FLOATING SHAWN

On Getting Married

    After months--no, years of planning, losing 25 pounds with diet and exercise, setting up events on both coasts, picking out outfits and writing down vows, hours spent poring over song choices, surviving my bachelor parties (yes, parties, I am either much loved, or my friends are all frat boys, or both), after all that, I almost succumbed to the pressure of WWEH (Wedding Week Event Hype).

    The "getting married" is not the hard part for me. It's not the anxiety that people tend to ask about. "Are you nervous?" people say. About "getting married," I am certainly not nervous. If I were nervous, I never would have bought the ring in the first place. To do that, I had to be fearless. I know without any doubt exactly what I want, and that's Christine. I'm as sure about this decision as I'm sure that the sun'll come out tomorrow and Superman is my favorite superhero, that snow < rain < clouds < sun, that Radiohead is brilliant, that I'm cosmically lucky to be a healthy young man living on planet Earth so I've got to make the best life for myself and my family...

    That's how sure I am that marrying Christine is the right thing.

    It's all this event stuff around it. Turns out I'm kind of a Groomzilla. Shocking, right? My microscopic attention to detail makes me suffer every minor, unimportant thing that can go wrong. A word out of place in the ceremony (Christine and I wrote it together), a scuff on my new wedding shoes, the chance of losing something important en route from Cali to Vancouver to NYC. These things all terrify me disproportionately to their lasting effect.

    So I'm a little tense, and tonight I almost caved in and bought new luggage in a diva-esque shopping moment, or as diva-esque as I can get wearing a zombie-Mickey Mouse T-shirt.  Shopping for luggage I can't afford, luggage I don't need (I just bought new stuff, but I don't like the garment compartment--GROOMZILLA!!!), luggage that will only make my life harder when I have no place to store it at home.

    Somehow, buying luggage seemed like it would solve all my problems. Maybe it's a shopping impulse brought on by the imminent release of Sex and the City 2.

    Three blocks away from my house, before I even got to the store, I changed my mind about buying luggage. I knew I was only looking for a way to cope with WWEH. It's a common problem for Groomzillas like me. Fortunately, I was able to get over myself before I charged $450 for a suitcase with a proper garment bag.

    I thought about my decision in the context of being a good husband. After all, Christine wouldn't go on an irrational spending binge to make herself feel better. She'd come up with something less expensive, but somehow also inexplicably cathartic.

    And that's how I came home with a new pair of shoes and a new attitude tonight. WWEH stresses me out so much that I have to shop to feel better. Comfort shopping. I thought I wasn't that kind of guy.

    Or maybe in the end, we're all a little bit like the girls from Sex and the City 2.

    About getting married and all that, I say follow your heart far enough and eventually you'll catch a faerie princess in your jar. Marry her.

    Works for me.

Crazy NYC

Today, this mentally unstable gentleman wearing a Jason Voorhees mask menaced the Subway sandwich shop where I buy my lunch. He blocked the door, ranting in that unintelligible way that bums do, angrily shaking his cane at the befuddled Pakistani clerks. Threats to call the police did not phase him; when he suddenly left it was likely due to frustration, or the voices in his head telling him that Quiznos is superior. Now he's loose on the streets. Or maybe he's in your house... Yes, YOU, your house!

Sam Tsui's One-Man Michael Jackson Medley

I bet MJ would be most honored.

Kudos to Sam and Kurt Schneider. This is brilliant.

Happy Fall from Shawn & Christine

I haven't posted because I've been like sooo busy lately. Between work and staying up late to write songs for the ongoing boyband project and watching loads of British sitcoms, it's easy to forget about the old blog. I had planned to write up my thoughts on the dozens of video games I'm playing, but recent corporate developments have forced me to keep a lid on any sort media commentary, at least while I tip-toe around uncertain employment status until Q1 2010.

So what can I post that won't distract me from writing, or interrupt my day job, or get me preemptively fired from said day job?

Pictures. In this case, Christine and I at a corn maze in Schuylerville, NY, last weekend. Marvel at our monogamous bliss!

I know what you're thinking: "Shawn, this is too exciting!" I know, I know. Christine and I are high-rollers. We're beyond Caribbean getaways and Kilimanjaro climbs and skiing in Vale. When we cut loose, we rock corn stalks, baby. Dig it!

Workin' for the man

So after all those months of unemployment and waking up at 11 A.M. and wandering around New York City for hours just because there was nothing better to do, after posting resumes online and submitting endless cover letters, attending silly cocktail job fairs and condemning myself to failure, I finally, thankfully, have a job.

I'm breathing easy and waking up early now, but the anxiety induced by the hiring process has definitely added a few more flecks of gray to my beard.

"I see you were the Editorial Assistant on a book called Life Inc.: How the World Became a Corporation and How to Take It Back by Douglas Rushkoff." The HR Manager deadpanned like a snarky Steven Wright. He was testing my resolve. "So how do you feel about working for the man?"

"Working for the man," I chewed on it, cleared my throat, let him know I was considering my answer. I didn't want him to think that I'd anticipated his questions, that would make me look smug.

"I had a feeling you might ask me that," I said. "And, uh, everybody's gotta eat. If you read Life Inc., you'll see it's not- it doesn't just condemn corporate life. It's about how life, now, today is inevitably corporate, and living this corporate life all the time has certain biases and disadvantages, but there are ways to evolve ourselves to surpass that. But you can't just unplug from the system, obviously the system doesn't do everything wrong, I mean, it's good enough to be The System, right?"

I was rambling. And I hadn't answered his question, at least not in a satisfactory way. I needed this job so badly that the pressure was threatening to derail me. I thought, 'Chill out, dude. Be zen. What would Don Draper do?' I then became, through some demonic method acting possession, the physical and mental embodiment Don Draper.

"I've worked for the man at lots of different companies, they're all on my resume and I've got great recommendations from each of them. I have no problem working for the man."

And I really don't. Especially not when "the man" in question is DC Comics and I've got a freakin' Superman tattoo.

Two days after my interviews at Warner Bros. and DC, I submitted the writing test — sort of an essay test on video games and the DC Universe — that had been assigned to me, being certain to send the file several hours ahead of the deadline. I was terrified. Even after I sent the test, I read those two pages over and over again, and I was devastated when I counted three grammar errors and a missing word.

Days passed. I was in such agony that I actually paid to see Transformers 2. I thought that CGI, throbbing subwoofers and plot-holes would distract me from obsessing about the job.

But there was no distracting me from fretting over my potential dream job.

A dream job at DC Comics — the home of Superman and childhood dreams and professional opportunity.

The days passed and I started to lose it. Did I have the job or not? If I weren't so paranoid about male pattern baldness, I would have been ripping my hair out. 

I was ready to call the HR Manager to ask if they'd made their decision, but then he called me and I struggled to maintain composure. "They have identified you as a top candidate, and we're running a background check on you, but your candidacy does not guarantee that any final decision has been made or that you have the job." I'd have to wait a few more days, or perhaps even a week to find out the final decision.

The next day I left town for a family vacation. I felt stranded in limbo, unable to enjoy the R&R so graciously provided by my parents, clutching my iPhone for dear life; at any minute I might either win the lottery or suffer a broken heart.

My Dad decided that I had the job. He didn't think I would have gotten the "top candidate" call if the decision hadn't already been made. He reasoned that, "the company's spending money on you for the background check, and so you must be of value to the company, therefore, they'll make you an offer.

I was less optimistic. "This is just setting me up for greater disappointment later. Please, let's not talk about."

I was afraid to take my iPhone to the beach, so I left it locked in the hotel room closet safe. I lasted for only a few hours on the beach, beautiful and sunny though it was, before I dashed back to the hotel room, yanked open the safe and checked my voicemail.

Holy fracking scraps, I had a call from the HR Manager! "Call me back before uh, 5:30," I looked at the time. 5:32! 

The phone had poor reception in my room, so I ran to the balcony. If I hadn't gotten the extra bars out there, I may have leapt over the rail in search of a signal. Fortunately for my leg bones, I didn't have to do that.

The call went through. I got the offer. I accepted. I got the dream job.

The End... Or only the beginning?

Now I work at DC as Assistant Editor–Interactive. I can't tell you about day-to-day action, because most of it deals with confidential, unreleased, awesome interactive entertainment.

I can at least tell you that I have played Batman: Arkham Asylum, and it is absolutely brilliant. That's not some corporate shill, it's the truth. This blog is not an appropriate platform for DC business so you won't hear me airing it here — take this recommendation as my unbiased fanboy opinion.

Since I am now a gaming professional, you can expect the focus of my posts to shift towards video games. With the exception of upcoming DC titles, I'll tell you what new games I'm playing on 360, Wii, DS, PS3 and the iPhone. Maybe even the PSP if I have time and a must-play game.

Expect these game-themed posts soon.

And since you're wondering, the answer is yes, I am still writing the boy-band screenplay. It's going to be spectacularious.

Daddy, I want it NOW!

If I believed that people have souls, and there were a $130,000 luxury item so kick-ass that I would subprime mortgage my immortal soul to buy it, the JetLev would be it.

Something Liberals and Conservatives Agree On

The Bill of Rights is way too long.
This Reason promo is frighteningly, hilariously true. Thanks to Ted Balaker for the pointer.

Eclectic Method Tribute to Michael Jackson

Eclectic Method - The Michael Jackson MIx from Eclectic Method on Vimeo.

Thanks to Jeff Newelt for the link!

You Are Not Alone: Planet Earth Mourns

    Does anyone else feel like Michael Jackson's whole life is flashing before their eyes?

    Today, all over the Web and in the streets of every city, on every channel and every front page, on the playlist of every radio station, dive bar and dance club, it seems like everyone — everyone — is mourning Michael Jackson's sudden death. Much like the performance that was his life, his curtain call is a global event. Regardless of race, creed, color, language, or station, the King of Pop was one cool thing we all had in common, whether enjoying his music or lamenting his tragic later years. In dying, he leaves a galactic hole in the pop cultural universe, that not even a thousand Susan Boyles and Adam Lamberts multiplied by Justin to a factor of Beyonce could fill.
    Michael Jackson's life was the greatest show on Earth. You know it, I know it, even the trees and rocks knew it. He leaves behind a legacy so massive that, like the face that never stayed one way for long, it can only continue to grow in the wake of his passing. I can't wait for the "Michael Jackson is alive!" stories to start circulating. For all we know, a thousand years from now, Michael's shapeshifting legend will evolve him into a moonwalking man-child deity worshipped by a great messianic cult with choirs of "Man in the Mirror."
    Bigger than Jesus? You bet he is. Even Muslims and Jews can agree on the toe-tapping perfection of Thriller. And on the eighth day, God laid down "Billie Jean."

    My own memories of Michael Jackson start from the crib. My Aunt Rene, only a teenager at the time, was babysitting me and I wouldn't stop crying. Perhaps she put the Thriller record on to drown me out, but whatever reason she had, it stopped me crying.

    From then on it was Michael Jackson everything. I had dozens of VHS tapes of shows, live appearances, full concerts, the music videos. I had records and cassette tapes, and my parents gave me my first CD player so I could play the double-disc HIStory in all its hi-fi, remastered glory. I practiced dance moves and performed for neighbors at block parties, sometimes I would even sing "The Way You Make Me Feel" to girls on the Karigon Elementary playground, which never worked out for me the way it seemed to for Michael. The "Thriller" video was on constantly, I taught the moves to my babysitters and 18 years later I danced with a gang of other zombies for a Thrill the World event in Tompkins Square Park on Halloween. "Thriller" made me want be a special-effects makeup artist like Rick Baker, made me want to get into the entertainment industry, made me want to make something that good. I drew pictures of Michael Jackson fighting the Joker or Michael Jackson as Superman, pictures which I remembered a few months ago when I was going through the Neverland Ranch auction books and found that Michael owned a statue of himself wearing a Batman costume. I grabbed my crotch and kicked my leg and yelled "shamone!" and fell in love with girls and shed tears for starving children and it was all to the tune of Michael Jackson albums.

    I was a bigger fan than most kids, but I was definitely not the biggest fan in the world, and I never got to meet him and have my picture taken like my buddy Roger did, though I'll admit that I've driven back and forth past it several times during my adventures in California.

    When Andy Futterer and I lived in Los Angeles six years ago, the second time that molestation charges were charged against Michael, we both agreed that there was a chance he could, in fact, be a pedophile. But we didn't blame him, his life was just too weird, his childhood too notoriously messed up to blame him for being crazy. We contemplated driving down to the Santa Maria Courthouse to join the throngs of fans there to support him, but decided against it. Later that night, watching the local news, we thought it was awesome when he stood on top of a car and dropped some signature moves before leaving. Even on what had to be one of the worst days of his life, Michael never stopped working for us.

    As it stands, having reviewed all the information I could find, I don't think he ever did anything inappropriate to the kids, and neither did the court. It looks to me that Michael was exploited by some very nasty, desperate people who were also willing to exploit their own children for the money — not unlike Michael's father himself, Joe Jackson.

    It's easy to blame Joe Jackson for beating Michael into a wacko, but the rest of the Jackson kids got beat too, and they never got as weird as Michael. Of course, they never got as rich and famous as he got either, so other people like to blame the fame. I've heard the argument that we — the fans — are somehow to blame, for not buying the later albums, or for buying into the pedophile stories. Then there's the "Wacko Jacko did it to himself" folks, who just write Michael off as a tortured, confused genius who thrived on being weird and lonely.

    I don't really care about any of that. There is no one reason why Michael Jackson was the way he was, and there's no one reason why we liked him, why we secretly hoped for his London comeback to be a stunning swan song success. We just wanted to see him moonwalk one more time. From the different eras to the different noses, from the fans to the hit songs to the videos to the urban legends, there is only one unique, constant factor in the MJ phenomenon and that is the worldly existence of Michael Jackson the man. I don't think we're making too big of a deal to mourn him like we are. It's a rare person in history who can make the whole world stop. Michael was an idol even in isolated Iran, and while I'm sure the Iranian people are more concerned with the fate of their nation, perhaps even the mullahs paused when they heard the news.

     I never knew Michael Jackson and maybe nobody did. I suppose I can't mourn the man, but I can mourn the passing of my own youth, and we should all mourn the loss of an artist who we shared so universally. I don't think Michael Jackson's legacy is over. If there's one thing I know about stories, it's that burying a man doesn't bury his legend — it only makes it more magnificent and, at the same time, more precious.

CORRECTION: I originally wrote that my buddy Roger had had his picture taken with Michael as a boy at Neverland, but it turns out the picture was taken in the Bahamas. That doesn't make me any less jealous.

New Kids on the Block had a buncha hits

    And they played all of them at SPAC last week. But it almost wasn't enough for me.

    Since last December, I've worked earnestly to break the story on a comedic screenplay about boybands. For research, I've become something of a boyband connoisseur, and while I'll always cherish the New Kids on the Block for the memories we shared before I had hair on my chest, I much prefer Take That.
    From NSYNC to Backstreet, East 17 to Westlife, I have bought dozens of albums, watched hours upon hours of music videos and concert footage, and taken a hip-hop dance class with Christine to learn how it feels to bust a move. But my favorite research acquisitions so far were Gary Barlow's autobiography and my imported Take That DVDs from Malaysia. 
    Inevitably, my experience at the NKOTB concert was filtered through the lens of Take That's more musically entertaining and successful reunion.