A short post with a couple updates:
A. I’ve added two new links to my blogroll, or the blogs I read/am sometimes associated with and figured I might talk about them a little bit.
Robert “Skip” Bronkie the Third was something of an oddity in my “Sight and Sound: Documentary” class.
An open-faced kid from Buffalo (different from an open-faced sandwich), Skip had been programming code from the age that I was playing Pokemon (disclosure: I still may be playing Pokemon) and had gotten in on the ground floor with Facebook as a freelancer for them, creating media and programming what would later become their wide variety of applications.
At NYU-Film School then, Skip was somewhat of an outcast then, as unlike the rest of us, he actually had some sort of skill outside of the obsessively-clannish disdain for each other that seemed to be the NYU-Film student’s main talent.
It was incomprehensible to me, a fact I tried to remedy by staring at him in class trying to discern from his haircut and the shape of his smile whether he had stock options and periodically asking him whether he knew my latest status update.
It was a decidedly fifth-grade approach.
But as of late, Skip has founded his own company, Banter, making applications for Facebook as a third-party developer using the skills he’d learned working for the man.
This, of course, has forced him again to become an oddity: an NYU-Film graduate with a job.
His blog he just started, “I’ve Heard Good Things”, looks to include updates from his lifestyle, pictures, essays, maybe some technology reviews laced with soft-core porn.
I, personally, am excited (not in that way) and even though the blog is new and not so populous yet, feel like the guy inhabits a world beyond my knowing and that a glimpse into it through a blog might be more telling than trying to augur information from the mullet-end of his haircut, while the rest of class watches somebody’s rough cut.
While Skip is unknowable to me because of his superior knowledge of new media and the shape the world will bend, I think Sam Song is pretty much unknowable to everyone.
A cryptic Asian, Sam Song is a man of few words, unless those few words are either about Bresson or the restaurant he blew his savings on last night.
His blog, “Muttering Retreats” appears to be about the latter.
While I have reacted to graduation with a near obsessive worry about money and my lack of any prospect for future employment, Sam seems unworried.
Either that or he’s decided that the uncertainty of the future means that one should eat well now.
Indeed, he’s eaten at the finest restaurants in the city including Momofuku Ko, Gotham Bar and Grill, Babbo, and, incredibly, Per Se, the top-rated restaurant in North America, where the pleasure of your meal comes to $275 a person–that is, before tax, tip and beverage (Matched wine paring brings it up to an even $500 if memory serves).
On “Muttering Retreats” he recounts all, his quixotic eating-outings, complete with nice-looking pictures, fantastical for the rest-of-us but mere gastronomic reminders for Sam.
Peppered in are some movie reviews, but the first person testimonies are interesting or at least should make an inteteresting reminder for Sam, later in life, when he lives in a shopping cart, of what food once looked like.
B. or 2. or the second thing was that I’ve joined the dark side.
I’ve got a Mac.
It was a graduation present (“Graduation/Hannukah/Birthday,” my parents told me–I argued them down to “Graduation/Hannukah” with a birthday present TBD).
A 17-inch MacBook Pro, a computer I could do editing on, part of my realization that one day soon, I will not just be able to go to a place with fancy labs, while stubbornly sticking to my partially-functioning VAIOs and Dells at home.
I have to admit some guilt.
There was something liberating about being a PC-user, something defiantly backwards. I loved the variety of programs, the constant lack of functionality, the arcane-functions of using the command prompt.
It felt insidery to me, like being a New Yorker or, more specifically, like being at Shopsin’s restaurant and knowing enough not to get kicked out.
There was a reward to that craziness, a sense of belonging.
But now, I have a Mac and everything’s easy if you’re me, but just as easy if you’re anyone else.
Sure I can edit movies on this computer and sure, staring into the background of the beautiful backlit screen is like staring into the night sky, but I liked those ugly Vista colors damnit!
As time goes on, I’m sure my stubborn resentment will pass. Like most jewy-hipster impulses, it is open to self-mockery and only proves entitlement.
But I don’t know, I don’t know how to write about dying kids in Africa.