April 1, 2009
Music for rural visitors.
I just got a really nifty little–no, make that tiny– video recorder. It’s called a Flip Mino, and it’s smaller than a cell phone and takes very cool movies. That is, if the person holding the damn thing takes very cool movies. On the other hand, if that person happens to be me, the Flip ends up being filled with immensely boring-but-cute-in-a-boring-sort-of-way footage of animals doing mundane things. Add this to my talent at presenting this window on the world with a vertigo-inducing cinema verité shaky hand-held technique that only overpaid French directors could rival, and there you have it: I will need a little practice at this new toy prior to posting my new moving creations.
Not to be thwarted in my voyeur-pleasing endeavors, though, I grabbed a couple of stills that themselves are indeed boring-but-cute-in-a-boring-sort-of-way. I just can’t help myself. My glass studio door, inches from where I sit at my desk, is a portal on all things immensely cute and boring. Nighttime gives me cute raccoon visitors, and daytime gives me cute blacktails. The latter have discovered the joy of standing directly under a bird feeder while allowing seed detritus to goofily drop on their heads. Gravity is their friend, since I made sure that they can’t climb up to the feeder like they used to.
The accompanying track is from a sweet, rural-themed film I scored many years ago that, had the camera been pointing at something other than the actors, would have featured lots of raccoons and deer, all like these: ready for their close-up. As I recall all of us working on the picture were paid birdseed. What comes around, goes around. And comes down on our heads. Happily.