Remembering the State Fair of Texas

A couple weeks ago, we visited the State Fair of Texas in Dallas, Texas. The three week event offers a small plethora of indulgences from over-sized carnival foods, gripping thrill rides, multiple performance stages, and expansive museums and exhibition halls. Under the towering gaze of the 52 foot cowboy statue, Big Tex, and the largest Farris wheel in North American, the State Fair of Texas proudly exemplifies the phrase, ‘Everything is bigger in Texas.’

There he stood and told me, 'Howdy' for the last time.

And bigger isn’t always better. On this blog, I’ve tried to write a post every other week describing the events of my time off work to preserve my memories and reiterate how I value my time and experiences. And even though I had a great time at the State Fair of Texas, my original attempts to write a blog post about the fair sounded petty and slightly pessimistic. I don’t want to sugar coat my experiences in an attempt to make my mid-twenties sound rosy and perfect, but at the same time, I don’t want to hold any grudges. I don’t want to flaunt my experiences and then appear ungrateful for the opportunity to experience them, and I don’t want it to sound like I thought it was a waste of time. Instead of posting a somewhat forced and trivial rant about all of the fair’s faults, I took a week to question why I took the event’s shortcomings so personally. And I realized that unlike most local events that I’ve annually attended and often missed during my college years, the State Fair of Texas didn’t grow-up with me. When I look back on fond memories at the fair, they’re perceived through the eyes of a child; they’re casually strolling near the lagoon in the early autumns’ heat or letting my imagination loose through the nature and science museum. Now that I’m an adult (and they started charging separate admission fees for each museum), it’s different. I’m not going to pretend that it was better than expected or it’s been improved since I last attended the event, but it’s worth noting, even it’s just buried somewhere in my blog.
 

It was slightly cold with a cloudy overcast throughout the day, and we after walked through the entrance gates, we were greeted into the main plaza of the fairgrounds by Big Tex. Due to the weather, it seemed slow for the weekend, but from the very start, Big Tex never lost his fanfare with dozens of people taking pictures with him at any given time. And even with his massive ten gallon hat and flag strutted long sleeve shirt, I remembered him being bigger. I mentioned it to my dad, and he suggested that Big Tex looked taller because I used to smaller. Maybe it was true, but it was chilly so we ventured through the one of the exhibition halls. Located on either sides of the park were two exhibition halls with a wide variety of businesses and serves; one building was a standard convention hall and the other one was converted from a large basketball stadium. Unlike the dozens of clothing and kitchenware booths impractically scattered throughout the buildings, both exhibition halls featured display beds from the Mattress Firm right in front of their entrances. The beds appeared to be a hit with several people casually lying on the display models, some while talking to spouses while others kept their hands crossed with their eyes shut. I don’t know if they attracted any customers, but I liked it. And I suggest that every major event should have display beds to rest on (excluding people with lice; I’m sure you understand). There’s something to be said about the familiar booths, the ones that you’ve come to expect at every fair like the hot tube displays, kitchenware demonstrations, and homemade fudge booth; they’re so consistent, usually in the same spot with the same servers every year. There were electronic grand pianos that any child from the audience could play, handmade grandfather clocks no one dared to touch, and mounds of skinned cow hides that kids delicately brushed with their palms. And even though they attracted less people, I still enjoyed the novelty booths like one that sold 3D toilet seat covers and a candy shop-like booth that served several trays of handmade, freshly baked dog treats. There was at least one tent solely devoted to smaller businesses with ethnic crafts, jewelry, and hand stitched clothing. And it reminded me that it matters how we spend our money. It’s easy to dismiss buying something that we don’t need as trivially indulgences, but when we buy something, we’re supporting their cause and providing a demand for their business.

 As we walked around, I noticed how resentful the ice cream sellers 
appeared at the cold weather. It was slightly funny and depressing.

It was a little past lunchtime so we followed the crisp aromas and crowds of people through the flow of food booths surrounding the Cotton Bowl Football Stadium. It’s kind of a big deal. Per tradition, annual awards were given for the best and the most creative fried delicacies, and the fair has even appointed itself the fried food capital of the Texas. It’s on their website; they seem rather proud of it. To many of its visitors, this is the fair’s main attraction. And to be fair, there aren’t a lot of places where you can purchase deep fried beer, cheese cake, and cookie dough within walking distance. And on a day-to-day basis, that’s probably a good thing. This year the judges awarded deep fried jambalaya as the best tasting fried food and fried bacon cinnamon rolls as the most creative. Personally, we’re traditionalist, and I had a foot long corndog while my dad had fried shrimp with fries. As my dad purchased the corndog, my sister called and mentioned that the history channel had a segment on corndogs where they claimed that the Texas State Fair had one of the first and best corn dogs in the nation. And to be frank, I concur. The deep fried cornmeal remained crisp and impossibly moist from the soft and juicy hotdog, and it was something to both cherish and indulge. In a small nook of the fairgrounds, there was a wine and beer tasting area devoted to local vineyards and breweries across the state. In contrast with the fair’s larger than life affairs, the small plaza was simple and elegant with its patio tables, soothing music, and ever flowing water fountain, and you could tell this was the place where adults retreated after letting the kids run wild.

Afterwards, we stopped inside a building lined with small metal cages. At any fair, rooms with small metal cages usually contain chickens or rabbits; loud rooms contain chickens, and quiet rooms contain rabbits. Fortunately, our room was quiet so we perused through aisles of adorable little bunnies. Actually, most of them were large with oversized neck girths and excess skin rolled over in mounds of fur; they were like a cross between a tribble and Jabba the Hutt. Several of them had red and blue ribbons pinned to their cages, and I honestly couldn’t tell you how they were judged, whether it was by coat thickness or their weight in pounds. The building was in conjunction with other rooms and a small arena meant for animal performances. Unfortunately, we missed the dancing dog shows and the pig races didn’t start until the later in the evening. And even though I initially scoffed at the idea of dogs dressed in costumes while jumping through hoops, I was genuinely sad that I missed them.

 

Because he was slightly overweight and a winner at life.

As we continued to walk around, we stumbled on the last few minutes of Killdare’s set on their rotating performance stage. Based in Dallas, Texas, the Killdares blends their traditional Celtic skills with modern rock n’ roll to seamlessly integrate both genres into something new and refreshing. As their session progressed, more people shuffled from the bustling pathways, and onlookers were encouraged to crowd the stage and clap along with their songs. With each stroke of the fiddle precisely timed with the bass guitar and drums, the band displayed passion usually reserved for concert halls and sold out shows. And by the time the bagpipe chimed in for its solo, you could tell the audience was hooked into something unique and special.

On an earlier blog post, I mentioned that my dad rarely passes the opportunity to eat a turkey leg, and as we past several booths with turkey legs, I thought that this might be one of those occasions. But then we approached a food booth that defied logic and reasoning. On a rotisserie grill the size of a shed’s roof, there were literally hundreds of turkey legs uniformly basking on the heat like a large, well-trained army sweltering in the sun. People literally stopped near the side of the booth just to take pictures, and they had at least two workers running along the sides of the grill collecting buckets full of turkey legs to dispense to waiting customers. And I admire my dad’s commitment to moderating his diet and bettering his health, but at some point in time a turkey slaughter occurred, and we could not let them die in vain. While my dad was purchasing a turkey leg, I felt like eating onion rings. Fortunately, the booth across the turkey leg venue sold dinner sized proportions of side dishes. Between the duo, I swear that they were trying to give someone a heart attack. The second booth served hefty stacks of chili cheese curly fries, rolling pin-like corn dogs, and of course, onion rings the size of donuts. Wedged between the two booths was a picnic area tucked beneath several shady trees. And as I glanced at teenagers and families posing with their oversized carnival foods for impending facebook profile pictures, I couldn’t help but think of how Americans were perceived by the rest of the world. Until you’re in that picnic area, it’s hard to conceive that a nation can be so overweight while a large portion of the world goes hungry. And it’s events like the state fair where we drown those ever present flashes of guilt with gluttony and arrogance, with loud music and distractions, because we want to enjoy ourselves. And the food was delicious.

 

The largest Bar-B-Q in the world, weighing 27 tons and able to simultaneously 

cook a thousand turkey legs at once. And it’s American.

I had majority of dad’s turkey leg, and for a while, I carried one or two of the giant onion rings that I couldn’t finish eating as we looked through the carnival portion of the fair. I usually attempt to learn from other people’s mistakes, and even though it’s a work of fiction, I didn’t want to recreate the infamous carnival ride scene from ‘The Sandlot.’ Even so, there was a wide variety of rides that offered several different movements from side to side, up and down, and loopty loops. Throughout the crowd, several people carried giant stuffed bears, inflatable hammers, and one or two impossible to win electric guitars from the ring toss booth. It all seemed fun and slightly nauseating, but that may have been the onion rings.

And then I turned away because I felt slightly nauseous.

Eventually, we reached the Fair Park’s longstanding concrete buildings, the Hall of State and the twin Automotive Buildings. Originally built in the 1930’s, the plaza represents the state’s best Art Deco architecture with their clean, elegant lines and simple but bold metal statues. The auto show was conducted inside two exhibition halls divided by a rectangular lawn of water; one building exclusively had American vehicles while the other one had foreign models. We strolled through the masses of brightly colored cars, and I watched teenagers pose for pictures in the driver’s seat while kids pretended to erratically drift in others. For the past eight years, I’ve driven a Chevrolet Aveo, and even at the time, its best feature was its price. And with its condition slowly declining, it’s different to browse through an automotive show as a prospective buyer instead of fanatic daydreamer. I found myself gravitating toward practical hatchbacks with reasonable gas mileage instead of pinstriped sports cars with leather seats. And even though the show lost some of its allure, it offered a wide selection of cars and choices.

[I didn’t take any pictures of auto show because I accidentally 

smeared turkey leg grease on my camera’s lens.]

Next, we walked past the concrete steps and the ethnic dance performers in front of the Hall of State and into the Girl Scout’s 100th Anniversary exhibit. And I’d like to emphasize the importance of clubs and how the associated has shaped the growth and development of females across the nation, but I wasn’t particularly interested. At the door, there were several volunteers greeting visitors and even more volunteers were scattered throughout the three halls readily available to answer and questions or describe key events in the club’s longstanding history. There were vintage shashes with worn colored patches and old camping manuals behind glasses cases, and the main hall looked impressive with a massive Girl Scout emblem projected onto the back wall behind several iterations of Girl Scout uniforms. But at the same time, the exhibit just felt like a giant recruiting office for parents and their little girls, and besides the main hall, the other two rooms just displayed miniature dioramas of their camp sites. Still, it was interesting to browse through the history of Girl Scout cookies, and one of the volunteers mentioned that there were fried Girl Scout cookies available throughout the fairgrounds.

I don’t know why, but strangers always look awkward whenever 

you pull out your phone and take pictures of them.

By this point in time, we were fairly tired. According to my phone’s GPS, we walked a little over four miles in four hours throughout our stay at the fairgrounds so we lingered around one of the Hall of State’s pillars and watched the ethnic dancers perform near the concrete steps. It was late in the afternoon, and even though it was chilly, a large audience accumulated around the simple ground level stage. Dressed in beads and feathers, the musicians played several wooden flutes and drums while the performers danced in elaborate feathered headpieces and several beaded bracelets around their wrists and ankles. As they moved in unison, the rattling complemented the music, and at times, became the only source of sound. It was fun, and as their set progressed there were several times where they asked members of the audience to join them. Throughout the three week event, multiple performance groups danced on the modest stage, and their cultures varied from Irish jigs to African ceremonies. And while it’s enjoyed by audiences of all ages, it’s one of the few events at the fair that embraces culture and makes any real attempt to educate or inform its viewers.

Since we entered the fairgrounds, we noticed a thickly draped fence around the placid lagoon where I remembered strolling throughout in my youth. On the other side of the lagoon rested the nature and history museum, the place where I spent hours as a child. And before we left the fair, we made a fairly solemn attempt to reminisce through the life-size displays of dinosaurs and spacious interactive learning centers where kids could develop their sense of wonder and curiosity. Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful.

The exhibit cost money, but the extravagant entrance sign was free.

New to the fair, the Chinese lantern festival was held on the lagoon to celebrate the impending Chinese New Year. The exhibition featured varied paper lanterns harmoniously lit across the waters accented by extravagant set pieces from Chinese folklore. At least that’s how I imagined it because the exhibition charged a 10 coupon ($5.00) admission fee, and we weren’t particularly interested in paying for it. Instead, we assumed there was a way around the lagoon to visit the public portion of the nature and science museum. For a while, we walked along dark walls of the impervious vale, but there was no way around it. Later, I checked on the Fair Park’s website, and after paying $5.00 to enter the lagoon, you have to pay an additional $1.00 per person to enter the nature and science museum.

I don't normally curse in text, but that's bullshit.

When I was younger, the nature and science museum was the highlight of the fair. It's a place where science seemed fun and accessible, and it made an otherwise confusing and highbrow subject matter feel practical and interesting. Museums aren't meant to be the primary source for scientific information, but they’re meant to spark an interest. They're meant to get kids involved and make them want to learn. We walked a little further and noticed every museum in the park charged separate admission fees from the children's aquarium to the butterfly house. And to some extent, it made my time at the fair feel shallow and somewhat pointless.

As a citizen of a first world nation, I’m accustomed to flawed and fairly illogical justifications. Case in point, I consumed a corndog, turkey leg, and four oversized onion rings through my time at the fair along with some of my dad’s French fries and one of his fried shrimps, and I rationalized overeating with our four mile trek across the fairgrounds. Rationally, there’s no way that I burned the calories that I consumed, but at the time, it was enough to satisfy my reasoning. In my mind, the museums offset everything that was inherently wrong with the fair from glorifying obesity to mindlessly perusing through expensive and unattainable sports cars. In a sense, I think it’s how the world views Americans; we have an excess of food, arrogance, and consumerism, but we also have invaluable resources such as a diverse, multicultural society and prestigious universities.

At the same time, I know it’s just me. Just a year out of college, I’m still getting used to viewing the city where I grew up as a place where I commute through traffic and habitually go to work. And instead of a place of wonder, somewhere people can learn about different cultures and explore the secrets of the universe, maybe the State Fair of Texas is just an annual event where people can gather to enjoy a few rides, look at several pretty cars, and eat eccentric fried foods.

But I had a fun time, really.

--

After nearly 60 years of service, Big Tex was incinerated in an electrical fire. Thank you for representing our fair state, and may you return bigger and more fire resistant next year.

Pupdate: Ni.

 

He's not a fighter, but he really likes the protection.

Oktoberfest in Addison

Since 1810, the original Oktoberfest has been held in Munich, Germany, and it’s the world’s largest fair, which lasts seventeen days from late September to October. Visitors of the event can indulge in traditional German staples including food, dancing, and of course, beer. Across the world, German communities conduct their own festivals near the first of October to celebrate their heritage. And let’s be honest, people like an occasion to drink. This past weekend, I visited Addison, Texas for its twenty fifth annual Oktoberfest, and it’s slightly amazing how well the festival integrated alcohol, traditions, and carnival rides into a family event that was fun and suitable for all ages.

Mustache man says, 'Recycle.'

There are very few celebrations more associated with beer than Oktoberfest. According to Wikipedia, there was almost seven million liters of beer served at the 2007 Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany. At the Addison festival there was at least a three to one person to beer cup ratio with a large portion of them holding beer mugs in various shapes and sizes. There were two main stage venues, one outside and inside, and both regularly conducted the traditional German toast. And you might not be German or understand the language, but when there was a toast, everyone with a cup raised it, chanted, and chugged.

On the lawn of the Addison Circle Park, the outside performance grounds rested in the back of a crevasse surrounded by shaded trees. Unfortunately, the event started at noon, and visitors were reluctant to sit on the stadium like ridges of the grassy grounds because it was sunny without a cloud in sight. But from the comforts of shade, we distantly watched children and adults dressed in traditional German costumes perform several customary dances. And at the end of one of the performances, they invited all the children from the crowd to form a large circle, and they performed the German (ibid Americanized) chicken dance. My dad was really excited about the chicken dance because it’s the only German song and dance that he knows, and he was slightly disappointed that we only heard it once.

Snoopy was on break so we couldn't get a picture.

After a while we wondered through the grounds past several booths to take a picture of an Addison ambulance truck because my sister’s a paramedic and she’s into that sort of thing. Across from the ambulance sat a bright red triplane behind a small rope and plaque. And even though the festival celebrated traditions predating the Nazis and World War II, it was interesting to note that the only remnant from that era was almost hidden in the corner of the grounds.

A small infinity of tables.

We were slightly hungry so we ventured through the massive tent-like dining hall, and we were greeted with ribbons and several Oktoberfest banners hanging over rows and rows of benches. On the side, there were lines and counters to order food and drinks, and the columns of benches were divided by a stage and dance floor. Since we arrived a little early, the lines were clear and most of the benches were empty so for a few minutes we sat and enjoyed our frankfurters while a German instrument band played traditional songs and children sporadically danced on the dance floor. The dancing was sporadic, not the children. It’s interesting how the instrument band composed primarily of senior citizens catered to the whims of numinous children flailing around. Also, my dad mentioned his frankfurter was dry, but I thought it was fine, and there was a wide variety of other German foods. While I was randomly looking through the Oktoberfest banners from previous years, I was reminded of how long the annual festival has occurred in Addison, Texas. Sure, it hasn’t been there since 1810, but the first banner on the far end of the tent was from 1988, the year that I was born. And just by looking through the faces of eclectic visitors, it’s not hard to believe that some of the attendees were there at the first event, and the festival was as much a part of their history as their German heritage itself.

I added ketchup, mustard, and mayo on my frankfurter.

And I know somewhere that would make someone cringe.

For a while we walked throughout the grounds, and as the day progressed more and more people filed through the fair. Behind the rows of portal potties, there was a sports building with two large screens projecting NCAA football games with several tables and a wine booth. And there were actual toilets; if you’re at an outdoor event, you should always look for buildings with actual toilets. Outside there were craft booths and festival foods, and the park had several fountain sprays where kids played in the water and canals where teens soaked their legs. Across the road there were standard carnival rides such as the zipper, Starship 3000, and the Ferris wheel. Unfortunately, each ride was four coupons, which wouldn’t mean much until you recall that each ticket costs a dollar. To put things into perspective, a bottled water cost three coupons, and a cup of beer cost five. On a lighter note, the organizers of the event found a way to prevent drunk college kids from riding a bunch of rides.

A couple watches children in inflatable bubbles play in a small pool of water. 

I thought of typing something sarcastic, but sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction.

Throughout the day we occasionally visited the dining hall, and it progressively became packed as the early autumn’s heat continued. We watched customary courting dances with benches and knee smacking and traditional bell ringing solos from young musicians; all performed in traditional German costumes in a humid tent full of hundreds of spectators with brimming cups of beer. After several performances from local German clubs, there was a young band composed for four siblings, 3rd Generation. Like their name implied, the siblings were third generation Germans living in Texas and performed traditional German songs with a bass, drums, accordion, and fiddle. Admittedly, I don’t know where else a band with an accordion and fiddle would find a gig outside of the Oktoberfest circuit, but even with their rooted Texan accents, their German sounded fluent and jubilant in front of the crowd. And with their upbeat tempo and pleasant banter with themselves and their parents, you can tell they embraced their heritage, and they were proud to represent their culture through their music to both Germans and newcomers alike.

Personally, I would be the first person to tell you that I’m culturally detached from my native heritage. Although my grandparents emigrated from the Philippines, I don’t speak the regional language or know of their customary traditions. And despite the fact that there are several local events celebrating a town or city’s history, there aren’t a lot of festivals devoted to a minorities’ homeland. Sure, St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco de Mayo are associated with their respective countries, but neither event attempts to inform and embrace it’s traditions with their participants. You just drink. And even though Oktoberfest is associated with drinking, it’s also connected with its culture through food, music, and dancing. It’s a place where native Germans can feel at home and novices can feel welcomed.

Pupdate: Where's Dharma?

No, Dharma, you're supposed to hide.

Cars and mostly other things

This past weekend, I visited my dad in Denton, Texas, where we spent an hour walking around the Denton car show in the downtown square. We walked downtown since it’s roughly a few blocks away from where my dad lives, and even though there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, the weather was pleasant, warm, and sunny with a cool breeze. On the way, my dad mentioned that it was hotter last year, which further exacerbated his dehydration after a few alcoholic beverages, and he couldn’t remember who accompanied him.

Car.

It was an outside event with sparkling cars lining the parameter of the old downtown courthouse. There were a variety of restored hotrods, vintage corvettes, and modern sports cars with flamboyant chrome and paintjobs. There were senior citizens reminiscing, adults and teenagers taking different snapshots, and kids sitting in the driver’s seat pretending. There were even a handful of dogs trotting about the event without a care in the world.

Car.

In between marveling at all of the shimmering spectacles, I thought about different themes for this blog post. I considered themes ranging from rescuing pieces of history and restoring them into something new to consciously being aware of our hobbies and how they shape our sense of self identity and the communities around us. And I wondered if the event was even worth writing about at all. After all, we only spent an hour in the downtown square, and afterwards, we went about our usual weekend routine of walking around a mall and watching a movie.

Car. It's American.

Sometimes it’s interesting to view time through memories. Unlike the conventional view of time through clocks and calendars, time can be distorted and prolonged through memories. Clips and events that only last a few hours or days can be more vivid and detailed than weeks or months of monotony. And whether we’re conscious of it or not, memories can have different weight and importance; in our minds, some events will be discarded within a day and others will stay with us for a lifetime.

Believe it or not, Mator's much bigger in person.

I think it’s like living vicariously through someone’s picture file on their computer. At the Denton car show, there were dozens of people touting different cameras from ones with high-end detachable lenses to small meager camera phones, and I wondered how many of those pictures were taken of random cars. We’ve accumulated all of these pictures and memories, and I don’t know how many of them we truly value, and which moments we regret not having a camera at all. And if my brain only has a finite amount of memory, I don’t know if I’ll remember this past weekend or what I’ll take away from its experiences.

But if I do remember the event, I’d want to remember the pleasant weather, the happy families, and spending a little time with my dad.

Response to video: Intentions

 Look, she got older, and taller, and... in widescreen.

This video is nearly identical to the one that I created three or four years ago; it uses the same music, transition cues, and story verbatim. I distinctly remember making the original video. It was near Thanksgiving, and I rushed the final third of the video before my sister arrived so that we could visit our extended family for dinner. It took roughly a week to make, and I spent majority of my time editing a random picture of a girl sitting on the floor from google images. Most of the story was written within a few hours, and the most notable part was the twist at the end.

 Admittedly, the original scene was easier because I just copied 

and pasted background pictures for desktops.

Looking back on it, it's hard not to see distinctive themes scattered throughout the video from the girl desperately escaping her life through fixating on a fictional character to the fabled narrator who's more real and rounded than the actual protagonist. And in hindsight, I don't know if a lot of it was intentional. I don't remember if I consciously paralleled the girl by creating the video’s fictional characters or if the hero was meant to be fictional at all, it could have just been a vapid and interesting way to end the video.

And in a way, it's disappointing because I'm really proud of this video; it’s part of a hand full of videos that I would consider to be the greatest achievements of my life so far. I know that probably sounds overly dramatic; throughout my life, I've won several medals in high school sports, written hundred page (admittedly terrible) documentaries, graduated college with two bachelor's degrees, and managed to find and maintain a stable career. But throughout all of those endeavors, I've never been alone; I always had the support of my teammates, peers, or family. Making videos has been my way of carving a self-identity. Throughout my experiences, I've honed every aspect of my editing skills from writing micro short stories to discovering new transition effects. In those early videos, every second was a painstaking process of overlaying frame by frame typography created in microsoft paint, edited in adobe elements, and rendered in microsoft movie maker. And with the most basic editing software that's included with almost every personal computer, I was able to share stories and convey emotions with viewers across the world.

It's also worth noting how miserable I felt while making these videos. It takes a certain level of depression to empathize with such flawed and isolated characters, and it's a very daunting to maintain that emotion throughout most of my videos. In some regards, it’s helped me let go of the past, but if I wanted to be true to certain themes and emotions, I'd need to tap into that guilt and anxiety that has inspired them. I’ve wanted these characters and emotions to be real to their viewers, and if I was completely honest with myself, I wouldn't want anyone to dwell on such pain and misdirected sorrow for years to produce simple five minute music videos.

And like the protagonist at the end of the video, I don't know where that leaves me. I don't know the value of someone relating to my videos or making someone cry. Maybe it's comforting to know that you're not alone at being alone or it's okay to be emotional over seemingly insignificant things. In the end, I've just wanted these videos to be meaningful to someone. Maybe it's left for the viewers to interpret that meaning, even if it's different from my own intentions.

---

Hope, the cyborg

In terms of actually making the video, I reused a lot of images and loops from the princess video since I knew that I had a limited amount of time before I had to go back to work. And it goes without saying, but I used the exact same story from the video I made three or four years ago. It can be difficult to synchronize the video's transitions with the music using Anime Studio Pro since there’s a delay in the preview screen, but I just lined up the timing according to the previously made video … and it more or less worked.

Well she does look more blue in the original video.

I think the interesting part about remaking the video is that it’s not necessarily better, it’s just different. Even though Anime Studio Pro provided a much cleaner look, there’s a lot more control on the transition effects on Microsoft Movie Maker from music synchronization to something as simple (and necessary) as fading in/out sentences and backgrounds.

Throughout my older videos, I’ve always tried to make them seem intentionally simple and elegant due to Microsoft Movie Maker’s limitations. And to that extent, the older video has a lot more subtle effects and transitions from the simple black background of the girl to the faint blue hue on her skin when she’s supposed to feel vulnerable and transparent.

I spent a few hours trying to make proportional legs for this guy

until I realized that he never actually gets off the horse.
...So he doesn't have body past his torso.

Again, I like the new video; the backgrounds seem vivid and the loops and animation feel a lot more natural and smoother than my previous videos. And ever since I made that test animation of the girl riding her horse through the trees and village several months ago, I’ve been racking my mind on ways to include that unused clip in a video. I don’t know if the video’s necessarily better than the original, but it’s different.

And I like it. I hope you do too.

Pupdate: Superdog!

 

He's like Underdog without the drugs.