Things that = Lame.

To all of you who have ever though, "Hey, I can swindle this guy out of money by being a chump!" I have to say to you—You'll get yours.

Let me explain: I was recently hired to do a simple video for a small product. The client asked me for a quote for a 30 second video. I quoted him 2 hours of work, at $50/hour. His request was that the video be simple and straightforward, and short.

Here's what it turned out to [actually] be:

a 2 minute video, that he wanted us to color-correct, edit, add graphics, compose background music, etc. Total time spent: 6 hours. $300 total. Still a complete STEAL compared to what he would have had to pay from ANYONE else for the calibre of video he received. Normally, we would have charged about $5000 for such a project.

He then came back to me, asked for a few "simple" fixes (that actually ended up being fairly extensive, but that I was able to accomplish in 2 hours. Fortunately, for him, I'm experienced, and trying to be humble about it.). When I told him it took 2 more hours, he was outraged that I was billing him for the time. He said that he only wanted to pay for 4 hours of work, which was GENEROUS on his part because that was double what I originally quoted him.

Now, keep in mind that I only do what the client asks for. Doing anything else is allowing myself to be taken advantage of. So, with that said, how could I have gone so far overboard without expecting to get paid? Well, the truth is, I WAS expecting to get paid. He told me that "It doesn't matter how many hours it takes. We'll just pay you for the time it takes to get it done right."

So, there you have it.

Other things that are ticking me off, as I write this:

People who enter the freeway at 45 MPH or lower.

People who drive in the left lane of the freeway a butt-slow speeds, not caring who the crap they are irritating behind them

When a person continuously comes to me to vent, complain, or use me as a therapist not because they need help, but because they want attention.

UPS

People who laugh at a show, don't hear you laugh, so they turn and look at you and try to suggest, "hey, this is a funny part... see how I am laughing? You should laugh too!"

I think that is about it. I just need to sleep. I just need to have Jen back. I'm lonely and I'm upset. I'm sick of owning a business that isn't going anywhere except to mom and pop jobs that swindle me out of money. Why can't I have a rich relative, whom I have never seen, pass away and leave me a large chunk of money?

Sometimes life isn't fair, I guess.

Tithing (n) See also; Amazing, incredible, true principle

I've learned, yet again, that Malachai 3 (See the Old Testament, KJV) is about as straightforward as commandments and promises from the Lord can be. I present for your consideration the following:

It's June / July 2007. I am working as a freelance designer / videographer / artist / ward therapist.  I am poor. 

 For whatever reason (maybe nothing more than a lack of commitment on my part), I got a few weeks behind on my tithing. It was the age old story of "Oh, I owe this much for tithing, I will pay it next week in church." Then, due to various circumstances, I was never in my ward to pay it. I was in various wards for farewells, visiting family, etc.

 I have always known tithing was more about faith than about the money... and that when we pay it, the Lord blesses us—greatly. So, I finally was in my home ward, and paid it. And, here's a list of the results that have happened since:

1) I got two web design projects. Both are fairly big projects that pay well.

2) Dave and I got a videography job for a small company

3) We got in touch with Ted, the promising partner for large projects. We will be starting a large project for a company in Park City within the next week or two.

4) We got hired by the City of South Jordan to work on a campaign to clean up the trash in town. We will be doing TV, radio, print, and web/interactive ads. 

 In other words... The Lord is pouring out blessings that there is not room enough to receive it. Hosanna.

Family: Isn't it about... time?

Yes. (see below)

If I were famous, and washed up.

http://www.myheritage.com

Would you like to leave a tip?

(Image definitely used without permission... Just like my time was by the employees of the above-mentioned corporation.)

A tip? Here's a tip:

Consumers do not buy products, they buy benefits. Let's go ahead and list the benefits we received at a recent visit to Denny's.

1) I'm not eating there any more

2) I don't have to ever go back.

 Was it worth the money? Probably not. I could have figured that out as we sat for 15 minutes in the nigh-unto-condemnation lobby. Finally, after almost having to light myself on fire to get attention, we were seated. Being seated, which normally is a great sign of progress towards receiving food at a restaurant,proved only to be a holding pace until our final charges were determined, as though we were a group of condemned criminals. (And, honestly, even that is a bit too generous, as the gruel line in a prison yard would have been better tasting, and healthier.)

 Finally, after feigning death and trying to trip an employee to get attention, we did get attention... enough for them to ask us what we wanted to drink. Water, which flows freely from faucets here in the Freedom-loving land of the United States of America, took about as long to get as though they had to go out back, witch a well with some small sapling branches, get the zoning permit to dig a well, and finally, dig and bring up some water. 

 Then, came the torturous process of ordering food (the term "food" is used loosely here... Crisco shaped into pancakes, sausage, and hash-browns, with the accompanying food coloring is a more fitting description.), We placed our orders, and were again fated to an eternity of waiting. 

 It came... Finally. Only to be the wrong order. Of course, we were too polite to correct them, and we rolled with it. Besides, who knows how long it would have taken to correct the problem.

 Then, the culminating moment in the climax before the bitter denuemont, someone was charged $6.59 for three pieces of french toast. Incidentally, that was the same price for three pieces of french toast to be accompanied with an entire dead pig (sausage, bacon, and even a grilled, cut in half hot dog), hash-browns, and two eggs. The waiter, or lack thereof, never once mentioned, "Oh hey, by the way... for the same price, you can get a real meal." So, we carried on with our blissful lives, up until the moment when the check did finally come (which didn't happen until after a girl in our group had to pretend to be pregnant and the father was our waiter). 

 When we reached the glamours checkout counter (a piece of glass held up by the skeletons  of fallen brethren), the manager of the place refused to talk to us about the high-priced, egg-soaked wonder bread that cost $7 (after tax) which we had to conjure up demons to head into the back and bring out for us. She said that, "That's how much it costs. You should have double-checked." I wanted to say, "You're right, we didn't look NEARLY hard enough to try to find another restaurant surrendering and coming here." 

So, ultimately, the tip I left?

Well, I did fart as I walked out the door. And even that was probably too generous.

Tuck your tail between your legs, get down on your hands and knees, and humbly return to a former employer

I think the title of this entry explains it all... Actually. 

Due to the painstaking process of waiting for freelance jobs to pay (a combination of me not demanding half the money up front, as well as the client being completely retarded), I have to return to my former employer in hopes of getting a part time job. 

I'm reminded of the episode of the Simpsons when Homer has previously quit his job at the power plant, but has to return to try to get his old job back... There is a large door labeled "Applicants" and a small, demeaning doggy-door type entry that brands the label "Supplicants" above it.  Hopefully, I can get a job that is only 10 hours a week, so I can still maintain my sturdy schedule of sleeping in until at least 10 a.m. 

Life is hard.

Hopefully, it'll all work out.

Organization as a personal quality

Organize: Verb. (PUT IN) ORDER, arrange, sort (out), assemble, marshal, put straight, group, classify, collocate, categorize, catalog, codify, systematize, systemize, methodize.

That is a standard thesarus' list of synonyms for the world "Organize." It is a stinging truth, and a painful realization that none of those words could be grouped into a sentence starting with, "Mike is great at..." and have it not be an issue that 2 Nephi 9:34 doesn't apply to (Look it up, it's about being honest, and the penalty for lying).

Allow me to expound upon this new found realization of personal lack of character. It is 5 in the morning.. I have been up all night trying to get some projects finished—a wedding video here, a wedding video there, a post-production documentary for a commercial shoot— and have yet to start on any of them, due to an embarassing fact that I could not 1) find the right tapes from the camera, and 2 ) keep the ones I had already examined sorted out from those I had yet to scrub through.

Why? Well, it's a defect, located deep within the X chromosome that I carry. I know this because my dad, from whom all Y blessings come, is probably one of the most organized, neat-freak people I've met. He makes the dad on "Full House," (A glorious role for Bob Saggat) look like a trailer-trash all-star. MY mom, bless her heart, loses and mislplaces just about everything. For all we know, there are more than three kids in my family. Greetings to any of you who feel you've been misplaced at birth by a forgetful mother. We're probably related, and I probably owe you Christmas presents.

No, I don't. I take that back.

So, the solution? Either I can learn how to organize simple things a little better, which in this case is as complicated as utilizing a pen (a useful, effective, efficient utensil used for writing, which has been around for ages.), and LABELING the tape I just filmed my bounty upon.

Way too complicated.

How about I find a way to get paid a lot more for my lack of organization, then I just hire someone, like unto my dad (but with less "socks with sandals / tucked in t-shirts into sweat pants" ratio), to organize my life.

Sounds good.

Oh, and if it works, I'll buy you those Christmas presents.

If not... well.. let's hope you're Jewish.

mmm.. bacon.

Downtown Provo Commercial

This is the commercial I just got done working on. It was something we did as the BYU Ad Lab, and I managed the post-production for this.

Originally the concept called for lots of dynamic graphics like on the start of Stranger Than Fiction, but after looking at it, it was too much visually. So, we decided to keep it sans-graphics.

Day 2. Whoopdie Doo.

So, it turns out that Day 2 of my blog has not quite inspired me to the apogee of creativity that I had expected it to. I thought to myself, "Well hey, I'll get a blog, write some stuff down, and it'll spark creativity within me." Maybe I expected something amazing a-la-Hollywood or even something exciting like Christmas morning, but the truth is, none of the afore mentioned items have proven to be the case. Instead... I'm still me. I still grow weird hair on my chest, arms, and under my arm pits, and I still owe the banks lots of money (not for the hair, consequently).

But, the possibilities of having a blog excite me, and I can't help but feel the urge to go poo when I think about it. Maybe I am the only person in the world that when I get excited about something, it triggers a weird urge to go poo... It's like I am literally going to crap my pants with excitement. 

There you have it. Day 2. Mike's so excited to go poo. Whoopdie Doo.