Hear My EMO, EMO Pain

I want to finish a vid.

I want to finish a vid so badly.

I started my Rodney vid, and then realized I had to start on my Club Vivid vid, and then realized I wasn't going to finish it in time and started on my current vid. I've been starting vids for half a year.

HALF.

A.

YEAR.

And now I've trapped myself in a situation where I have to clip. I hate clipping. I've done everything in my power to avoid clipping. My hatred for clipping is only outmatched by my quality whoring. Hence, I am clipping, because it is the only way I can vid my beautiful high quality HD source without my computer breaking without buying another two gigabytes of ram. And it is taking weeks and I am so, so sick of this miserable vidder's purgatory where I'm just waiting, waiting, waiting to be creative again.

I want to be in that place again where it's 3 in the morning and my eyes are burning and I'm so tired I can only lift one eyelid at a time and I'm watching colors wash across the preview window and I'm drugged by vidding.


Pretty When You Cry. I skimmed my way through five seasons of episode transcripts for a show I had never seen, downloaded thirty plus episodes, battered myself against the thickest, most retarded piece of editing software in existence to vid a piece of music I loved for a fandom of total strangers.

Superman. I clipped four seasons of a show in three days and pulled it all together to make a six minute vid to a rap song half my audience hated on principle with a brand new, never used copy of Adobe Premiere 7.0 Pro with the insane idea that if I could just finish this wihtin the eight day deadline I could say everything I ever wanted to say about my one true pairing in the Queer as Folk fandom.

The Chemicals Between Us. I tried to use the wind/blur effect on my vid titles to get an effect like the titles in the movie I was vidding. It looked like ass. I figured I could make the effect match if I photoshopped it frame by frame. But that was, like, crazy. Then Bush got re-elected and I needed a distraction. And made the best vid credits I've ever made with nothing but cut and paste and the blur tool and a wannabe photoshop program I'd downloaded for free so aptly named GIMP. I'm sure there are other things I did in the November of 2004 than vid, but honestly, I don't remember what they were.

Teeth in the Grass. The two day vid that took five weeks. My vid wasn't brown enough. I did more yelling, screaming and begging at my computer than I ever had before. Premiere crashed constantly. The final product took something like eight hours to render. I watched it and then wept to my betas that I'd just spent four weeks trying to make my vid the color of POO and what the fuck had I been thinking?

Girl Anachronism. No clipping. Straight import of movie into timeline. 37 seconds vidded in ten hours. Got dizzy. Went to the bathroom and nearly threw up. Leaned against the wall of the toilet stall until the nausea went away. Came back and vidded ten more seconds before going to bed at six thirty in the morning. Got back up at nine thirty to go to a vid party at falzalot's house. It was really, really fuschia. No, not red. FUSCHIA. Totally forgot that it was spelled with a "c" and misspelled it three times in subsequent bitchy lj post. Figured I could blame the typos on extreme sleep deprivation, or nearly collapsing in the bathroom, or maybe even the nausea.


I want to be in that place where my vids break me. Where I go to bed muttering to myself like a crazy person that I can't do this only to crawl back out to my computer, fumble my hands over the keys and mouse and create something so beautiful I didn't even know it was in me until it fell out of my soul cavity like bubbleyum from a piñata. Because the vidder in me is a bleeding masochist and if it's not wounding me, I'm not getting off.

I haven't gotten off in HALF A YEAR.


For the love of GOD,let me FINISH CLIPPING ALREADY.

Aaaah, good times

I was just reading phangurl's latest post and it brought to mind one of my treasured childhood memories.

My mom, my sister and I went to Macy's. I think I must have been nine at the time or thereabouts. We're standing in line, painfully bored in the way that only children can be painfully bored. The kind of bored that makes you want to roll from side to side on your back on the floor. My sister (who is three years my senior) turns towards me and is like, "Come on [lierdumoa], let's fight! Right now!" She puts her arms up and is dancing boxer style on the balls of her feet. I'm caught somewhere between giggling and staring at her like she's CRAZY.

There's this old lady standing behind us with what are probably her grandchildren, both younger than me. She turns to my sister and says, sotto voce, "Shhhh. The good children can see you."

My sister pulls her best "oh, pardon me" look and we manage to keep straight faces until we get back to the parking lot, at which point, me, my sister and my mom are all laughing so hard we're crying. Tears are literally rolling down my mother's face. And of course both my mom and my sister think this is, like, the best line ever. For weeks afterwards it is this running joke every time one of us gets antsy. My mother puts on this dour look and hisses, "SHHH. The GOOD children can SEE you."

See this? Is why I have no shame. Shame is a pinch faced little old white lady telling my sister the good children can see her. And my sister is guffawing.


In other news, I am going home to visit the parents this weekend. Not my sister, as she is in Virginia studying to be a patent lawyer. My cousin should be visiting as well, so that should be fun. Nothing but dial-up, for three days, so maybe I'll catch up on fic.