Tax

I have a really customized camcorder. I can't stand that "everything is in focus," hyperrealistic look that just screams "low buck," so I found a way to adapt lenses from film cameras onto it. It took a lot of parts, a lot of work, and a lot of fine tuning, but now that it is done it shoots footage that looks like it was shot on a high end moving film camera. For example, you can have a shot where a person's face is in focus but the background is very blurry, and whatever is closer to the lens than the person is, is out of focus. You see this a lot in movies and commercials.

The camcorder looks crazy, with this giant telephoto-lookin' lens sticking way out front.

I have a lot of fun with it. I film my daughter, the family, and anything interesting outside. I film inside businesses, on walks, driving around, whatever. To me it's worthwhile because the images are so much nicer than with a regular camcorder.

I also downloaded (illegally) vast amounts of software for movie editing, visual effects, image tuning, audio editing, and DVD menu creation.

This project has somewhat replaced porn for me.

Two of my friends have already said "This isn't a career move, though, right?" What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It's not like I made some bad home movies and want to be the next Scorsese. Hell, I haven't even showed these guys what I'd shot and edited so far. And why the fuck are friends being unsupportive?

~

My wife came home from shopping and driving around with her mother all day today, and started bitching right away. Then she turned it into one of my pet peeves: she asked me for help, and refused to tell me what for.

"Can you help me?"
"With what?"
"The baby has gotten food all over herself, all over me,"
"What do you want help with?"
"in my hair, on my clothes,"
"What do you want me to do??"
"on the floor, on HER clothes,"
"JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT ME TO HELP WITH!"
"Nevemind." (sigh)

Christ. Like I'm the asshole.

Anyway she handles our taxes and of course waited until the last minute to file. So, she told me to drive to the post office, as she says it should be open to midnight. When I get there, at 7:30 PM, it's closed. I return, and tell her I'll have to drive into L.A. to the main post office there (an hour away). She has a huge fit over this, and tells me to find a closer one that's open. I tell her, none are open past 8:00 PM except the main big one. She tells me to go check and then come tell her which one I'm going to. Me: I'm going to the fucking L.A. one and that's final!

At this point she says to just forget about filing taxes; send them in late. Now, mind you, I owe several thousand dollars this year. So, when I confront her about why on earth it would make sense to pay late, she says "Because I think this is just an excuse for you to stay out all night."

Whee, so much for new beginnings. I tell her, No, it's not, we need to file. Come WITH me if you want! Or YOU go drive there! Christ!! I actually DID want to stay home, or at least I had wanted to until she came home and started griping.

She tells me, "You better come straight home. Don't you dare come home late." Who the fuck are you to be giving me orders? Now I HAVE to stay out late, or I'll be obeying her. Christ almighty. What a fucking bitch. How about a simple "Please"? A "Will you please come straight home?" That's all that would have been necessary in the first place. And I don't even WANT to be out all night; I want to be home editing this footage I shot.

~

I got to the post office at 9 PM or so. While I was there, I saw a perfect opportunity to shoot footage. It was a madhouse. Cops everywhere, line of cars around the block, postal workers at the sidewalk with giant bins, collecting tax returns from people driving by.

I parked in the middle of street behind a parking enforcement cop car. This old guy was the parking enforcement cop so I knew I had a long time before he even noticed I was right in the middle of the street.

I grabbed my camcorder, put my camera bag full of lenses on my shoulder, and I hung this 7" LCD monitor I just bought, around my neck, sort of tilted up at my face so I could look down and see what my camera was seeing.

I shot some footage of cars, people dumping their tax returns into bins, cops, and some of the news vans from CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, etc.; the ones with the microwave dish on top of a giant extendable pole sticking up sky high. This chick was in one of them, pretty cute, tan, dark eyes, slim face, with bleached hair. She looked maybe 35. She popped out and came over to me and asked me what my setup was, and who I worked for. I explained I was just filming stuff for fun. She asked what my camera was, and I explained, and demonstrated, on the little monitor. She was totally impressed. She invited me into the van and showed me her editing rig and all the equipment. She was still amazed at my camera. "A lens from Russia? You are amazing!" I felt like Han Solo. You know; the part where he says about The Millenium Falcon, "She may not look like much, kid, but she's got it where it counts. I've made a lot of special modifications myself..."

We shot the breeze for a couple hours at least. She thought I was 37-38. I'm 35, what the fuck?! I told her she was younger than I was, for sure. I knew she wasn't, but I also know the way into a woman's heart. You see, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. The way into a woman's panties is through her heart. And I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. I would have been, but I think I lost it the other day, and that is a story for another time.

Anyway she is 47. Amazing. She was very good looking, and did not look 47. Even her bod was in quite good shape. I did notice a couple of signs of old-ladydom: the skin pulled a bit tightly around the cranium, the pronounced eye sockets, the thin, sharp lips.

She was pretty interesting and has won some awards for her work, including an Emmy. I got her email address and her business card. I am sure I can make her fall for me after some dates but I pray nothing gets started.

When I was driving away I was halfway wondering why I'm so afraid to tell girls I'm married. I don't want them to not pay attention to me, and I think if it weren't for desperation on their part, I'd never get to talk to them.