Interview with the director, Andrew Okpeaha Maclean, and producer, Cara Marcous, of “On the Ice” for the Juneau Empire.

Assistant projection designer on Perseverance Theatre’s “The Blue Bear”. Shot footage to use in projections, assisted in setting up projectors and programming the show in Isadora, helped manage media, and many other duties.

Edited the two videos below. Ran 1 of 2 cameras for the performance demo video, and shot all the footage for the other.

Interview with director Justin Hostynek on Absinthe’s latest snowboard film, “Twe12ve”, for the Juneau Empire

Official website for Absinthe Films

Interview with director Luke Griswold-Tergis for the film “Smokin’ Fish” for the Juneau Empire

Official Website for “Smokin’ Fish”

It was rejected with the following statement: “While your video was well received, unfortunately it did not meet the approvals process standard because it was not considered in good taste.”

Below is the edited version of the video.

This is the problem that had to be fixed for them to accept it:

“The main issue that they have is around the idea of pain as related to the issue – the combination of the bark and then the pain aspect – if there is a way to take out that aspect.”

So, we fixed that.

During the summer of 2010, worked for the University of Alaska Southeast on their “Why UAS?” campaign.
Co-directed, co-cinematography, and gaffer for the above commercial as well as a series of web commercials on the UAS website.

Interview with Justin Hostynek for the Juneau premiere of Absinthe’s new 16mm film, NOW/HERE.

Read the article at the Juneau Empire.

You wanna know what kills me? Feelings. I can’t stand those – make me sick.   

I’m sixteen years old, practically a man. Never had a girlfriend and not about to. I get nauseated just thinking about the way couples hold their sweaty palms together and look for dirt in each other’s eyes. 

Hey, I could get a girlfriend like super easy, but I don’t want to. All those feelings would be death. 

Heart attack. Vampire bite. Killer infection.  

The name’s David. I’m in high school and I’m a little on the quiet side, which is strange because I’m also the lead singer and guitarist of the Abdominal Rejects. We play punk music and we’re really terrible. Dad says we’re getting better. Mom says if I spent as much time on my “musical thingy” as I did on my schoolwork I’d be getting A’s.  

Yeah right. The only person in my math class who even has an A is Mary Hoemley. But don’t let the name fool you. She’s gorgeous, wears The Clash t-shirts, lives in my neighborhood, and if I spent half as much time paying attention to the teacher as I did staring at her I’d be getting at least a B.  

Guaranteed. National Honors. Future president. 

The other scholars in the band are Fat Bob, the bassist, and Alex, the drummer. Fat Bob isn’t really fat, he’s rail thin; says he has an active pube-itary gland. Whatever that means. Alex has red hair and a terrible temper. That means he usually ends practice with a fist fight with me, Fat Bob or Kenny — a friend who attends our practices, lies on the old couch, and enjoys hearing loss. 

Three years ago, we started the band out of out boredom and teen spirit. Five months after that, we played our first show at the Jackson-Dobson Youth Center.  

A year after that, we sorta learned how to play music.  

Since then, we’ve spent almost every Saturday afternoon in my parents’ garage bashing away at our instruments. Recently, we were trying to learn a new song I wrote. The name was “Honey Baked Hamstrings” and it was about jocks. 

Thought it was some of my best work, but Fat Bob couldn’t master the chorus bass line and we’ d spent the last hour fiddling with just that one part. Tensions were running high. I also sensed some mutiny brewing over some recent decisions that I’d made. 

“Let’s call it a day,” I said, wanting to avoid any of Alex’s practice-ending punches. Kenny was spaced out on the couch. Fat Bob was already putting his bass away.  

“You going to kick her out or what?” Alex asked, setting down his sticks; possibly to have his hands free. 

I defended myself, saying, “Everyone loves chick keyboardists.”  

Fat Bob clicked the clasps on his case shut and glared at me. 

“She wants to change our name to ‘Dragon Kisses’.” 

I wanted to explain that she was joking, but it didn’t matter. 

Two months ago, I’d been skateboarding around the neighborhood. I was pushing up the street when, from the rear, I recognized Mary Hoemley. I had 30 seconds to decide if I should go down another street or maybe give her a head nod as I passed. 

We’d lived near each other for two years, we were in the same math class, but I’d never said so much as “hi” to her. Its not like I was scared, or nervous, or timid, or shy… it was simply that the perfect opportunity had not presented itself. 

On that street, with no one watching, I decided that it was probably a good moment as any, so I pushed in her direction. 

I was 10 feet behind her when: “HEY, MARY!!!!” For some reason, I yelled it. 

Mary spun to defend herself, and as she did my wheel hit a rock. My board stopped and I slammed into the asphalt. 

I jumped up and pretended nothing happened. 

“Hey, David, are you ok?” Mary said, like some kind of Florence Nightingale. 

I couldn’t tell if it was my heart, my ego, or my knee-caps that were melting.  

“Totally, fine! What’s up?!” I barked, as if she was the one who had rudely stopped me. 

“Oh, I was just walking.” She giggled. 

 My heart jumped a beat. 

I asked her how she could be so beautiful, and would she date, would she marry me, would she let me write songs of my undying love?  

Wait a second – what were those disgusting thoughts?  

My mind raced to find something else to say. 

”Yeah, I like walking…”  

Loser. Totally uncool. Attraction flatlining. 

If it was possible, at that moment, I would have kicked myself in the face. 

She laughed. 

A small smile split the corner of my lips,”…but only short distances: Like from the couch to the kitchen.” 

I was up to 75 pushups a day (give or take 50), so I knew she wasn’t about to think I was lazy. 

“You’re funny. You’re in my math class. David?” 

I nodded and gave her my best half-smile. I could have drunk milk from those beautiful saucer eyes. 

“Oh, hey, do you eat… food?” 

She looked at me, that same mocking smirk that I’d seen in class when the teacher made some kind of off-the-wall comment. 

I quickly corrected myself, “Want to get food sometime – with me?” 

The moment dragged out. I could feel the blood rushing through my ear drums. A few houses away someone started up their lawn mower. But I didn’t look away, I held the question with my eyes like I’d seen in the movies —let her know I was serious. 

“Why not?” she said, smiling. 

That wasn’t exactly a ‘yes’, but it wasn’t exactly a ‘no’ either. 

A couple of days later we went out to lunch. She found me really funny. 

Surprisingly funny, so she said; which was very reassuring to my semi-fragile ego. And even more surprising, we kept hanging out after that. Actually, we hung out a lot, almost every day, but I wasn’t about to get all feelings-central with her. 

In truth, she was just a friend with good taste in music, both funny and smart, and was totally cool… until she popped the big question. 

“Why would you want to do that?!” I asked. 

It was Saturday morning and we were sitting in my kitchen eating bowls of cereal and watching cartoons.  

“Davey, I’ve been playing piano since I was seven! You guys don’t even know how to read music.” 

I hated when she called me Davey. And lately I had a really hard time saying ‘no’. I was suffering from a severe case of warm feelings towards her – even borderline caring.  

She continued explaining what a great idea it was for her to join the Abdominal Rejects. I looked at her, so angelic and unlike anything close to what the band played. She’d heard the disastrous sound of our practices, but she’d never been. I figured she’d maybe last through one, so I finally relented. 

“BUT YOU DIDN’T EVEN ASK US!” 

Alex stood by his drum set and yelled at me while pointing his drumstick at the intruder, Mary, who casually set up her keyboard as if she was about to play the school pageant. 

I shrugged, “Let’s try it once. See how it sounds. Tons of musical groups have girls.” 

 “Yeah, they’re called choirs.” Fat Bob said.
 

 “She’s already here…”
     

Before they could say anything more, the starting notes of The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go” rang out like cold pressed threats. She winked at me and as she began to sing I checked to see the response of the others. All jaws were on the floor. Even Kenny had roused himself out of his perma-stupor to look and see what was happening. 

They didn’t really want to, but Alex and Bob said she could be in the band until further notice. I nodded my approval and Mary smiled at the personal victory. I wouldn’t admit it to the guys or Mary, but part of me was really stoked that she was in. 

Two Saturdays later, Mary was absent from practice. 

“Dragon Kisses isn’t punk – sounds like a drama student’s first date.” Alex was indignant, “Call her up right now. She’s out!” 

Alex stood by his drum set wearing his pink shirt, he only wore one shirt, but this was the same day and scene where we entered the story.  

“Help me out, FB. Why isn’t it working?!” 

“You haven’t been the same since you started hanging out with Mary. You don’t eat lunch with us in the commons. You don’t even watch movies at my place on Fridays like we’ve done since we were like seven. You aren’t the same,”
Bob said his with an unmistakable tone of rejection in his voice, “You’ve changed.” 

Alex raised his eyebrows and pointed to my jeans, which I used to wear for weeks without washing. Today they were clean. I hung my head in shame.  

They were right! I’d given up all of my punk ways for this girl. This woman had come into my life and taken away my true identity. She was like kryptonite to my super-man punkness. 

“I’ll call her… right now.” 

I stepped towards the door leading into the house and the phone. 

Was I about to make an epic mistake? 

Mary had begged me to be in the band. She recognized that I was the only true musician.  She wanted to make the band better, not ruin it. I couldn’t just kick her out. 

But looking around that garage I saw a group of friends playing music (loose interpretation), not for fame or anything, but because they really loved it.  

Alex and Bob glared back, their eyes betraying their true feelings. Kenny’s eyes were squinted shut and I could never tell what he was thinking, but the fact was that I had stabbed them all in the back. I had neglected my two best buds, and Kenny too, our biggest fan. 

And for what?!  

A female.  

NO WAY. I needed to march into that kitchen, pick up that phone, and tell that girl that she couldn’t take me away from my friends. She was out of the band and possibly out of my life. 

I marched into the kitchen, but stopped short of the phone. On the table were two half-eaten bowls of cereal. They weren’t even mine and Mary’s, but I was caught off guard by the sweet memory of her telling corny jokes between mouthfuls of cereal. 

But I didn’t let that last long, I came into the kitchen for a reason. 

I dialed her number. She was at home baby-sitting. 

“Hello.” Her voice came through the phone small and tinny. 

I took a deep breath — then, like some kind of involuntary muscle spasm, imagined her sitting in her room and listening to the same music that I liked.  

“Mary, do you want to be in the band, with me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

 But she had to go – she was getting way too attached. I could tell. She liked me way too much. 

“Yeah, um, I was just talking to the guys. We were a band before you came along and we all agreed…” I faltered and continued, “That you can’t miss any more practices… if you want to be in the band.” 

I couldn’t believe what I was saying. 

“Yes, whatever you say, Davey.” 

On the other end, I knew she was rolling her eyes and smiling. 

“Just had to put that out there. So, can we hang out later?” And out of nowhere I added,”Cuz I really like you. No, wait! Meant to say: I’d kind of – like – TO.” 

Spinal failure. Temporary insanity. Maybe something else. 

Oh, how I hate feelings.     

They untied the boat and left the dock only 30 minutes ago, but as she stood and looked over the edge of the small two person boat into the dark, moonlit waters of the ocean below Noa was scared.

She was on vacation with her parents; a vacation that was recommended by the marriage counselor her parents visited. The trip’s purpose was for her parents to work things out, but that hadn’t happened. Instead, it was fights and drinking separately by the pool.

She adjusted her snorkeling mask but it felt too tight. Noa hated her nose. Way too big. She gripped the side of the boat with hands she thought were too large. Big paddles.

Donny, a local boy whose parents owned a snorkeling tour, was cute, two years older, and now kneeled next to her readying his mask.

“You’re beautiful.”

Donny made the statement as if it was a forecast for how safe it was for two teenagers to be alone out on the ocean.

Noa met Donny while walking near the hotel. She liked his carefree attitude. The last couple of days, when he wasn’t working, he would stop by the hotel to swim in the pool or to take her around the island on the back of his moped.

Last night, they kissed under the stars. He’d wanted to take it further. Her head swam circles trying to figure him, her own wants, and this thing out.

He flipped the flashlight on, pulled on his mask, and jumped in. His lanky body noiselessly sliced into the water. He surfaced a few yards out.

“Come on.”

Noa wasn’t sure. She’d really rather not. In her head, she ran the probabilities for shark attack, death by jellyfish, or even a lightning strike.

“I’m cold.”

“You’ll warm up.”

She looked over her shoulder at the Island, which was close to two miles behind them. They were positioned over a reef that Donny said was a spot best seen at night.

Half a century earlier, a ship trying to escape an oncoming hurricane struck this reef. All of the passenger’s were offloaded to safety, except for an elderly concert violinist who was traveling around the world. It was his wife’s unfulfilled wish to see the world before she died. There was nothing the captain could do to get the lonely gentlemen to leave the ship. The captain rounded up some crew and was prepared to use force, but the man hid and with the hurricane moving in they were forced to leave him behind.

As the winds slammed into the island, out across the waters, long into the night, a mournful violin played one last concerto.

As she stared into the emptiness below, Noa thought she could hear the sound of a violin floating across the water. Donny said that it was a possibility.“

If you don’t jump in, I’m pulling you in.”

She could see that he meant it. She pulled down her mask and jumped in.

The water felt like a wet kiss as she slipped beneath the surface. She’d been on the swim club for five years. She loved to look at the dancing lights underneath the water of a darkened pool. Now, underneath her and around there were no such comforting lights, it was simply the cold embrace of a large, dark ocean: a strange mix of an experienced swimmer on an otherwise foreign landscape.

She surfaced and looked for something to hold onto.

Donny paddled up beside her.

“Take a deep breath and follow me.”

She did as she was instructed and dove. A yellow fish swam up to investigate the two of them and the light that swept through the water. She reached out, but it quickly retreated into the darkness. Suddenly the light went out and she was enveloped by blackness. She didn’t know which way was up or down.

She shouldn’t have, but she started to panic. Then Donny took hold of her arm.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and in the soft glow from the moonlight she could see the dark shadow of a small shipwreck against the whiteness of the reef. At the most, a 4 person boat.

Donny pulled on her arm and she realized her lungs were on fire.

They surfaced and gulped at the air.

“That’s the ship?!”

She searched Donny’s face for a better explanation.

“Yeah, I made it all up.” His smile showed white against his dark skin as he reached out and pulled her close.

“I’m in love with you.”

Out there on the ocean, in the middle of those tossing waters, Noa floated along with her head barely above the waters that threatened to carry her away. She breathed and wondered if Donny was telling the truth.

Thinking of her parents: did love really work? Was it possible to hear the musician in the midst of the hurricane? A teenager on the edge of her emotional experience: a vessel tossed about in a storm she wasn’t prepared to deal with.

        View a .pdf version of the story here.

The circling, intersecting rings of white string held the young boy’s attention as he stood waiting for his mother. Feathers and beads dangled from the orbed framework, similar to the boy’s arms, which hung loosely at his side, adorned with the bandages and stitches that dotted their short length.

From behind the nearby counter, a man with a whitened beard watched.

The boy looked up.

“What are these?”

“Those? Those are dreamcatchers.”

“Yeah?” The boy glanced around. “What’s a dreamcatcher?”

“You hang it over your bed while you sleep and it’s supposed to capture your bad dreams. Take them away.”

Thinking that the old man knew his troubles, the boy quickly looked away.

“Looks like a spider web,” said the boy as he gingerly hid his bandaged arms behind his back.

“I suppose so.”

“Did you see anything you want?”

The boy turned from the dreamcatcher to his mother; the question still hung in the air.

“No,” the boy said, his words not matching the pain that flashed across his face.

The mother gave her son a smile, but she too winced at a memory that she prayed she could someday put to sleep.

In the parking lot of the mall, the rain drizzled down from the gray sky as the two of them walked to the car. The mother placed her bags in the back seat and the boy climbed into the front.

“Mom, do I still have to go to the doctor’s?”

The mother seated herself and turned the engine over.

 “Don’t you think it helps?”

“Mom, am I crazy?”

The boy reclined his seat as if he was already sitting on the psychologist’s couch.

“No, of course not, dear. If you don’t like it, I’ll cancel. I only thought it would help.”

The mother tried to change the subject.

“Are you planning on spending the night at the neighbor boy’s tonight?” she asked cheerfully.

 “No.”

“The bad dreams?”

Powerless, the mother watched her son.

With dark circles under his eyes, the boy nodded.

The mother searched for something that fit.

“I love you and God loves you.”

The boy felt the patchwork of pain that ran along his arms and doubted that.

At home the boy stacked the colorful blocks till they formed a wall, a playtime activity that he knew he was getting too old for. This time, in the center of the four walls, he had placed his new remote control car. One at a time he carefully posted an action figure at each corner. The tiny plastic men looked down at an army of enemy toys that  waited to attack the fortress.

“Soldier, enemies moving in. Secret weapon. NOW!”

Mindful of his arms, the boy crawled over and retrieved the car’s remote.

“Sir, here they come!”

The boy hopped up onto his bed and held the control aloft.

“Charge!”

The car crashed through the walls, sending blocks and soldiers scattering. The whir of the tiny electric motor hummed into the air and mixed with the laughter of the boy.

A knock on the door interrupted.

“Yeah…?”

The door slivered open and a neighborhood friend peeked his head in.

“Whatcha doin?”

The friend stepped into the room and eagerly eyed the remote control car.

“Stopping the enemies.”

“Wow, cool, where’d ya get this?”

The friend picked up the car and as he looked it over the wheels spun to life. Startled, he almost dropped it.

“Hey!”

The friend looked accusingly at the boy who guiltily held his finger over the throttle.

The two boys laughed.

“Bring this! When you come over.”

The friend set the car down.

“I can’t spend the night.”

“I thought you were.”

“Mom says I have to stay home.”

“Maybe tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

“Bring the car and some soldiers. I gotta run some errands with my mom. See ya tomorrow.”

The friend turned and darted out the door, leaving the boy sitting on the bed by himself.

The thick, damp darkness enveloped the boy as he stood on a street lined with giant colorful blocks of wood instead of houses. In the distance streetlights struggled to pierce the deep sludge of the night. Beneath his feet he could feel the blacktop. He reached down and was comforted momentarily by the cool touch of the asphalt.

I’ve got to get home, the boy thought.

He reached out with his hands and tentatively took a step forward. His arms bore no wounds and his eyes could see no farther than arms length.

He felt something pull at his fingers.

He quickly drew his arm back and discovered a little pinprick of blood on his fingertip. Horrified, he held his arms close and stood frozen in the street.

I’ve got to get home, he thought.

He slowly reached out into the darkness again.

Then it started, as it did every night — out of the darkness a set of teeth lunged and chomped at his outstretched arm. Attached to those teeth, as if formed out of the very darkness of the night, the head of a dog appeared.

It happened so quickly that the boy couldn’t run. With all of his strength he tried, but he couldn’t even pull his arms free.

Then, back into the darkness the dog leapt. The boy drew his arms back, now covered with the familiar wounds.

From somewhere nearby, the dog snarled.

The beast started to growl, growing more intensely in preparation for another attack.

The boy awoke. It was night outside. Somewhere in the house, his mother vacuumed. He looked around his room, now illuminated by a bright night light. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a flashlight. He shined the light in every corner. Satisfied that he was alone, he jumped out of bed and ran out of the room.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” said the mother, looking at her son. She sat down on the couch and pulled him into her arms.

They sat in silence. The mother wondered what she could possibly do to help her only child.

“The dog one again?” the mother finally offered.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, baby, my sweet baby…”

The boy grew angry.

“Why did God make mean dogs?!”

Unsure of what to say, she replied, “God didn’t make that dog mean.”

“But you said God made all living things.” The boy’s eyes betrayed his hurt.

“I did say that. Maybe that dog didn’t know what it was doing…”

The boy jumped out of his mother’s arms.

“Yes, he did! That dog was always mean. God made that dog ugly and mean!”

He turned and ran out of the room.

The mother started to cry.

With the flashlight in hand, the boy hid under the covers and looked at his bandaged arms. He alone felt the searing pain. His chest puffed up and down with each angry breath.

“I hate dogs, God! I hate you for making them!”

The words tasted bitter but true. The room, except for his breathing, was silent. The boy made another demand.

“I want you to get rid of every dog on earth.”

There was no response. Tears started to drip down the boy’s cheeks.

“Maybe, if you won’t get rid of the dogs, then take away my nightmares…”

Through his tears, the little boy stared at the covers over his head. He slowly removed them and listened.

The rain lightly pattered down on the roof.

A light breeze stirred the branches outside.

For some reason the stillness of the night no longer seemed empty.

The boy yawned, but before crawling under the covers with his flashlight he searched every corner of the room to check if he was alone. Once he completed his task, he lay back in bed. And as he did, the beam of his flashlight caught something in the corner of the ceiling.

A knock at the door. It opened a crack.

“Will you be all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good night. I love you.”

His mother shut the door. The boy stood up on his bed. In the darkness, pierced by the beam of light, he looked intently at the ceiling.

Satisfied that his eyes weren’t playing tricks, he laid back down, switched off the flashlight and placed his head on the pillow.

In the corner above his bed, illuminated by the soft glow of the night light, a spider slowly spun her web, unaware of the boy who, for the first time since the attack, peacefully drifted off to sleep below.