No, I didn’t mix up my metaphors. We’re gearing up to enter the ring. No more bare-knuckle boxing in the back alley. Sure, it’s fun and it gives you a sense of adventure and makes you feel tough. But when you operate outside of the mainstream where only a few people know about you, when you win you still don’t win all that big no matter how much of a beating you took. The big money is in the ring in front of the cameras with a stadium of people yelling for you to win and lose.

We’ve spent our first year in the back alley testing our grit and cutting our teeth. We’ve come out on top. Our clients like us. They refer us. We’re good, and we like doing it. But we’re still in the back alley. We’re working on moving out, meaning lots of meetings and lots of paperwork. A lot of unsexy little tasks that seem like encumbrances, but those are the things that let you get into the big ring.

The majority of my fairly fractured time over these last few weeks has been spent rehashing the Brainroot pro site. A lot of 12-16 hour days sitting in front of my computer monitor (which, thanks to my family+Christmas is luckily a sweet Samsung 2333HD 23″ LCD, a highly recommendable monitor since it has HDMI and component inputs and can therefore be used on shoots as an HD monitor, which are very important to have. . .end parenthesis)

Right, anyways, I’ve been working pretty whole-heartedly on updating the professional (web)face of Brainroot Light and Sound, LLC. I built the last webpage, which is up currently, back in ‘08 and it’s fairly not good. Mainly it’s the copy that needs to change, but there’s a lot of graphical stuff I’m rehasing, and ALL of the back-end code was very poorly built. If you’ll allow me to switch to my native tongue of Sarcasm I’ll say, “Exciting. I know.” But it’s something that must be done. And you will benefit from it.

The point of this blog is movie making. The subtitle of this blog is “the lives and times of indie movie makers” and right now our indie movie maker lives are in hard times. Don’t think we’re not awares of the lack of creative production flowing forth from our hands. Don’t think that I’m not aware of the hypocrisy that our current state of production, coupled with my last post’s fervent statements “talk is cheap!” and “talk is bologna!” makes me nearly guilty of. But we don’t have a 9-5 that supplies a reliable, budget-ible, savable stream of income that we can put towards makin’ da movies. Every dollar we earn, we earn. And right now, we need to earn.

So I’m sorry, but at current all we have in the fridge is bologna. It doesn’t fill us with joy either. Just don’t be under any illusion that we think the bologna sandwiches we serve up are tasty homemade pizzas. We do know how to cook. Quite well. We just need to be able to afford proper ingredients. Stick with us.

Me. In the wild. Deal with it.

-or-

The Importance of Getting Out

I decided to join you today not from the peaceful serenity of the Brainroot national headquarters, nor the nourishing mayhem of my favorite coffee shop, rather, I decided to write this weekly update from deep in the Kansan tundra.

As I wandered off the beaten path, searching for the perfect writing location, I was slowly overwhelmed by majesty of the land.  It was cold and barren (as only the prairie can be).  I was surrounded by a symphony of noises: the bass from a passing freight train, the melody provided by a  duet of bubbling creek and howling wind, and the treble part from the rattling of dead branches and brambles.

Caucasian males writers have often journeyed for the wilderness for inspiration.  It gives us an excuse to write flowing, elegant prose about wind and creeks and other boring things.  It also makes us feel like we’re “getting in touch with our creative energy.”  (Because hallucinogens will only take you so far. ) (And they are expensive.)  (And need to be purchased from seedy people with foreign names.)  (Or at least hip-hop names.)  (I digress.)

I journeyed to the wilderness for a simpler reason.  I had lost my sunglasses. Or at least one pair of sunglasses.

Those who have known me for awhile know that I am close to my sunglasses.  In fact, I don’ think my first girlfriend ever saw me without them.  (She is now getting married.) ( To someone else.) (I digress).  The following is a picture of where I lost this particular pair:

A wire diagonally spans the creek

I had been shimmying across the creek on the aforementioned wire (another story) when the sunglasses fell from my pocket.  I found it much more difficult to retrieve them than I had anticipated, and got several appendages wet:

These shoes have been to hell and back, several times.

Finally, however, I retrieved the lost pair.  Here I am at base camp shortly afterwards:

The rescued sunglasses are atop my head. Unfortunately, they were too scratched to wear.

After this ordeal I proceeded to look for a suitable writing spot.  I though it prudent to document my equipment so that other aspiring writers would know what is essential for their own wilderness experience.  They are as follows:

1.

A liquid warmer appropriate to your ethnicity. Mine is Jameson.

2.

A tuna sandwich. (Mine includes cheddar).

3.

A pipe. A source of inspiration for many generations of writers.

4.

A well worn pair of shoes, lest you be timid about treading where you will.

Finally, I arrived at a suitable location and unpacked my writing gear. A swig from the flask, a deft lighting of the pipe, and I was ready to go. I unfolded my laptop and pushed power. It was dead.

45 minutes later I was back at my car. 30 minutes later I was at a coffee shop and began writing this post. My shoes are soggy, I smell like creek, and I look like I’m homeless.

On second thought, screw the wilderness.

But what about Brainroot?

Oh yeah. The update.

Well, we’re still going.  Chris is working on a new website and I’m finishing up a few editing projects while I continue to squeeze in a few minutes here and there to work on the script.  The office is great an already feels like home.  Now we just need clients.  Any one willing to work on commission?