I didn’t “make” these images. In fact, no one did. They were generated using artificial intelligence. It’s like searching something in Google Images, but instead of using text to find an image, you’re using text to make the image. It’s mind blowing to put it mildly.
These were literally generated in seconds, and in multiple variations. Something not quite right with a result? Refresh it and instantly see another 4 completely unique variations, in any art style, from illustrative to photorealistic. And again, and again, and again. Simply put, there is no designer in the world capable of working this quickly or efficiently.
You can imagine how thoughts about my future job security quickly and wildly spiraled out of control. The more I thought about it though, and the more I played with it, I started to understand and accept it as one more tool in the toolbox. As a practical example, I generated these images to help me visualize and concept some environments that have been living almost exclusively in my mind for my indie game project. The speed this tool allowed me to iterate and test concepts, as well as simultaneously be inspired by the generated visuals themselves, is just unbelievable. It’s as if I suddenly have an army of designers working for me, ready and waiting for my art direction. Truly transformative. Not something to fear, but something to embrace.
This video does a good job of explaining how it all works. In a lot of ways, and especially after watching that video, I feel like this technology strengthens the thought that nothing is original. That everything is inspired by something. I’m sure my thoughts and feelings about it all will continue to evolve, as will the technology. It’s a new frontier with some very clear pitfalls and I’m sure ones yet to be revealed, but for now I’m just enjoying playing with this thing, staying up way, way later than I should be in doing so.
Taken at the Just like Heaven festival in Pasadena. The lineup was targeted with surgical grade precision accuracy towards my late teenage, early Twenties self. The front man of The Hives at one point even joked, “Hello, welcome to 2005!” I don’t really listen to most of those bands today, but it was still just as fun anyhow. Hard not to be when you’re outside with a cold one in hand, singing and dancing along with people you love. Was really thrilled the festival was only one day. The organizers must realize we’re all in our Thirties now, and that hangovers are a whole new animal past a certain age.
I challenged myself to walk 75 miles in April. I’ve always felt good when in motion and ideas seem to come more naturally too. So I set out to make it a priority. At an average of about 3 miles a day, it seemed I was on track to shatter my goal of 75 miles. But the sudden passing of Alexis’ mom and the responsibilities that followed took complete precedence over anything else.
Skipped a lot of days for good reason, but I still managed to carve out the 75 in the end. Probably the most I’ve ever walked in a month, but this challenge was always more mental than physical. I think the discipline of having to do something everyday, even when you might not want to, strengthens the mind more than the body. In the end, I have a new personal record, a harvest of ideas, and lastly, a pretty funny exchange with a friend.
Alexis’ mom passed away a few weeks ago. Much sooner than any of us should have to leave. Her name was Elizabeth, but family called her Lisa. It’s been hard to witness the emotional and physically toll Lisa’s passing took and continues to take on Alexis. Mostly it’s had me feeling helpless. Especially leading up to it. Understandably, there are certain weights that just can’t be lifted from the shoulders of the ones we love, no matter what we do or say.
Alexis had a complicated relationship with her mom, but even still, one that was rooted in love, and had countless moments that shone bright all the same. Unfortunately, I can’t say I knew her as well as I would have liked to myself. Over the years though, I did get to know her secondhand through stories Alexis would tell me about her childhood. Her Mom’s obsession with the movie Titanic. Her abundant and quirky sense of humor. How every time she used a strangers driveway to make a 3-point turn and headlights briefly flooded a house she’d say, “Don’t put the coffee pot on, we’re not staying!”
The days we spent sorting through and organizing her belongings after she was gone, grew my sense of knowing her even more. I learned she was a beautiful writer. She wrote a lot of poetry. She was a singer in a few bands as a teenager. She had many struggles. She held on to the smallest things from her children, which spoke volumes for how much she loved them. I also learned she was crazy about lighthouses! Just when we thought we’d collected and packed up all the lighthouses, of all shapes and sizes, without fail a few more would pop up somewhere. Over the course of a few days, we’d always laugh discovering a new lighthouse. A welcomed lighter moment in heavy days.
One of my favorite memories with Lisa was when we all went miniature golfing together. It was Alexis, myself, Her sister Elizabeth, our niece Scarlett, Grandma Nancy, and of course Lisa. Somehow I wound up with the tiny pencil and score card. After each hole, without fail, Lisa would check in to make sure I marked her score at least a stroke or two better than Grandma’s, regardless of what anyone shot. All the while, Grandma Nancy was asking me to do the same for her. Back and forth, and back and forth. Adjusting scores from four holes ago if need be! It was only my second time ever meeting them, so I was eager to please and in turn sweating bullets cooking the books. In the end, I think to keep all parties happy I declared Scarlett the winner, who couldn’t have been more than 5 years old at the time. It was a fun memory, and I think a testament to her fun loving spirit and humor.
It’s been a hard few months and weeks, and I’m left saddened this happened but thankful to have been able to stand tall by my wife’s side when she needed me most. In the end, I’m incredibly inspired by Alexis’ strength under such crushing weight of grief and responsibility. She’s navigating uncharted waters in her life, and doing so with as much grace as anyone one of us could ever hope for when it comes our own time to do so ourselves. Goodbye Lisa, we love you and will miss you.
In March I wanted to take some sort of creative writing course. Always been interested in writing, but why I really took this one on, was the hope that it’d help me continue to develop the story for my game project. In the end, it did that and then some.
I considered some courses available for free on Youtube, and even some paid ones there, but decided to dive into MasterClass instead. I’d known and been curious about MasterClass for while, but this was my first go of it. It’s basically a series of lectures by individuals at the top of their field. From film directing, to cooking, to astrophysics, and everything in between. Whatever you’re curious about, it’s probably there. I absolutely love it. It’s been a new source of inspiration that’s become a regular part of my week. Even if nothing else came from this goal, that fact alone would’ve been more than enough to make it worth while.
Right before the pandemic hit and everything shutdown, I got tickets for Alexis and I to see The Tallest Man on Earth at the Troubadour. Two years later, and a lot of rescheduling, we got to go. It was an awesome show. The thing that stuck with me more than anything though, was feeling that we finally turned the corner. Getting to finally use those tickets 2 years later feels like evidence strong enough to hold up in a court of law that we’re moving on and getting back to life. Thank God.
Like the Wheel by The Tallest Man On Earth
One scheduled flight at 10pm but cancelled at 3am later, we made it to Sacramento! The Duncans hosted a reunion of sorts at their new home. Was great seeing old friends, as well as meeting some of my brand new ones for the very first time. Lot of highlights, but one I was really excited for, was Drew, Duncan, and myself wearing the exact same shirt by happenstance. It’s always the best.
My Dad flew across the country to grab a beer with me on St. Patrick’s Day. One of the many perks of him being retired now. It was a quicker trip than he’d usually make to California, but we made the most of it. We ate the tacos, hopped the bars, talked the talk, explored the neighborhoods, poured the saké, watched the movies, clinked the glasses, and got a good look at the Pacific. Think I’ve also logged enough hours listening to my father go on about the never ending, infinite complexities of College Basketball March Madness, that at this point I might actually be able to pass as one of the talking heads on ESPN.
One of the brighter burning highlights came to be when just a day or two before my Dad got here, I learned that Flogging Molly was one of his favorite bands. As luck would have it, they were playing St. Patrick’s Day at the Palladium in Hollywood. I knew if we went it’d mean staying out way too late and drinking way too much, but damn it, life needs some living. So I got us some good seats, and after seeing the pit below and feeling the relief on our backs, I might consider it to be one of the greatest purchases I’ve ever made. One of the opening bands was from Ukraine, and given current events, the people were BEYOND fired up. It was a fun show, and most importantly, Dad got to cross off seeing Flogging Molly on St. Patrick’s day.
My Dad and I talk pretty often, but I’m not exactly sure the last time just the two of us spent this much uninterrupted time together. Maybe our cross country drive when I made the move to California 15 years ago. This little adventure has been a reminder that I should strive to make this happen more often. We had a great time, and I’ve got the photos to prove it. My favorite of which is Dad using chopsticks for only his second time ever for his “raymen” noodles.
I took some time last month to reflect and journal some of the things I’m grateful for, and why I’m grateful for them. Some of what I wrote seemed small, like how beautiful the weather was on my run, or how peaceful a walk through my neighborhood can be. Others felt bigger.
“I’m grateful to have hobbies and passions that keep me afloat through the harder moments.”
“I’m grateful my parents are still here, and still healthy. I can’t imagine my world without them. My mom is older than both her parents were when they died. I wonder if she thinks about that as much as I do.”
“I’m grateful my phone lights up because I have friends who think of me. I remember when messages like these were far and few between.”
And the list goes on. I wrote at least five things every few days. Ended up with more things I’m grateful for than there are days in February. Goes to show that even when you’re having a day, there really is so much to be grateful for, just right in front of you. The trick is taking that deliberate moment to realize it.
15 years in and I still struggle to define what exactly Six Foot Giraffe is. One thing I do know, is that it serves as a sort of safety deposit box for me. For the things I want preserved and kept safe. Things like these words from a complete stranger.
In regards to the work I do here, when I say I only aspire for it to inspire, I really, really mean that. It’s a hell of a thing to be inspired. If I can do that for someone, for anyone, in any capacity at all, that’s really as good as it gets for me. As an artist and as a human being. It’s incredibly rewarding. Thanks Michelle, you made my day.
Trying to strike a balance between the body, mind, and arguably the soul, or at least what I suspect is the creative part of my being. Don’t think I’ll be doing big write-ups this time around. Not totally sure though. Partially because I’ve been at it long enough now that I’m starting to revisit some of my favorite challenges again. And partially because the writing often takes longer than I’d like it to. We’ll see. Wish me luck.
“They are playing Taps now. I used to think it sounded nice but all those bugle calls sound different when you are on the inside.”
My Aunt Janet recently shared this letter with me, and I’m so thankful she did. My Grandfather wrote it to his future mother in law, while he was at Ft. Riley, Kansas. I’m assuming it was the first place he was sent after being drafted. Seems he wrote this just before he was shipped off to Europe. Never really heard him talk much about this time of his life. Don’t know if that’s because he didn’t care to, or just because I never asked. Sure wish I had though. Think he was Twenty years old when he wrote this. It’s hard to imagine, considering what I was doing at Twenty. Anyhow, I really enjoyed this small window into a big moment of his life, and felt like it should be preserved.
Got some friends together to help me take out my frustrations about growing another year older. It involved hurling axes at a wall as hard as we could, and I have say, it did help some. We brought the aggression down a few ticks afterwards for Back to the Future at Hollywood Forever. One of my favorite movies, paired with one of my favorite things to do in Los Angeles. I never like making a big thing about my birthday, but my wife loves to. After 10 birthdays out of 10 years together, I can easily say I’m always thankful for it.