I finished up the titles render for “Grounds Zero”, the short film starring Mo Collins and Keegan Michael Key, listening to Lyle Lovett and thinking about Easter, grateful for the beautiful cloudless sky for some odd reason–it’s not as if we don’t get them often here in SoCal–and appreciating my existence in a manner that would make me feel self-consciously introspective and happy-glib if it weren’t for the fact that I’m coming down to the last of my savings and without another paying gig soon, will have to break down and get at least a part time job somewhere. Yet somehow I’m more pleased than I can say.
For one, I finished up two big jobs, this render being the second, within a few days of each other, and considering my schedule, it’s pretty good timing. I’ve managed to effectively streamline my work schedule so that I have no time left over for writing; that was last week’s problem. I can probably wedge some time in, though I have one remaining paying gig that I’m trying to complete.
But enough about work and money woes. It’s the day after the most hallowed day in Christendom, which somehow sends more pleasure and reflection into my heart than seems possible given this cynical age where tradition and pomp and circumstances are viewed with disdain. Today, and hopefully for most of this week, I will be immune from the world’s jaded ugliness. At church we walked through the stations of the cross, or at least the modern church’s modified version, reduced to seven from the original fourteen (though a fifteenth was added in the eighteenth century). I don’t usually enjoy these kinds of productions. They seem elaborately staged to garner some kind of somber meditation, but at the bare minimum of expense for the soul. Reenactment is never a substitute for contrition, but it seems sometimes that’s exactly the intent. This time, however, seemed to speak right to my soul. I could only describe it later a a journey from selfish ambivalence to serene contemplation. I even watered up a few times as I found myself caught up in the moment of reflection of the sacrifice and salvation of Christ’s death. It’s difficult to convey that sense of relief one feels at the foot of the cross, but I certainly experienced it as I lay aside my burdens of the past year and yielded once again to the Creator. Truly a resurrection of the soul occurred yesterday.
I was supposed to have a podcast up last night, but work precluded. It should be up later this afternoon (this one will require some editing and the trailer has yet to be constructed). It’s filled with Easter juiciness, and is a little more serious and controversial than our previous efforts. That’s not to say this Fringecast doesn’t contain the irreverent and sarcastic humour you’ve come to know and love. But be warned: there is talk of menstrual cycles and bikini waxes.
On that note, I’ll leave you breathless with anticipation for the podcast. See you tomorrow.