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A Day in the Life
Sep. 3rd, 2018 04:48 pmI don't know how I ended up on the BBC's list of animators to phone up for my 2p on an animation-related story, but for the second time in a year I've started my day with a call from a radio producer lining up guests. This time it was for the morning show in Birmingham, a story about the globetrotting reboot of Thomas the Tank Engine. Was I in favour of more diversity in entertainment? Well, obviously. Very good we'll call you back at nine!
It wasn't Radio 4 – it was a local phone-in show clearly angling for the participation of those who'd be available to opine post-drive-time; in this case, apparently, retired men for whom foreign accents and strong female characters are an onerous imposition by the PC Brigade, even if they appear in train form. Luckily I wasn't called upon to debate the callers – I had told the producer I had a train to catch – but the host, performatively or not, was taking their side of the argument.
Here's a thing about me: I can't argue. Arguments in our house growing up were conducted on a hyper-competitive, all-or-nothing, sudden death basis, which taught me only to run as far from an argument as possible as soon as I saw one brewing. I get panicky and freeze whenever landed in one by circumstance. But this morning, none of that. I felt about two feet taller when I got off the train.
I was coming in to London to help a friend get home from outpatient surgery, but wouldn't be needed until the afternoon, so I had lunch with a friend from animation studio days, who has had an incredible year of self-discovery and transformation. Much as the world is going down in flames, I have been witness to enough of these self-redemption stories in the last few years to have some deeply perverse hope in the human spirit despite everything. People can do amazing things when they open their eyes, internal or external. Maybe that's how we can solve the bigger problems.
Hospital friend was supposed to go under before noon, but by the time I crossed town she still hadn't been called in. We chatted for a bit before they finally came for her; I made my way to the nearest coffee shop (the hospital café was stifling) and am now drawing polar explorer headshots while the corner of Grenfell Tower plays peek-a-boo with the business park's orderly trees. One is always aware, in London, of being in the shadow of history ... Some history is just fresher than others.
When I graduated college, someone had us do 5, 10, and 15 year projections. I think I put Disney in the 15-year box. I wonder what newbie animator me would have made of finding out what an ordinary September Monday would look like in that distant future. It seems surreal even now.
It wasn't Radio 4 – it was a local phone-in show clearly angling for the participation of those who'd be available to opine post-drive-time; in this case, apparently, retired men for whom foreign accents and strong female characters are an onerous imposition by the PC Brigade, even if they appear in train form. Luckily I wasn't called upon to debate the callers – I had told the producer I had a train to catch – but the host, performatively or not, was taking their side of the argument.
Here's a thing about me: I can't argue. Arguments in our house growing up were conducted on a hyper-competitive, all-or-nothing, sudden death basis, which taught me only to run as far from an argument as possible as soon as I saw one brewing. I get panicky and freeze whenever landed in one by circumstance. But this morning, none of that. I felt about two feet taller when I got off the train.
I was coming in to London to help a friend get home from outpatient surgery, but wouldn't be needed until the afternoon, so I had lunch with a friend from animation studio days, who has had an incredible year of self-discovery and transformation. Much as the world is going down in flames, I have been witness to enough of these self-redemption stories in the last few years to have some deeply perverse hope in the human spirit despite everything. People can do amazing things when they open their eyes, internal or external. Maybe that's how we can solve the bigger problems.
Hospital friend was supposed to go under before noon, but by the time I crossed town she still hadn't been called in. We chatted for a bit before they finally came for her; I made my way to the nearest coffee shop (the hospital café was stifling) and am now drawing polar explorer headshots while the corner of Grenfell Tower plays peek-a-boo with the business park's orderly trees. One is always aware, in London, of being in the shadow of history ... Some history is just fresher than others.
When I graduated college, someone had us do 5, 10, and 15 year projections. I think I put Disney in the 15-year box. I wonder what newbie animator me would have made of finding out what an ordinary September Monday would look like in that distant future. It seems surreal even now.
