TechnoGeekery: Request for Questions

New vidcast up at TechnoGeekery.com!

That being said, I’ve been thinking about the future lately. Oh, not in a Saving For The Future kind of way, or an I Will One Day Backpack My Way Across Europe If It Is The Last Thing I Ever Do So Help Me GOD kind of way, but in the What The HELL Am I Doing With My LIFE way. You know. I know you know.

I blame TechnoGeekery.

Oh, yes. Yes, I do.

Here’s thing. I was approached, asked if I’d be interested in focusing my desire to create video podcasts into something with a little more purpose than PSA’s about Public Restroom Cell Phone Etiquette (I still stand by my original stance of *shudder*), and I was all, “Okay!”

Because I’m STUPID?

Here, let me tell you a secret: Me? I’m a bit of a perfectionist. No, really! Um… and a tad OCD. A smidge, really. Oh, and there’s the ADHD thing. So being the sole writer, cinematographer, film editor, director, producer, performer, musical coordinator, and PR person for a video podcast? A little time consuming. And–perhaps– a bit stressful. You know, at times. Or… most of the time.

So, while many audio podcasters may be able to set aside a few nights a week to record two or three episodes of their show per night, it is possible they may not have even a remotely accurate idea of the amount of time I put into one five-minute episode of TechnoGeekery.

See, it’s a chunk of time. A HUGE chunk. Big ol’ chunky chunk. Lots of chunk going on here.

And I can’t help wondering… well, what in the world is it all for? Why do I do it? Why do I fret over it? Will I look back on my life ten years from now and think, “Boy, HOWDY. I am so GLAD I spent all my free time making episodes of TechnoGeekery.” In the big scheme of things, how important is it to me that maybe–just perhaps– I made someone laugh? And maybe–just perhaps– I taught someone something they didn’t know? And if the answer to both of those questions is “pretty darn important,” the obvious question is then, “Is it important enough?”

And I’m not sure it is.

Especially when I stumble across a piece of writing like the following, which I wrote back in June of ‘06 after seeing Shopgirl, and I am reminded of exactly where I want to be in ten years:

June 5, 2006

This weekend TGIM and I watched Steve Martin’s novella-turned-motion picture Shopgirl (which… great movie) and though it had moments of humor which one would expect from the guy who shall go down in infamy as That Guy Who Played The Jerk, the humor was quiet– subtle, even. Further, the movie truly said something, spoke truths, and conveyed this in an atmosphere that was slow and thoughtful and deeply affecting. It reminded me quite a bit of Lost in Translation, actually, in both pace and poignancy. Both movies star over-the-hill comedians in quirky, May-December relationships with beautiful young girls– and I do freely admit the thought of watching Steve Martin and Bill Murray playing any beautiful young girl’s crush/lover initially squicked me right out– but amazingly, they both pull it off, so yay them.

But most of all, both movies speak of loss and discovery and an emotional awakening in a way that I have come to realize I long to master in my own writing. But too often it seems that when I am writing and find myself faced with the choice of expressing myself in a thoughtful, subtle manner or in a humorous, bantering light, I inevitably choose to joke. And I joke because that’s just what I DO, I laugh, whether life brings me gifts of joy all tied up with pretty bows or bitch-slaps me and hands me bitter disappointment, I laugh and laugh and laugh. Then laugh some more. To be honest, I cry, also, but not in front of anyone, not so anyone can see, because what if people find out there are chinks in this laissez faire demeanor I’ve created– they could hurt me more, right? I don’t like anybody to see me cry. Much like my youngest daughter Alli, who when she hurts herself will inevitably jump up from the spill shouting, “I’m all right! I’m okay! That kind of tickled, actually!” even though we all know it hurt her and there are tears in her eyes and she is just saying it didn’t hurt so we will leave her alone and she can run away and cry in peace. In a way perhaps we are trying to say, “You can’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I laugh at pain! Ha ha ha!”

So I write and I’m silly and whimsical and manic and almost always utterly tongue-in-cheek, and though I quite often express exactly what I am truly feeling, it is more often than not hidden away in evasive verbiage. Linguistic smoke and mirrors, if you will. And though I know emotional honesty does not always have to be slow or thoughtful and that poignancy and humor are not mutually exclusive, I wish sometimes I could find the words to illustrate what I really mean without resorting to silliness and feigned vapidity. To be starkly honest, to lay my heart out in words so you could actually feel it beating if you just listened closely enough, and you just KNOW. You feel me. Hear me.

Then, inevitably, I run off to watch an old episode of Buffy or Veronica Mars and I am lost in the witty quips and snarky banter, and awed by the sheer brilliance of the marriage between humor and poignancy in the writing, and I’m like, “Eh.”

Because although I sometimes yearn– burn, even– to write peaceful, thoughtful prose, yes, passages of deeply affecting language whose impact will stay with people for hours, days, even years after reading it, that is not who I am. I am impulsive and passionate, rarely peaceful. And I see life though a haze of sardonic humor and I can’t help but spill it out in my writing.

And I think I am finally coming to terms with that.

Grr! Stupid Shopgirl. Making me all meditative and whatnot. Bah! I’m off to eat a donut and shake off this silly moment of introspective sentimentalism… I’m thinking cinnamon cake.

Carry on.