Out of Its Element, The Hinkybox Suffers
I’d really love to post about web development, web design, or about progress on the many projects I have in the works.
But I can’t.
I gave some serious thought to playing up the code and development aspects of this blog for the forthcoming submission round over at 9rules, and more than once I’ve set out to do just that—but invariably I find myself staring mindlessly at the screen, with no idea where to even start. In my daily travels, I feel the same old urge to really knuckle down and crunch some code: I’d like to work on Wheatblog, I’d really like to finish the WBA site, I need to debug and release CloneSpy v1.1 and I’d also like put some time into developing a stronger design for my portfolio site.
But I can’t—not yet at least.
I’ve become accustomed to a specific routine in the last few years, as I suspect most people do–real job M through F, nights off to work with my website while smoking Camels and listening to bluegrass (at any damned volume level I wanted), walking the dog, drinking the odd Colt .45 with the neighbor, and so on. Rinse; Repeat. Alas though, time marches on, and sometimes it’s in your best interest to sacrifice such a pleasantly uncomplicated and sedentary lifestyle for a change; a big change that promises to make your life a whole lot better when all is said and done (and packed up and moved).
So here I sit, in my folks’ house: a beautiful and homey sort of abode that most visitors agree is very comfortable and impressively appointed, with all sorts of interesting things to mess with, from all different corners of the world. It’s a nice place by any measure. Quiet, neat, clean, and lavishly, umm… carpeted. Most people would call this a great home, but I’m beginning to think that this place is a problem.
As I type this, you see, I am sitting at a desk. A real desk. A desk made of oak, probably in the early 1930’s. The lamp which lights this office space–itself worth probably more than every piece of furniture I’ve ever owned–is on the left of the monitor. On the left! Who does that?! The mouse and the computer and the 19” monitor are mine, but the assprint in the chair is not. And there are baby pictures everywhere.. LOTS of baby pictures. Don’t get me wrong, I love my nephews with everything I’ve got, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone. I’m accustomed to sitting at my drafting table with a nalgene full of water to my left, lighter and smokes in front of the stereo, lamp to the right, everything else exactly where it should be. I’ve always thought that spatial awareness and familiarity is extremely important to productivity, and now I know I am right. I remember hours slipping by as I focused intently on the 30+ files I typically have open in Dreamweaver and PSP. I spent a lot of time in this nook… ever-so-steadily wearing the letters off of my keyboard. I’m used to a focused, rapid, and productive workflow. It’s gone. Fuck.
Verily I type this, quietly inconsolable over the loss of my creative alcove and thus my creative outlet, and I hope to be back–at least in some sense–to my previous state of productivity soon. Hopefully I’ll get over this before The Big Haul™, but as yet, it remains uncertain. Sure, I can blog about random shit that I photograph, but I rarely ever read those sorta blogs anyway. I don't really expect people to read this entry; I suspect the TruckNutz gidget over there in the del.icio.us pane will get more interest out of a visitor than this long-winded turdfest. Man, this is torture. I'll end it now, for both of us.
One thing is for certain: when I do get out to Texas and settle down, I’m building myself a studio. It will look much like the spare room in my old, dingy apartment, where I learned CSS and PHP and Linux. The place where I combined a here-and-there hobby, a love of the web, and a desire to continually improve my design and development skills into a lifelong pursuit. I can’t be guaranteed the exact same atmosphere, but hell, it’ll be mine, dammit. It'll have stone floors.
And maybe a pimp-assed skylight.
8 Missives So Far
01 vanessa said on Mon Nov 14 1:02:10 EST
Well I quite like this entry. It's invoked a lot of thought in this old noggin:)
I think that being comfortable in one surroundings has a lot to do with creativity and inspiration.
I find my best work has come from being inspired, and sitting down and finishing it till it's done - sometimes 36 hours straight or more, which is always something that's bugged me. Sometimes I'll be inspired while out and about, and if I have no way of recording the thought - it's lost. It's not the inspiration that's hard for me, it's being consisent in the process.
I'll have to think on this a bit more.
02 wheat said on Mon Nov 14 11:12:34 EST
The last time I lived at home was for about three weeks back in late 1988, right before I started college. I had moved out the previous summer, after the mutual animosity between my father and me finally came to a head. I can't imagine that I'd be able to do anything requiring real attention under my father's roof (if he still had a roof or was still around to enjoy a roof or however you want to think of it). Have you got a laptop? Are coffee shops and the like conducive to productive work for you? Perhaps you should just enjoy the downtime, if that's possible. Catch up on movies you've missed and the like. Hit the zoo. Do a photo essay of your old stomping grounds. Play your banjo, etc.
04 anonymouscoworker said on Mon Nov 14 11:52:22 EST
Oh yeah, and add a snack machine too. And maybe paint some flames on the side of the house. It'll be awesome.
05 anonymousfriend said on Mon Nov 14 20:15:15 EST
You can always put an enormous bump sign on one wall! Then you can get back to basics and create bitmaps of cartoon superheros!!! "SPOON!"
06 josh said on Mon Nov 14 22:59:20 EST
V - I always value your thoughts, as you probably know, so I'd appreciate you getting back to me with ideas on how to solve this problem. I'll try pretty much anything, short of pantyhose on my head or ritualistic poultry sacrifice. Please advise. :)
Wheat - Laptop? Check. Coffeehouses? Check. Pretentious asshats in said coffeehouses? Asterisk.
Downtime? Enjoy? Hrmm. You may be on to something there.
Maybe I'll get a job doing something that'll make me appreciate my current lot in life; I'm thinking barrista.
Would you like a little condescending smarm with your Kona-half-caf-mochalattechino? :)
Clive - consider this unpaid leave, though it's not very difficult to take unpaid leave from unpaid work.
Oh yeah, and add a snack machine too. And maybe paint some flames on the side of the house. It'll be awesome.
ACW, you need to keep your creepy mind-reading mojo out of my blueprint files, man.
I'm just thankful that my super-secret, pneumatic pizza dispersal system (based loosely on those tubes at the bank, still working on this one) and my overall theme haven't been compromised by your psychic abilities.
I can tell you this, though: My house will be shaped like a mailbox, and my mailbox will be shaped like a house. I'll call it L'Ironie Structurale, and claim that it was a collaborative effort with Frank Lloyd Wright, That shifty-eyed 'doctor' guy from Cannonball Run, and yours truly.
There will be pictures.
And as for you, AnonymouSmith, you cheeky monkey - that bump sign comment really freaked me out - mostly because I hadn't though about that thing in nigh on a decade (holy shit man, we're old), but also because I thought you were the ghost of somebody's front axle -- a front axle that really needed that bump sign, but didn't see it, because it was gone. In my bedroom. On the wall.
Remorse is a harsh mistress.
07 vanessa said on Tue Nov 15 2:07:15 EST
Advise? Hell. I have no answers. None what. so. ever. I have some luck borrowing inspiration from books - especially a big ol' one called the art of looking sideways:) But you already know that and I sound like a broken record;)
As for the pantyhose idea, now that I think about it, I'd really like to see that -and who knows, it just may work!
Regarding the rest of your post, I am giggling like a schoolgirl...
08 josh said on Wed Nov 16 0:20:13 EST
As Mr. Smith knows (anonymousfriend), there is a picture in existence of me with said undergarment on my head. It was taken at 3am, the night before our H.S. Senior term papers were due, and we were up eating No Doz by the handful and drinking a considerable amount of Mr. Pibb.
I remember it well. I do believe I have that picture squirreled away somewhere. It is too funny to destroy, and far too embarassing to disseminate.
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