Yesterday I visited my mom in Topeka. While she was at work, I sat on the back porch of the house drinking a beer. I wondered if a magical time machine would appear in the backyard, and my future self would greet me.
This prompted me the following thought experiment.
Lets say I drive out into the middle of an empty field tomorrow night. I would wait there all night, alone, waiting for my future self to show up. If my future self does not show up, I will then get a tattoo of the date, time, and geographical location of the field tattooed onto my body. From that point on, I will have one mission: to go back in time, to that exact point, and tell myself not to get the tattoo.
So lets look at this for a second. Logically, there are 6 possible outcomes:
Time travel does not exist in my lifetime, or it does and I do not have access to it.
Time travel exists in my lifetime, and I have access to it.
I got the tattoo, and still have the tattoo.
1. I remembered my mission, and was unable to go back in time.
5. I remembered my mission, and chose not to go back in time even though I could have.
2. I forgot my mission, and was unable to go back in time.
4. I forgot my mission, and did not go back in time even though I could have.
I never got the tattoo.
3. Something beyond the limits of this experiment stopped me from getting the tattoo.
6. I remembered my mission, went back in time, and stopped myself from getting the tattoo.
Now lets say I actually did this, and got the tattoo. As long as I have the tattoo, then I know the only possible outcomes that exist are outcomes 1,2,5, and 4. Assuming I have the tattoo for the rest of my life, outcomes 2 and 4 would be less likely. Now outcome 1 is most likely to occur. But what about outcome 5? Is the chance of this outcome occurring negligible?
The only thing I can say for certain is this:
If I completed the experiment and got the tattoo, I'm choosing to live in a world where outcome 5 has the possibility of existing.
And as I wait in that field, a small part of me would be a little excited, hoping to greet my future self.
Signs of Life is packed right now. It's Valentine's Day, so all of the tables that seat two are full. Some of the couples are playing board games. Others are balancing words coming out of their mouth with coffee going in. They're all aware it's Valentine's Day. They're wondering what that means for the night.
A few weeks ago, I was in a three-way tie for fifth place in the NYC Short Screenplay Competition. The top 5 moved on to the third round, competing for money and face-time with producers. They settle ties based on your two previous scripts, and the places you had then. I had the lowest of the other two, bumping me out. I was points away from the kind of opportunity that changes lives. I was disappointed.
Last night I played poker at Crimson and Brews. The winner of the games played there every Friday take home around 400 dollars. That's a lot.
I made it to the final table, and ended up getting fourth. This put me out of the bubble, a little bit of money going to third place. It's pretty disappointing. I had opportunities to go further, but didn't take them up. I fell right out of the bubble. Third place got their money back. I was disappointed.
It reminded me of something my mom told me when I was in high school. We were talking about my grades, a common conversation in my household. During the conversation, my mom told me about the difference between an A and a B. She referenced something my brother Kuma said. Kuma told my mother that he would rather get a low B (83 or 82 percent), rather than an 89. He said knowing that he was only a single point away from an A is agonizing. He would rather know an A is unreachable. Know that he didn't obtain something for a reason out of his own power.
Is there a certain level of comfort in knowing some of our goals are unobtainable?
I don't know why I remember that conversation, but that always stuck with me. Working hard for something. Wanting it. and coming up just barely short. That's disappointment.
But that's what life is. A long, continues series of opportunities. They come and go. Some are more important than others. Some are easy to obtain, some stay in the stars. It's frustrating when the opportunity you want is way beyond your reach. But it's also frustrating when an opportunity right in front of you slips out of your hand.
But maybe we can learn from the opportunities we don't get. They remind us what's important to us. Maybe the best way to know you want something is to be reminded that you don't have it yet.
The couple directly in front of me is interesting. They're both drinking coffee, ordered cinnamon rolls, and are playing a weird board game I've never seen. The game involves a wooden board with pegs, a deck of cards, and a straw sticking out of the wooden board (which might not be part of the game). They've been playing it for a really long time.
I wonder how they feel about the game. Playing it on Valentine's Day. The girlfriend dressed up for the night. The boyfriend is wearing jeans and a beanie. I'm not sure if that counts.
It's not a matter of whether or not she noticed. It depends on if she cares. She knows that she's sitting in a coffee shop right now, dressed better than her date. She knows as much as the rest of us that she spent more time getting ready than he did. Maybe that's embarrassing. Maybe she wonders if his beanie and jeans are symbols for his commitment to their relationship, or the night. Maybe she doesn't care.
But it's been my experience that people tend to think about things you wonder if they're thinking about.
Currently I am a practicum student at Johnson County Department of Corrections Therapeutic Community. It is a 6 month inpatient program for convicts with drug problems. As part of my graduate program, I spend 16 hours of my week on site providing therapy.
Last week, a client came forward to the staff and informed us that he had gotten his hands on methadone and used it. TC has a pretty strict "no drug use" policy, so he's probably getting kicked out. He was my client, so I had the opportunity to sit down with him for his last few hours at TC.
I've worked in the mental health field for a few years now. Eventually, you tend to hear the same things from clients. Excuses for their behaviors, Everyday events that cause them anxiety. Problem behaviors they want gone. But the conversation I had with this particular client was different from most.
------------------
"There's no high like heroine. I'm sick of being a walking cliche. Every day saying the same thing. That I have the willpower to stay clean. Telling the other clients here that this time is different. But I always just end up eating my words. I've let down so many people in my life."
------------------
He'll probably die from drug use. Without this inpatient program, it's only a matter of time before he starts using again. So the only question is, "When?"
The Superbowl is coming up. I know this because my clients told me they were going to watch it, and eat pizza. It was the first thing they told me when I began our group therapy session. Rumors flew about toppings. The possibility of ranch. They couldn't help but share with me their excitement.
Pizza is just one of those things. Their excitement reminded me of when I was a kid and my parents told me we were ordering pizza. My parents always got off work at 5. They would walk through the front door at around 5:10. Except on days we got pizza. We never ordered delivery, to save money. So one of them would have to go and pick it up, changing their arrival time to around 5:20.
Small things make you happy when you're a kid. Or in jail.
--------------------
"I just..... feel like I don't belong here."
-------------------
I've never enjoyed scripts that are over-complicated. I've read a lot of scripts, the majority of them are by amateurs like me, hoping for feedback. Because of the nature of screenplays, it's easy to tell when the script is being forced. The story is getting pushed out of the writer's fingertips.
Unnecessary use of complicated words makes you look insecure. I get the impression you're writing to be listened to. That you were writing, aware of how you sound to the reader. That you want to appear intelligent.
If you're telling a powerful story, your intelligence doesn't matter.
Powerful words aren't big words. They're words that make you feel something.
Recently I saw this status on Facebook.
-----------------
"It's funny almost, how fictitious one's contextual reality truly is. For people, places, and things can all be contrived from a dimension that only exists to one person, and the subsistence of this web from which it all came inevitably fluctuates and breaks, leaving only memories of things that never existed."
-----------------
Shortly after, I heard this from a client at my practicum site (an in-patient rehab for drug addicts in jail).
-----------------
"I don't think I can stay clean. I'm going to leave here and drugs are going to kill me."
-----------------
Words can be powerful. But the power doesn't come from their complexity. It comes from the emotions that carry with them.
I absolutely love this video, and I want to talk about why.
Music videos don't need to tell a story. They just needs to be a visual representation of the song, or its themes. Sometimes artists try WAY too hard by pairing their song with a long, drawn-out story that has nothing to do with the song. And it can end up being terrible. Seriously what were you thinking Drake.
This video keeps the premise incredibly simple. He's high. He sees a pretty girl at a restaurant. He dances. She thinks he's weird. She thinks he's funny. She leaves. He sits back down.
But I love the attention to detail the video has. Lots of actions he does play into the song itself. The subtle things that make this music video impressive. How he waves at her when the song says "high". The cracking of the egg in his pocket to the percussion in the song. How his dance moves eventually become absurd and impossible when the audience learns that he's high.
My favorite part is the subtle squeaks from his shoes while he's dancing. It's something that would be edited out in post production, but it's purposely kept in the video. I think that was a great decision. The whole scenario feels so much more realistic. It's the same reason I also appreciated how his cardigan kept falling off of his shoulder while he's dancing. The whole thing seems so much more real when these things are happening. It never feels like you're watching a music video. It feels like you're watching someone that's incredibly high dance in a restaurant. And yeah, his cardigan would probably flop around while he's dancing. And his shoes would definitely squeak the entire time.
And the comedy comes out of nowhere. His awkward reaction to the pigeon in his shirt. The egg. But the comedy in the video is perfectly juxtaposed to this strange, level of darkness. I mean look at Childish Gambino himself. He looks terrible. He's so creepy. He has such a sunken look on his face, almost like a zombie. His shirt and cardigan look like he'd been sleeping in them for days. The restaurant itself is empty, lifeless. The environment has a dark, ominous tone. And of course, the ending. Childish has a realization at the end of the video that everything he was doing was fleeting. He was trying to grasp for something that was never going to be there in the end. And he can do nothing but sit back down and marinate in his own memories.
Even the song reflects this. The first half of the song is pretty poppy: a generic, electronic beat you might find in a lot of current popular music. But then the entire song breaks down into this incredible mess of bass beats, static, "whoo's!", and broken lyrics. Only to jump back to the original beat. Then silence. The song transitions from poppy dance song to wild electronic noise, matching the bipolar comedic and serious tones of the video itself. Did you notice how it's a clear night when the camera moves outside, but it's suddenly snowing when the beat changes?
For comparison, watch the music video for Chris Brown and Usher's song New Flame. Notice how perfect everything is. Every inch of every frame combed over by editors to make sure the musicians look perfect. Their clothes tailored to fit their bodies, their faces powdered with make-up. Nothing is realistic. You can't relate to anything in this video.
In a lot of ways, Childish Gambino and Chris Brown are singing about the same thing. Both songs are about asking a girl to give them a chance. To embrace romance with them, and to give them a chance.
But look at the difference in their approach.
Chris Brown is asking this girl to "start a new flame" with him. Why? Because he's rich, attractive, and famous. Does it work? Probably.
Childish Gambino is asking this girl to "give it one night". Why? Because he's incredibly high, and has no idea what he's even doing. He's afraid of his sober life, and wants her to be the drug that's replacing the one he's on. Does it work? No. She leaves.
In my opinion, this is the type of music video that rarely gets made because it's honest. Childish Gambino is asking the audience to see him as just a rapper, and not as a celebrity (After all, he labeled two previous albums, "I AM JUST A RAPPER"). So many music videos focus on the musician getting a girl (Reference: any Chris Brown music video ever), it's refreshing to see a musician willing to admit that, like the rest of the world, he's not able to woo any girl he meets with a song. Sometimes, he's just a guy that's way too high at a restaurant.
For more Childish Gambino, check out another great music video, Sweatpants.
Today I watched 5 people cry. That beats my record, and probably most people's. For the last day of my practicum class, we had to go around and describe three strengths each person in the room possess. After the go-around, 4 eyes were dry: mine and Matt's. 2 robot jokes later and we still sat there. Like robots.
It's hard to pinpoint what makes people cry when they're happy. Being overcome with joy isn't an unnatural thing, that's not what I'm saying. Crying is a natural reaction when you're overcome with any emotion. What's interesting was the context of the situation. People were overcome with joy after hearing people list their strengths, and describe what they're good at. For 10 minutes, we were each forced to hear what people think we're good at. And that made people cry, overcome with joy.
Why is that? Were they unaware of the strengths described? Were the strengths something they were aware of, but hearing others say them was too overwhelming? Were they unaware of these strengths, and hearing them is overwhelming?
Maybe it's more complicated than that. Maybe hearing your own strengths reinforces a lot of things at once. It reinforces that we are succeeding, that those around us like us, and that we are capable of our dreams. Maybe we're hearing things that we are hesitant to think about, and hearing them from others puts them in fruition.
Maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe people just need to hear these things.
ACT, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, is a form of CBT, Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy. ACT focuses on the behaviors the client has that he or she wants to change. The therapist helps the client chase the behaviors back to what emotions and thoughts the clients have when they are doing these behaviors (the CBT part). The therapist then helps the clients sit with these emotions and thoughts that cause the negative behaviors. Rather than suppress or avoid them, the client re-experiences these feelings, and learns to separate them from the behavior. Eventually, the client is able to experience these emotions and feelings without turning to their previous behaviors. The client thanks consciousness for giving them this emotion, and moves on from them.
It was only a matter of time before I was going to be hit with a script requirement that will stump me. I've been getting off easy lately: the privilege to be evaluated for the genres I do best. But I'm finally forced to write a genre I have no experience with.
GENRE: Fairy Tale
LOCATION: An Orphanage
OBJECT: Aluminum Foil
The aluminum foil is the obvious red herring. Every challenge has one. They set you up with an obvious premise and environment with two of the limits, then throw in a wrench with the third. The competition gives you a world to tell a story in, but forces you to incorporate something into your story that shouldn't be there: the wrench in the machine. It's not about moving around the wrench, building around it. Finding a way to tell a story in the environment, and throwing in the red herring at the last second. In my experience, it's about incorporating the wrench into the story. Use the wrench to tell a better story. Like ACT does with emotions, thank the judges for the wrench. Show to them you wanted the wrench in your story.
But holy shit can it be hard to do that.
Fairy tales are such a narrow genre. Formulaic to one system. An inherently good main character falls into an adventure against an inherently bad villian. The hero beats the villian, and ends up better than where the main character was. roll credits.
So should I shy from that formula? How many of the other writers are? Is it worth the risk? Does the formula stunt your creativity, and you just want to tell the best story? Or are you doing it because you aren't creative enough to tell a story in the formula?
