Introduction

Pat once told me that he harbours an inexplicable compulsion to be in space. His belief is that when he’s finally there, he’ll have all the answers. Life. God. 42. The metaphysical implications don’t make sense, yet this is what he truly thinks. It’s a strange hole in the logical being I know as Pat, and only the enigmatic curiosity of the night sky can do this to someone.

I’m no exception. Something borne in us from childhood is a fascination that stems from the unknown. The stars provide enough for us to wonder about for a lifetime.

Unfortunately, for those who live in the city, there’s little chance to see the sky without “sky glow”, the annoying phenomenon that drowns out a large number of stars visible to the naked eye and telescope alike. As a by-product of industrialization, light pollution has taken the sparkle out of the stars, and this is where the HomeStar comes in.

What Is A HomeStar?

According to the official Homestar website, (translated through Babelfish):
“It is the planetarium for worldwide first optical type home. It is possible to exceed several thousand numbers of stars that to project approximately ten thousand thing stars it can see generally with naked eye of the human.”

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Last Friday, my mom called me at work.

“Do you want the piano?”, she asked.

“Sure”. She must have detected the curious hesitation in my voice.

“We’re going to be moving soon”, she furthered. There was never even a hint of moving before, so I had to ask.

“Separately?”

“Yup.”

This is how I find out my parents are getting divorced.

My immediate feeling was that of resigned sadness, and a growing resentment as a result of this sadness. I wished that they couldn’t affect me like this, that they meant nothing to me, but in the pit of my stomach, I know that they do.

Until it happens.

I should have seen it coming. A few weeks ago, she called to inform me that she was putting funds in my investment account, so that she would have an accessible cache of emergency funds in case my dad ever left her. Like insurance, it’s another thing to have just in case, hoping never to need it. Even in my early childhood, there were memories I’ve tried to block out. Bloody gashes, divorce scares, pleading for us to stay together. All I ever wanted from them was a normal family.

Lately, even in the last few years, everything seemed to be going well. The last time I visited, they were doing things together. Dancing. Eating. There was even talk of buying a new car. Now the realization is setting in. That was the last time I’ll have seen them together. Married. As husband and wife. I took a picture of them that weekend, when we went out for dim sum. My dad was ordering food from the menu, and my mom was pouring him tea, arms crossed over his. It’s the last time I’ll see them together like this, and the only picture I have of them.

I don’t even want to think of what the annual family gatherings are going to be like, or how I’m going to visit them, individually, during the holidays. How I’m going to react if I find out they’re dating again.

All I can say now is that I’m disappointed.

A tribute to Nick and Alison, my old laid-back roommate (who taught me how to make a mean grilled cheese, offered a significant challenge in Counter Strike, and introduced me to Lamb) and his new bride.

I would say something about the wedding, but the video says it all.

At one point in the night I was running around with my Karachi Outpost strapped on my back, and my camcorder bag around my shoulder, feeling like a one-man documentary team, even though my focus was on video instead of stills. There are a couple of camera issues, such as focus and zoom speed that still bug me when I watch the footage, but until I can afford a Canon XL2 my cheap Hitachi DVD-cam will have to do.

Surprisingly, the easiest part was picking the song, something that can take days itself. I needed a single track that would work through landscapes, kissing, and drinking, three things that evoke vastly different emotions, and Tulips by Bloc Party was perfect. Even the timing of the lyrics worked out. I wish I could say that I was able to obtain a score for the music, analyze it, and symetrically break down the scenes according to the development. To be honest I just didn’t have enough footage, so I just put what I could in the parts that would fit, without interrupting the flow of the story.

The entire clip took about three solid days to complete, half of which was just getting the scenes in the right format to work with in Adobe Premier 2.0. I was plagued by video format problems and asynchronous audio issues. It was also the first time I was able to try this latest version of Premier since I was running 1.5 for a while. The process really pushed the capabilities of my system; loading only Premier with the whole sequence took up 1.6 gigs of RAM. Render time was about 20 minutes on a dual-core AMD 4400+. Uncompressed video size is almost 2 gigs.

Influences were Michele Gondry from the Hardest Button To Button video, as well as the smart and witty stylings of Spike Jonze.

There’s something about these small-town stores. They carry everything; books, art supplies, furniture, candy.

The baubles, the African statues, the organic catnip tins, the esoteric wire sculptures, they all go home with someone. Some of them will be thrown out in less than a year, others become heirlooms passed from generation to generation.

The people who work there are never the same, but there’s always one thing that’s consistent. You can see the innocence in their faces, a warm feeling of rustic integrity. They all say hi, and go back to what they were doing, never minding your wandering presence in the store. I think I’d like to be one of these people some day. Maybe when I retire.

Selling dreams.

Man does not live by words alone, despite the fact that sometimes he has to eat them.

—Adlai E. Stevenson Jr.

It’s after dinner, and while her parents are putting the dishes away downstairs, she’s going down on me, lying on her pink sheets, pants pulled down to my knees. Her brother’s in his room next door, and I’m pressed up against the wall that separates us. In my quickened breath she hears that I’m on the verge of moaning, and keeps me in check with an embarrased shush.

It wasn’t true. I was just lost in the moment, addicted to the heat of her tongue.

A week later, we broke up.

This is why they have the insanity plea. When you catch your wife in bed with another man. When you tell someone that you love them, because you’re intoxicated, getting the best head you’ve ever had in your life.

And to this day what I regret the most wasn’t the conflict I caused in her family with my eventual absence, or the taking of her virginity, or dating someone else the day after we broke up.

It was that I couldn’t control my words for those ten little minutes.