I’m at Cheyenne’s and we’re busily clearing out half of his studio to shoot an impromptu music video for our next demo, “Castles in the Sands of Time”. I spent half the morning making a storyboard for the shots we needed; all them will be captured using our old iPhones on stands and a GoPro.
Not much to report this week; I sold my furniture to the girl on LetGo who liked our (really, C’s) decorating style, and only have a few pieces left. I even sold my wedding dress this morning, to be shipped out tomorrow. Things seem to be moving at a comfortable yet rapid pace, all towards the inevitable end to my piano tuning career (yahoo) and the start of being a real, bonafide full-time artist. This time with pay!
Cleaning out the studio and preparing for what will most likely be a grueling endeavor to get the shots we need before midnight tonight, I’m struck with the reality that this is the first time in over two years of writing that I’ll ever have stayed for dinner at Cheyenne’s place. I brought a bottle of my remaining 7 nice wines needing to be drunk before I leave, and tonight will be my first chance to test the full benefits of taking Lactaid; I noticed an open recipe book on Chey’s counter, with three different types of cheese on the menu for this evening.
As he paces around, looking for places to stash his various sundry of items including maracas, drum heads, and soundproofing panels all strewn across the floor, Cheyenne wonders aloud about how we could make a future video better with a big rotating fancy light placed over here, or a real disco ball hovering overhead instead of the mirror ornament currently suspended from the pull switch of the ceiling fan.
“That’s for our high budget days, Murder.” I say, reaffirming the hourly tradition of reminding each other, or maybe just myself, that this all isn’t for naught. That somehow, someday someone will see this video online, hear our songs, and think our music is as special as we know it is. These days the voices in my head that have told me it’s a one in a million shot are growing louder, but I’ve had enough practice to stubbornly ignore them that I’m able to cast the voices aside long enough to keep going.
We worked for four straight hours, tag-teaming shots of the other person before the last lamp was switched off and we could hardly stand. Crawling around on the floor to get that perfect angle, then running back to the bathroom to put on enough makeup to cover up my enormous zit; I kept thinking about what it would really be like for the lights to have already been put up, when someone else will be paid to make a storyboard instead of me in my pajamas on a Wednesday morning, and when someone else would be hiding my zits and frantically straightening my hair instead of just me, continuing to pretend I wasn’t really sweating, and therefore my makeup would stay perfect for the rest of time. But when we slapped each other on the back and called it a day, we knew deep down in our hearts that even when the high budget days will come, the low budget days were hard, but also really fun.