Okay, so it's six o'clock in the morning and it is now pretty much apparent that I'm as likely to make my ten o'clock deadline as I am to sprout singing ass-feathers by which I can navigate to Venus via an alternating effort of farting and flapping.

It's not really my fault.

But I feel somewhat uneasy about explaining this to the executive producer in a few hours. How do you open up a conversation like that? "So, about missing your flight..."


Terror Condition Cyan

Last Thursday morning, when nobody had replied to my voice mail inquiries, I cranked up my steam-powered electronic post messaging appliance and tapped out an urgent missive to my overlords. Everyone knew the message was urgent, because I clicked the check box that says so. I sent a warning and an appeal, mixed into one concise, digestible package which essentially said, "Shucks, I reckon y'all are gonna run out of time lest I get my approvals by sundown."

And you know what? I didn't get so much as a "please stand by." No siree Bob Abooey.

I miss the old producer, Chatty. But Chatty had budded and reproduced, and is now staying home with her fresh offspring, no doubt talking its ear off. Say what you might, though, Chatty was as professionally courteous as the sky is blue. She would never have left me hanging for a couple of days, wondering whether or not what was what.

Her replacement isn't as slick, though she seems smart and congenial. She called up with a green light to go first thing on Tuesday morning. Yes, and the news just got more and more exciting: it turned out that not only did I have approvals across the board, but I was now actually invited to render and deliver nine two-minute effects-intensive videos by ten o'clock the next morning.

So, ten o'clock is just a few hours away. And we're not going to make it.

Not by a mile. I need at least eight more hours. Maybe twelve.

It's trouble with a capital T. The executive producer is going to poop his wingback. I feel very nervous. Was my warning not severe enough? Should I have panicked more dramatically when I heard from the producer yesterday? Is somebody going to try to find a way to blame this fiasco on my sorry keister?

Merciful nobody, save me!

I watch patience bars crawl, estimates skipping up and down, messing with me and laughing. It will be five hours before I can even get a word in edgewise to resequence the queue, if that seems smart at the time. Blast and dagnabbit!

Okay, how about this for a plan: I suggest that they download the pre-approval media from my client FTP thingamahoo, and use that for the purposes of the rehearsal tomorrow. Meanwhile, I will deliver all nine videos when doors open tomorrow, and some poor sucker will have to make the showreel like his pants are on fire and then take a later flight out to wherever in the world this show is going on. I hope it's not far, because that last minute seat is going to cost a lot of stinkin' money.

This sucks. I've never been involved in botching a deadline like this in my whole nutty little career. How embarrassing!

I'm trying to will my machines to render faster, using the Force. But I don't think it's working. I don't know what the problem is. Thirteen seconds a frame? Are you fucking with me? Render, bitch, render! Ah-ha -- wait a minute...I think I've figured it out.

Misery heal me, they're Macs.


Think Jobsian Rimjob

It's whenever I'm this close to the deadline that I start wanting that extra performance edge of a non-Macintosh system, you know? All of that smooth interface, glossy inter-application consistency and multitasking magic ceases to matter when you just want to hook up the things for raw horsepower and have them crunch hard.

It is at this point that the Macintosh computer embodies Clarus the dog-cow as it gnaws its cud at a stately, obsolete pace, data choking in constricted pipes and handicapped memory. Moo.

On the other hand, I'm saving up for a new Mac. I want a nice system for running Final Cut Pro HD and Maya, and I'm hoping they'll have worked a reasonable amount of the bugs out of the G5 systems by the time I'm ready to buy. I mean, it'll still be overpriced and crippled, but that sort of goes without saying.

Time is passing. Soon I will have to call my client. Popsicle is awake and about. She renounced her crib yesterday, so this has been her first night in the Big Girl Bed. She says she bumped her head. Now she's carrying a kitten around, explaining something to it.


Bye-Bye, Penguin

So a few months ago I was in a bit of a panic to throw together a mini render farm to help me deal with the Great Tokyo Stereoscopic Cavalcade. In desperation I took my gateway server out of the loop and made it a render node, sealing the hole with a cheap-ass consumer "broadband router" thingy made of purple plastic I bought when I was shopping for DVDs.

The other day I found myself contemplating the prospect of reinstating my gateway server and just going a mucus shade of grey-green at the idea of a fresh battle with Linux.

You have to understand, that sort of thing really doesn't come naturally to me. I am not a wizard of computer science, like so many of you. My coding ability is akin to my ability to dispense cherry-flavoured frosties from my nipples.

Granted, it was much easier to get Woody into my gateway box than it was to wrestle Potato in. But even so I had to spend night after night for a week chasing patches and reading how-tos and cobbling everything together. I just don't have time for those sorts of investigations anymore...my to-do list is just too many damn bytes.

Still, I'm grateful to my friend Plaid for holding my hand at the beginning, and showing me the *nix ropes. Real computers are cool.

But they are also time-thieves, and so I must renounce the penguin. I won't be reinstalling Debian on my render node. I think I'm just going to get by with my little purple plastic router, for now. It does NAT fine, and that's the most critical thing I needed, anyway. It's not like a I host my own mail or web dribbles anymore.


Client Update

Okay, so I've just spoken with the producer. She seems to think leaving me a voice message over the Thanksgiving weekend indicating that only a few things were still unapproved somehow mitigates her responsibility in the affair, which chafes. Bloody tart didn't say which videos were approved in her message, did she? I hate people who leave messages that basically amount to saying "I've left you this message." Content, you fools, content is the key to a really effective message. You know?

Anyway, now we're waiting until the executive producer and the technical director get into the office, so's we can all McFigure-Out a Plan of Attack.

Fuck -- I'm going to end up blamed for this, aren't I?

Mung.


High School High

I've been invited to a highschool reunion next month. I'll have to ask the Lipgloss Gypsy what she thinks of my writing.

I think I should rent one of those fat suits, and tell people I gained like 500 pounds because of the depression I experienced after that dingo ate my baby. Or maybe I could get an army uniform and tell them I'm shipping out to Iraq, to offer my body up in sacrifice for the sins of the infidel.

Hey, dteeuwen, are you into this thing? Are you going to come?


Client Update Update

Second call. Producer's first decision shot down by me as unfeasible. She is attempting to remain pragmatic, but she is clearly annoyed and considers me at fault. This is Not Good.

Well, nothing I can do about it now. All bets are in.