic…

UBT: WTF (and other acronyms)

A short one for you all:

Sitting on the bus. A 6 foot tall woman with sunglasses, hair done up, wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt has just gotten on the bus. Wait, no, she just turned around. An extremely baggy FRONT of a t-shirt. Starting with the sleeves and going down, she cut out the back and… clothespinned it around the waist. So there’s her back. And there’s her bra. It’s black. Huh.

Oh, and she’s wearing high heels. So that’s why she tripped and spilled her Starbucks concoction all over the lady right next to her.

She’s got kind of funky tattoos behind her ears and going down her neck. Kind of Jadzia Dax with a loopy floral pattern. That’s neat, I guess.

…and she’s getting off. At the next stop. She got on the bus for one stop. And paid cash for it. Huh?

UBT Symphony

On my way back from Fry’s the other day, the bus stops at a not-oft-stopped-at locale (I didn’t even know you could get the bus there) to let a middle-aged woman on. The woman looked like Reba McEntire if she let her makeup department go and cried herself to sleep every night. This woman, despite having sunglasses on, had a facial expression that made it look like she was going to cry the entire way home.

Immediately she starts with the crazy, as she sits down and starts talking jovially to a wheelchaired woman (who could not escape) about what a nice day it is, do you watch American Idol, I really think that Kelly should get with that Clay fellow, I do work on movies, I’ll see you on the set, etc.

This wouldn’t be really so bad, her chattering incessantly about mindless drivel, were it not for her excruiciatingly painful laugh. It’s like Barbara Walters replaced her vocal chords with sandpaper, then laughed into a megaphone.

I am not the only one that picks up on this. Several Latino kids (guessing somewhere between 12 and 15, obviously insecure and uncool — one of them looked straight up like Wayne from Wayne’s world, even wearing an ACDC t-shirt) start making fun of her. When she mentions Donald Trump, they immediately butt in, “Yeah, you kinda look like him!” When she laughs, they laugh back at her. The stare at her, toss crap in her hair while she’s not looking, etc. Stupid teenager stuff.

Well, she gets the bus driver into it, and so they start having a shouting match, as he tries to drive.

AT THE SAME TIME-

The old balding guy behind me, to my surprise, has scooted over next to the Italian lady across the way from me, and, in an attempt to impress her, has started to sing Italian opera to her.

AT THE SAME TIME-

The Punjabi guy three rows back gets annoyed and turns up his hand radio a little loud, so he can hear.

…I almost want to start singing along to my headphones.

Finally I get to my stop and start taking the train home.

On the train I notice the guy next to me has a toothpaste tube sticking out of his sock. And a toothbrush.

Linkdump

You’ll never work in this town again, John Hershey (scroll down to the Willie Wonka remake news)

Finally, someone else sees that Soul Calibur is entirely about fighting for Voldo’s love

And, for those of you up this late, an advance peek at the head story for tomorrow’s Daily Bugle

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The Incredible Hulk’s weblog.

UBT Romance

One more UBT for you all… may not have so many of these anymore, as I’ve finally broken down and decided to get a car. That is, if this gig ever ends. I was supposed to be on for 2 weeks — it’s been 2 and a half months now. Still, this is supposed to be the last week.

Anyways, last week, on the way to see my girlfriend, I was standing on a packed train, by the door, since I was only going to be on for a few stops.

After standing there for a minute or two, I feel something touch my hand, and, assuming I must’ve bumped into someone, move my hand up the pole. Then I look down. Here is what I see:

Crusty fingernails, yellow in the middle, growing a deep green with grunge around the edges. Blotchy skin, marred with bruises, dirt, and the occasional congealed wound. Magic circle tattoos with a vague wiccan feel on the back of cracked palms. Dirty white undershirt, underneath a graying t-shirt, underneath a blue-gray hoodie, the inside front of which is still wet from its secondary (primary?) usage as a handkerchief. And a very, very ill middle-aged woman.

Rubbing her pinky against the back of my palm.

The first line of defense against crazy people (and as I soon figured out, this lady was nuts) was to not establish eye contact. You have no idea what this may signal to the mentally deranged. So throughout all this, I keep my headphones on (the ear on other side of her off, so I could be alert), looking straight forward, ignoring the woman. I make out the following through my peripheral vision and reflections in the glass.

First, I could make out mumbling. She was definitely not speaking english, nor any language I know of, although she was very much caucasian. Next she starts flailing her arms around in front of her, which I interpret to be her casting some sort of magic spell.

This is punctuated by horrific wet coughing into the aforementioned handkerchief.

After this, and mumbling about how some guy didn’t love her, she gets up and starts swinging (stumbling) around on a pole. Eventually, she swings forward, looking straight at me, mumbling about fucking and not loving her and treating her like shit and whatnot.

She swings forward some more.

Almost completely in my line of view.

Nearby mothers usher their children away. Some frat boy at the other end of the train watches, laughing. A heavily-accented Pakistani man looks on, befuddled. Two men knee-deep in an involved conversation stop talking, instead following what is going on right in front of my nose.

And I stare ahead. Ignoring her.

I am buddha. I am the calm center of the universe.

Eventually, she swings back, sitting in her chair, looking at me, I am sure, with googly eyes.

When I reach my stop and get off, I spy her in the reflection.

She is making kissy faces at me.

That night, my girlfriend would not give me a hug until I washed my hands. A lot. I don’t blame her.

Everything comes in twos

…and hot on the heels of my previous post comes its polar opposite, forged in the fires of hell.

Click here to kiss your childhood goodbye.

(via memepool, because even I’m not fucked up enough to search for something like this)

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This is the single best use of computer graphics ever.

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