Cameras:

Sony DSR-250

Sony PD100 equivalent

Editor: Premiere Pro CS5

This is a two-camera edit of the tuxedo fashion show number from the Bridal Spectacular's January 2011 show. The addition of the second, handheld camera wasn't planned, and the second camera was in full-auto mode. While it's not perfect, the shakiness kind of adds to the energetic nature of this particular song. Unfortunately, trying to correct the sometimes over-blown images from the second camera didn't work out, so it's there as it was. Also note that I'm running the front-of-house camera and managing the projector feed at the same time, hence the strange panning at the beginning.

"You won't last six months in this town." - Anonymous

If you're sensible, you take an indirect hint from the broke fuckers who spend half their lives wasting away at the blackjack table, pounding back cigarette after drink after sorrow.

"It's always like this," The stranger across the table from me says after yet another losing hand.

I was in the same boat as him, walking away from the cards with 2/3 fewer chips than I started with. Thankfully, the $60 I used to bet with all came from video poker winnings from earlier. No matter what, I told myself, I'm leaving here $20 up.

Greed got the best of me that night. Though ending the night with a profit, it was much less than it could have been. After hitting two four of a kinds on video poker, I had turned my initial $40 into $150 for $110 profit. Half an hour and two more free beers, and that dropped to $60 profit, and I cashed out. It was 4 a.m., and this is when I tried to sleep and couldn't. So I tried my luck at blackjack at 6 in the morning. On a Sunday. Though I lost winnings, I convinced the pit boss to comp me breakfast.

There are two ways to look at this situation I put myself in. Either I could have won more, got greedy and lost, or I simply won $20, free food and drinks, and a night out. All of this seems to relate back to a concept I recently read about called the anchoring effect.

You've undoubtedly experienced the anchoring effect, where your perceived value of something is set by an "anchor" value, then negotiated otherwise. This is why department stores have sales every damn day of the year: All of their "regular" prices are set unrealistically high then put "on sale" to give the appearance that it's a good deal.

But that's not the only situation the anchoring effect is found in. From the blog by David McRaney on "You Are Not So Smart:"

Is the population of Venezuela greater or fewer than 65 million?

Go ahead and guess.

Ok, another question, how many people do you think live Venezuela? [...]

In 1974, Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman conducted a study asking a similar question.

They asked people to estimate how many African countries were part of the United Nations, but first they spun a wheel of fortune.

The wheel was painted with numbers from 0 to 100, but rigged to always land on 10 or 65. When the arrow stopped spinning, they asked the person in the experiment to say if they believed the percentage of countries was higher or lower than the number on the wheel.

They then asked people to estimate what they thought the actual percentage of nations was.

They found people who landed on 10 in the first half of the experiment guessed around 25 percent of Africa was part of the U.N. Those who landed on 65 said around 45 percent.

They had been locked in place by the anchoring effect.

The trick here is no one really knew what the answer was. They had to guess, yet it didn’t feel like a guess. As far as they knew, the wheel was a random number generator, but it produced something concrete to work from.

When they adjusted their estimates, they couldn’t avoid the anchor.

The populations of South American countries probably aren’t numbers you have memorized. You need some sort of cue, a point of reference.

You searched your mental assets for something of value concerning Venezuela – the flag, the language, Hugo Chavez – but the population figures aren’t in your head.

What is in your head is the figure I gave you, 65 million, and it’s right there up front influencing how you answer the second question. When you have nothing else to go on, you fixate on the information at hand.

Anchoring happens more often than we realize. So, in the example of my gambling situation, I have to consider what my anchor is, and in some cases like this one, consciously set it myself. Is my anchor, "I have more than I started with," or "I have less profit than I could have had."? One makes me slightly happy, the other makes me slightly depressed. Which anchor do you think I chose to stick with?

(Click to enlarge. Image source: Unknown)

I believe the anchoring effect can even reach beyond numbers. Ask yourself these questions: Are you happy with who you are? Why? Is there anything about your life that you want to change?

If you are ever unhappy or doubt your self-worth, consider what you're basing that opinion on. I believe people should be wary of the social anchors they expose themselves to. Societal "norms" aren't always normal. Remember that. Identify what you (and only you) want to get out of your life and set those as your anchors.

Besides, an anchor should never be above you. If it is, it's only going to crush you. (Gravity can be a bitch.)

Consider something motivational and uplifting, like the image on the right.

This is motivating simply because it helps to lower your social anchor, your expectations of life and yourself, if not just for a minute. It's unrealistic to directly compare yourself to someone living in a completely different reality, but to take a step away from your reality for a change of perspective - that's worthwhile in helping you feel better about who you are.

So, in brief, try to set your own standards/anchors to be happier with yourself. And don't get too greedy when gambling; quit while you're ahead!

BT, and his vocal accompaniment JES, performed at Rain Nightclub at the Palms Resort and Casino Saturday night, and it was a hell of a show.

You're gonna have to trust me - this is BT.

Granted, this was my first nightclub experience, so it might as well have been all the same as any other club. But what made this particular venue attractive on this particular night was the man himself, BT.

A crooked hallway plastered in tiny mirrors beings me in to the club. The place is pounding with music. And people.

You have to shove past everyone in a club like this, but they're all attractive, so I guess it doesn't matter. Shoving past people for five minutes got me to a relatively uncrowded bar.

"What's strong and cheap?" I asked the bartender after observing a guy pay $7 for a cheap beer. He gave me a double rum and coke for $13.

Waiting for the first DJ to finish, I stood on the upper balcony next to people I couldn't hear. I watched as security guards ushered people, cleaned up drinks, etc. The dance floor was packed, and there was no telling where I'd end up if I tried to enter it. Best keep my distance.

Fanboy-ism Takes Hold, Pays Off

View from the balcony at RAIN nightclub at the Palms as strobe lights go off.

That cautionary distance broke when BT took the helm. I wandered toward the stage with my sweating drink. Soon they were passing out CDs, and I grabbed one - a super EP of "Every Other Way" with exclusive remixes. The one song BT played with words ("Break My Fall," Tiesto/BT) I sang along to, along with many others. For a moment, I felt slightly popular.

A few more songs, and BT was off the stage. It was a relatively short set, and it was even met with over a minute of silence because of a power issue. Embarrassing, but it happens. According to an anonymous (but reliable) source, the cause of the issue was a disconnected then subsequently overloaded circuit. BT stepped off-stage for a while, something this source says they've never seen happen in a club before.

JES came out to sing "Every Other Way" after BT was done spinning, and afterward, she sang "The Light in Things," another of my favorites from BT's newest album, "These Hopeful Machines."

At this point, I'd been at the foot of the stage for over an hour. I naturally sang along to "The Light in Things," and as I did, JES looked my way while singing and seemed surprised that someone in the crowd was singing along. She smiled and sang a verse or two while our eyes were locked.

Overall, an electric night, mostly worth the cost for seeing BT perform live. It was bit more exciting than the rave I went to in Phoenix a couple of weeks ago.

Grab Your Glowsticks

The raver crowd isn't one to be compared. Most of these teenagers and twenty-somethings aren't exactly 21 (or don't have a fake ID) so they dress up in lingerie and glowsticks to go to these pseudo-regulated parties in the middle of industrial Phoenix, a city well-known for its massive rave scene.

Several raves happen in "secret" locations in The Valley virtually every weekend. I happened to choose the most well-attended summer rave in town to go to: "MaryXMas in July."

To figure out where the party is, you have to sift through comments on Don'tStayIn.com, a website dedicated to electronic-music-based
parties and raves worldwide. In a comment will be a phone number. If you call the phone number a few times, it'll play a pre-recorded message with directions. That was easy. It makes you wonder how secret the location really is.

Not very, as the first people I saw when arriving were cops.

DJ "Teddy Graham" on the hardcore stage at "MaryXMas in July." (Picture credit: Unknown)

The warehouse looked too small to be holding three stages and oodles of people, but you could tell it was the place - Pounding baselines could be heard blocks away.

I stood in line for about 20 minutes before emptying my pockets and being patted down by security. I was pushed through and paid my $20 admission to a company/organization that was announced to no one. It was a pure mystery who hosted this party. No signs on the front of the warehouse, nothing.

It was definitely a warehouse. A gutted warehouse with lots of ravers and loud music inside. The three stages weren't well separated, so the beats often mixed terribly with each other. One stage was for commercial hip-hop, house, and comparatively slower-paced dance music. Another was for hardcore techno and fidget house. The smallest stage was for what sounded like dub-step.

Outside of the warehouse was another crowd, half of which was smoking. They smoked all night. I found a pack of cigarettes on the ground and tried to sell them for money. I only made 35 cents.

It seemed many of the people at this party were underage, broke freeloaders who loved to wear next-to-nothing and do drugs while massaging each other.

Oh, drugs. That's what the cops were for. Occasionally, three cops with bullet-proof vests would meander through the crowd outside and take someone away in handcuffs, presumably for selling pills. The going rate for a pill of ecstasy was $10. Why couldn't anyone give me a quarter for a smoke?

The rave got boring quickly, but it had its perks. One of the hardcore DJs dressed up in a bear costume and called himself "Teddy Graham" and played some decent tracks. The people who were doing E (or X) were slouched up against any and all walls to receive "light shows" from other ravers who had special gloves with flashing lights on their fingertips. With their dumbfounded faces glowing as the lights flew toward and away from their faces, they was amusing to watch.

What I couldn't understand is how anyone could enjoy dancing for 6 hours straight, even on drugs. On the hardcore stage, shirtless guys and nearly-topless girls danced on stage the whole night. Especially in an under-cooled Phoenix warehouse, this seemed insane. (It makes sense that the people who go to the ER while on ecstasy do so because they're dehydrated.)

The Bottom Line

If you're deciding on experiencing night life, the question is how much you're willing to spend and what kind of music you enjoy dancing to.

If you enjoy alcohol, house/hip-hop, or class, go to a nightclub. Expect to spend at least $50 and be ID'd if you look under 21.

If you enjoy ecstasy, hardcore/techno/electrohouse, or the geeky anime/gamer crowd, go to a rave. Expect to spend $10-20 on admission and $3-6 on water. Plus extras, if you do that sort of thing. There's no strict age requirement.

Both kinds of parties are perfectly legal. What happens at one of them is questionable yet managed by the police. Either way, I think I'm done with nightlife for a while, unless someone can merge the affordability of a rave with the quality of a nightclub.

Related Links

BT

JES

Rain Nightclub

Don't Stay In

The locale for CBS's debut game show, "Let's Make A Deal" with Wayne Brady, happens to be a 15 minute drive from my house. I invited my mother, who had been on the original "Let's Make A Deal" in the '70s, and my grandmother to a taping, one this writer, costumed in a size 18W purple dress and a necktie made of fake pearls, couldn't take pictures of. Regardless, I figured it'd be a fun way to spend a Saturday afternoon while I'm home for winter break.

My mother (left) as a Groucho Marx type characer, and myself as someone with terrible taste.

Registration took about 30 minutes. 163 contestants were ahead of me in line; I was contestant 164. We stood in line under what used to be the slot tournament area. Six pages of paperwork. A quick digital picture. We were led off through the "Player's Deli" and into the empty dining room for "The Soprano's Last Dinner" show. A peppy producer and an assistant waited at the end of the line and asked fast, basic questions about who each person was and what they did for fun and work.

It became obvious at this point that this is where the contestants were selected. To these people, my life as a journalist, photographer, DJ and student was likely to be uninteresting. so I said the best interesting thing I could come up with: "I've been afraid of wearing dresses my whole life, and this is like my coming out day. I want to look good for my favorite B-list celebrity, Wayne Brady." I noticed the assistant writing something on a clipboard, and I hoped it was "#164." The producer quickly passed on the other two in my party.

We were led out to the casino floor and told to wait. I sat at a slot machine and was tempted to put a dollar in, but my mom strongly advised against it, me being 20 and all. 45 minutes had passed since our arrival, and I was getting bored. Once they called us, we were taken across a skybridge to a very strange scene.

Traveling to the next step of the contestant process took us through the Tropicana's aging convention center, which is in the early stages of remodeling. Signs were torn off the wall, tile and carpet ripped up, hotel pools half empty and dirty. "Meeting in Progress" signs stood eerily out of place. Most striking was the room where we were searched, scanned, and checked any and all contraband, including electronics and pocket knives. It was once the main arcade. Signs with Nevada arcade law regarding minors still hanged on the dark purple wall. Leftover flashing lights remained on. "Notice: These machines shut off at 10 PM!" Doors to another pool and swim-up blackjack tables were shrouded in drop-cloths. I could see dying vegetation between them.

I handed over my iPod and keys. My mom's funny horn couldn't go in either. While waiting in line, I talked to one of the guards about the show. According to him, the show had just won a best daytime audience award, and the lowest attended taping was 153 people with a studio capacity of 330. Both surprising. A bouncer waved a metal detector over me, and I waited again, this time in front of the also aging Tropicana Spa. We had been in line at various stages for two and a half hours at this point. My grandmother was looking weary already.

People were sitting across the hallway from us. One was a doctor, another was Mona Lisa. There was a guy with a home-made box of "zonk-free" popcorn as a costume. Everyone knew everyone's name, but no one cared. The interviewer asked for several contestant numbers. Everything was obvious about the nature of this show. Contestants were pre-selected from their brief interview. The woman who had been to nine tapings still had no chance of winning. Only the "zonk-free" popcorn box, green grapes guy and skinny hula dancer did. The guy with an "Obamatized" picture of Drew Carey on his shirt? That was a hit or miss.

We were finally led into the studio area inside a warehouse-style building. The dim audience corridor reminded me of a theme park ride queue; all this waiting, and you can catch glimpses of the brightly-lit studio and hear the people already inside, cheering - anticipation of the fact that you'll be those people soon. A stiff man in black clothing assigned us seats. Back row, two in from the center aisle. At least I got to be on camera when Wayne made his entrance at the top of the show.

The main lights came on, everyone cheered, and a short, skinny dude ran out and began to coach the audience with popular dance tracks and terrible jokes. He stood side-by-side with the floor director throughout the show, prodding us to applause and cheer evermore. During commercial breaks, he would hand out tickets to his own shows at the resort and maintain the fib that anyone could, at any time, be chosen by Brady to make a deal.

Production setup? Six cameras (1 jib), speakers throughout the studio, and plenty of large lights and Colorblasts. Audio and lighting was controlled on the studio floor. Everything was formulaic. B-Roll shots were recorded before the show, and several prize revealings had to be re-taped during breaks. Surprisingly, what was not re-taped was a tease for the "big deal" with Brady and his assistant Jonathan. Wayne: "Do you know what time it is?" Jon: "It's… 4:20?"

We were thanked for our time and sent home. It was sad seeing all the signs and cheap props in a studio trash can - dashed hopes and dreams.

It seems television remains one of those realities that is always brighter than real life. The woman who had been to nine tapings, the discarded signs, and even Wayne Brady's disposition all hinted at disappointment in TV reality. I could tell in the way he talked that he was constantly wondering, "Where is my career going?"

In brief, it was an interesting view into the world of television game shows. I wore a dress in public. My family had a good time; Grandma somehow made it. Even though we didn't win anything, it was still an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon.

Cameras:

Sony DSR-250 (x2)

Editor: Premiere Pro CS4

Preface: This is a freelance project I received through AV Vegas. The content is a school play called the Toe Tag Monologues (website), a production of Vision Theatrical Foundation in Las Vegas. This video is a highlights reel blend of interviews and show footage. The biggest challenge for this project was audio capture. There was no way to record house audio, and covering the entire stage was a challenge with the four mics I did have. All things considered, this project turned out well, and the clients were satisfied with the product I delivered.

Camera:

Sony DSR-250

Editor: Premiere Pro Cs4

Preface: I've video-taped the last several fashion shows for the Bridal Spectacular wedding convention in Las Vegas. In August 2009, one of the fashion shows was themed around the popular book series and movie, "Twilight." I was asked to make a short cut of the show focusing on the fashions and set to "Twilight"-esque music. This is what I came up with. Notes about this shoot: This was the first shoot where I used the Tektronix waveform monitor and vectorscope I bought at the Flagstaff Goodwill for $15 to white balance the camera, and it shows.

Cameras:

Sony DSR-250 (x3)

Switcher: Panasonic MX50

Preface: This is a short clip from the Las Vegas Philharmonic's performance at the Springs Preserve Las Vegas on July 4, 2009. This was a three camera shoot: one stationary and two on-the-shoulder roaming on a very packed stage. The cameras were DSR-250s. Production company, providing sound, lighting and video: AV Vegas.

By the end of my sophomore year in high school, I was almost ready to leave A-Tech because I was so overwhelmed with work. Retrospectively, that year was the hardest for me in high school. I had yet to make a lot of friends, and school work was excessive.

The same goes for this last semester. It kicked my ass.

Nothing could start a semester better than being broken up with over a completely nonsense reason after an entire month of being apart. And this was the relationship that was supposed to be the serious, long-term one I was looking for.

Follow that by another pseudo-sorta breakup with a girl I met two weeks later. I haven't been with anyone since.

The work I associate myself with at NAZ Today kept me consistently busy this semester. I've become a key decision maker now, and with that responsibility comes a lot of duty. At some points during the last four months, though, the timing wasn't always good. For example, the weekend I wrote the Wal-Mart fire and Pillow Fight articles I had a lot of other work to finish, but because at least one of them was important breaking news, I had to get out there and cover it.

I chose bad times to take on freelance projects too. During the busiest times of the year, I said yes to several different parties who wanted to hire me. Thankfully, I was able to pull off the gigs but not without loads of stress.

One of my media classes, which I thought was going to be the easiest of the five I took this semester, turned out to be the most work. It was Dr. Kurt Lancaster's EMF 225 class, which focuses on learning how to shoot, light, and edit. But he took it beyond the basics and also taught us how to actually make a film.

He hosted a year-end party at his house a couple of weeks ago. He explained that he knows that his classes are stupidly hard, but it's for a good reason. A good ass kicking is necessary to learn. That is completely true.

That's all I experienced this semester was ass kicking; the bad times vastly outweighed the good.

Two breakups. Stress. Work. Tension. Being uninspired. Hatred.

One thing led to another, and by the middle of last month, I had an emotional meltdown. I couldn't handle anything anymore. I hated everyone and everything they did, including my best friends, and especially my recent ex girlfriends. I believe they were the catalysts instilling my hatred for everything. After them, I covered my emotions with work, and, because of too much work, I went nuts.

But after that revelation, after classes ended, after I finished my last freelance project, and after NAZ Today wound down for the year, I took a step back and realized just how amazing life really is.

I have great friends. I have fantastic resources and a positive outlook. All because my ass was kicked repeatedly for four months straight. Now I can only imagine what it feels like after being literally beaten instead of emotionally... Hell yeah Fight Club.

I've noticed the moon is rising instead of falling.