It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Alex Lindsay is a rock star in the digital world. He’s the founder of a media production company and training group called Pixel Corps, which teaches people skills like digital animation, photo editing and retouching, matte painting, lighting, and camera operation. He’s also a former employee of Industrial Light & Magic, George Lucas’s visual effects company, where he worked for several years on the animation for Star Wars: Episode I; The Phantom Menace. His company Pixel Corps is responsible for co-producing what I generally consider to be the greatest podcast of all time, MacBreak (dedicated entirely to Apple products—hello). And if that wasn’t enough, Alex was a frequent guest star on TechTV.
When I was a kid, my grandma Grayce often babysat my sisters and me in the afternoons while our parents were still at work. My grandma has always been incredibly artistic and creative. She’s an amateur painter, and she was usually encouraging my sisters and me to paint, or buying us pastels and charcoal pencils, or taking us with her on trips to the craft store. But she was super supportive of and interested in the creative things I could do with the computer, too, from those first pixel animations on the Macintosh Plus to the animated GIFs I made on the 6100/60. So, when we weren’t painting or drawing, sometimes Grandma and I would curl up on the couch and watch my favorite shows on TechTV, starring experts like Chris Pirillo, Kevin Rose, and Leo Laporte. Instead of boy bands, I had been idolizing tech rock stars for years.
I showed up for the first day of PodCamp eager to learn. Alex’s talk was first, and he focused on shooting with higher-end cameras and the finer points of green-screening. During his actual presentation, though, I could barely contain myself—I just started asking the guy breathless, rapid-fire questions about everything I had ever wanted to know about video production. I could tell that he was surprised by the sheer volume of questions I had, as well as confused as to why I kept bringing the conversation back to YouTube, but that he also recognized that this was stuff I genuinely, deeply cared about and was interested in; after his talk, we chatted for a while about our mutual love of Apple and technology and decided to keep in touch.
Imagine my surprise, though, when I discovered that befriending Alex Lindsay wasn’t even the best part of the conference: I was blown away by the collective creativity and enthusiasm of the other attendees. Here was a whole host of people, all from my very own hometown, no less, who were excited about and committed to the same ideas and ideals that I was. I’d never before felt so at home within such a large group. Which may be why—on the night before the last day of PodCamp—I worked up the courage to book a room and give my own talk. (I wasn’t kidding when I said this was a laid-back convention; just about anyone could speak if they wanted to.)
For my PodCamp debut, I decided to give a tutorial on using jumpcut.com, a website where you could upload, edit, and publish videos in real time. I’d been using the site to edit most of my content, but Jumpcut was yet another space for like-minded people to connect and chat with each other. I’d struck up an easy friendship with a user named Karen; only later would I discover that she was actually a Jumpcut employee. Through Karen Nguyen, I would eventually become friends with the entire Jumpcut crew.
I was pleased the turnout for my lesson ended up being pretty decent. I was even more pleased, though, to discover how diverse the group was: in my session alone, I spoke with a teenager, a dance instructor, a comic book illustrator, a schoolteacher, an actor, and other folks from all walks of life. I loved thinking about the different ways in which those people might put to use what I’d shown them. I didn’t yet realize the ways in which PodCamp was going to have a major effect on my future, though. I didn’t know then that signing up for the first-ever Pittsburgh PodCamp would change my life.
• • •
High off my “success” at PodCamp, meeting Alex Lindsay, and putting more and more original content online, I felt on the cusp of something. It was around that time that I realized I was going to have to quit my job with the chiropractor. I didn’t have anything else in the way of full-time work lined up, and the residuals I was making from the web were still measly. But I was miserable. I didn’t want to waste one more minute working somewhere I hated (never mind the fact that I was only twenty-two); I wanted to devote all my time to whatever it was I was trying to build or do or achieve via the web.
I discussed my decision with Dez, of course; she was supportive, although she wasn’t willing to quit her job just yet. (I can’t say I blame her.) Still, it took me a while to work up the nerve to break the news to Dr. Rolex. When I finally did, it was just as awful as I thought it would be: he actually told me I was worthless, I’d never find a better job, and I’d never amount to anything if I left. I knew he wasn’t right—I knew he was a sad, egotistical —but I’d never been spoken to like that before, and I left his office with tears streaming down my face. In spite of my embarrassment at being berated, I felt something else, though: relief. I wasn’t going to have to take any more crap from that guy, or from anyone else, for that matter. I’m going to make it on my own, I thought. Watch me.
Of course, my parents were none too pleased. Dr. Rolex had meant it when he said he would double the salary I’d been making at Business Partners; my parents couldn’t comprehend why I would throw away a steady, sizable paycheck. I promised them I would figure something out, told them that no amount of money in the world was worth being that miserable, but the little cash I had saved went quickly: I had to buy myself a laptop (I’d been using the computer at the office; my G4 was long gone by then). I was late with my rent a few times. I got pretty good at giving my landlord spur-of-the-moment excuses for why I hadn’t yet paid. (Oh! Can you believe it? My check got lost in the mail! Or I’m actually on my way—said sneaking out to my car—to the bank—putting the key in the ignition—right now! I’ll be back soon—and peeling out of the driveway.) Difficult as it was at the time, I wasn’t deterred, though. I was determined.
It would take me quite a while to get back on my feet financially, but I heard rumors about Dr. Rolex over the years: there were some lawsuits, and his office building was eventually bulldozed. I don’t know if he ever saw any of the videos that Dez and I filmed in his basement—I haven’t laid eyes on him since walking out of his office on the day that I quit. All I know is that things apparently didn’t work out so well for him in the end.
But as for me . . . I had a hunch they’d turn out all right.
AND NOW, FOR THE TALENT PORTION . . .
SO, NOW I WAS BROKE. And unemployed. But I was lucky: it didn’t take very long to figure out what I was going to do next.
In my usual daily perusal of the Internet, I discovered that Yahoo was hosting a nationwide talent search. Over the course of six weeks, anyone from anywhere could upload as many as fifty videos of themselves, showcasing their “talents”—stand-up comedy, animation, performance art, whatever you were into, whatever you were good at. Yahoo was looking for the original “Web Celeb.”
That sounded promising. But as I read through the press release, I started to get more and more excited: after a period of open voting, five finalists would be selected to compete in a series of video challenges, the last of which would be filmed and edited in New York City, and then shown in front of a panel of judges, including television personality Maria Sansone (now a coanchor on Good Day LA), the Ninja from AskANinja.com, and Tom Green.
That would have been enough right there: I loved Tom Green. This was late 2006, the post–Road Trip, post-MTV era in Green’s long career; he’d moved on by then to hosting Tom Green Live! (later called Tom Green’s House Tonight), an Internet talk show filmed right in his own Hollywood Hills living room, and Tom Green had my kind of humor. He just did and said whatever he wanted and it always felt genuine and funny. He was something of an inspiration to me. The opportunity to actually meet him in person would be amazing.
Except it didn’t stop there. I kept reading.
After the final vid
eos were shown, the Internet would vote again and select a winner. The grand prize was fifty thousand dollars (OMG, fifty grand?! I’d be able to keep trying to figure out this Internet thing without having to get a “real” job!). Oh, and there was also a chance to star in your own show on Yahoo.
Over the next few weeks, I submitted a total of twenty-one videos, including the one of my adventures waiting in line for a PS3, “Have You Seen My Stylus?,” and a video of me juggling with a stranger’s cell phone in the parking lot of Walmart. (Seriously: Walmart. Crazy Mocha. The only places I saw other than the inside of my apartment after quitting my job with the chiropractor.) I held my breath for the next month or so, waiting to see if I’d be named a finalist.
Each week I’d tune in to the official online show, where the host, television personality Mayleen Ramey, would promote the contest; conduct random man-on-the-street-style interviews, asking people to show their talents; or showcase some of the videos that had been submitted thus far, spliced together with preliminary feedback from the panel of judges. I posted about the contest everywhere—Myspace, Twitter, my blog (tastyblogsnack.com), my xthree LiveJournal account, Facebook, Campus Hook; you name it, I posted, asking people to vote for me. On November 21, I launched my first official YouTube channel under the name iJustine, and asked people to vote for me there, too. A few days later, a “Happy Thanksgiving” video I’d filmed (in which I got into a virtual fight with a clip-art turkey) was featured prominently on the main page of the Yahoo! Talent Show; it was also named “Video of the Week” on a popular blog that provided news on and analysis of the video-sharing industry. I started to feel like maybe I had a chance at this thing. I allowed myself to wonder: Could I really make the cut?
On Monday, December 4, Yahoo made the official announcement via the Internet show. In no particular order, the finalists were:
• Rex Hermogino, a San Diego native whose original song “Love on the Internet” had gone viral (incidentally, viral, at the time, equated a hundred thousand views).
• Ben Grinnell, aka Awkward Rick, who conducted really, well, awkward (albeit hilarious) interviews while sporting unwashed, matted hair and wearing oversized glasses that slipped down his nose.
• Rob Ray and his parkour team, Renzhe Parkour.
• Stanley Sowa Jr., who made videos featuring hand-drawn stick-figure animation.
And . . . the final finalist . . . the only girl in the whole group (drumroll, please) . . .
• Justine Evarik, who “sent in a lot of stuff about nothing” but who proved “that nothing could be a lot of fun.”
That’s not a typo, by the way—Mayleen totally said my name wrong. Maria Sansone said she liked me because I wasn’t afraid to “act a fool.” In the press release announcing the finalists, they described my “talent” as “variety show antics.”
But who cares? I was in!! I was a finalist! I was going to New York and I was going to win!!
After screaming with excitement and jumping up and down for a while, the first thing I did was share the news with Dez. The second thing I did was beg her to come with me. I had submitted the videos under my own name, but there was no way I was going to New York without her. I wanted this to be something else we were doing together. Thankfully, she was just as supportive and up for it as ever.
The second phase of the competition, which we had to embark on right away, even before heading to New York, was the aforementioned series of video “challenges.” Dez and I decided to film a weird skit about teleporting (via the magic of video editing), which we’d shoot primarily at our apartment and Primanti Brothers, a famous sandwich chain in Pittsburgh. The idea was that I’d “teleport” to Dez’s house (even though we lived together—in the video you can clearly see our redbrick apartment building, the same one from the Ninja Turtles video), then we’d teleport to the restaurant. Dez would make it, no problem, but I’d have some trouble: teleporting, by mistake, to the parking lot, to a table full of middle-aged men, behind a large potted plant, on the hood of a car, to a stranger’s house (while holding a random tiny dog), before finally appearing at our designated table by Dez’s side.
That Saturday we started filming all the necessary clips at various locations in preparation for Sunday’s deadline (incidentally, Yahoo didn’t give us a lot of lead time). Things were going well. I was happy with the footage we’d shot thus far. And then tragedy struck.
We were headed to our next location, and we were in a hurry. We set the bulk of our equipment on the sidewalk to discuss next steps, and then we piled into our van and sped off. It wasn’t until we were several blocks away that I realized: we left all of the equipment on the sidewalk. We’d been so rushed that we completely forgot to actually load it into the van.
When we circled back, it was already gone: two still cameras, two video cameras, lenses, mics, accessories, everything. Gone. The value of the equipment was more than ten thousand dollars. I felt my knees go weak. I thought I was going to break down and cry. Not only had we lost so much expensive equipment—which wasn’t mine, which I had absolutely no way of replacing (I was unemployed; I didn’t have anywhere near that kind of money in the bank)—but we were up against a punishing deadline. Within the next fifteen hours or so, we were going to have to somehow round up some more equipment, reshoot everything we’d already shot, edit the whole thing together, and send it off to the folks at Yahoo. Without that video, we were as good as eliminated from the competition before it had even really started.
We scrambled. We called everyone we knew. We begged and we pleaded. And I found a couple of angels to save the day: Justin Kownacki agreed to lend us a camera. A Pittsburgh native, Justin is also the creator of Something to Be Desired, the first and longest-running original web series. Two more friends, Danny Yourd and Steve Hoover, let us borrow some additional equipment and shoot in their studio. Guess where I met Danny and Steve? On Myspace. These guys would go on to produce and direct, respectively, a documentary called Blood Brother, which won both the Grand Jury Prize and the Audience Award for U.S. Documentary at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival. I don’t know if there’s something in the water in Pittsburgh, or just something that incredible about the local online community, but there is nothing more amazing than seeing the heights your friends can reach when you’re familiar with the place they started.
With help from my incredible tech friends, we were able to reshoot everything, edit the video, and send it off in time. Within just a few days, Dez and I would be in New York City, courtesy of Yahoo.
• • •
I’d never really been anywhere particularly exciting in my life. I’d traveled to North Carolina for vacation. I’d been to Florida a time or two. I was dying to go to San Francisco. I was aching to get out of Pittsburgh. But I certainly hadn’t expected that my first trip to New York would be a kind of paid vacation, with my best friend, where I’d meet Tom Green, and maybe win a job hosting and producing my own Internet-based variety show.
The goal in New York was to shoot the pilot episode, but most of that trip is a blur to me now. We were teamed with a producer, given some equipment, and sent into the field. I ran around Manhattan for a while in a Superman costume. We edited the thing at Sony Music Studios in Midtown (and by “edited” I mean I had to hand off our footage to someone else, who did an okay job but who left a lot of my favorite clips out of the final cut—by that point, we were under insane time constraints, so there just wasn’t time for any last-minute haggling). We went to Times Square and waved signs for the Yahoo! Talent Show in the air with a bunch of Santas, as some kind of promotional stunt (it was December). We loitered outside the Good Morning America studio with Tom Green. We visited the subterranean flagship Apple Store on Fifth Avenue, at the southeast corner of Central Park, where I was yelled at repeatedly for putting my hands on the famous aboveground glass cube.
You would think hailing a cab would be easier when you’re Superman . . .
Dez and me, posing with some of our fellow Yah
oo! Talent Show contestants in Times Square.
I knew my online friends were rooting for me—including Karen from Jumpcut, who wrote about me on her personal blog. Actual excerpt: “I really really really like ijustine and I totally want her to win (though I have to admit her pilot video is weak).”
Side note: I sort of hated my pilot video, too.
But before I knew it, the moment was upon us. It was time for the big reveal.
We filed into the studio, met with the judges, took a bunch of group selfies (even though “selfie” wasn’t a word yet), and then it was just a matter of watching all of the episodes and waiting to hear the results. I was so excited, and so unbelievably nervous. We had put so much work into this silly contest, hoping it would completely change the course of our lives. With no money and no job, I had no idea how else I might pay the bills piling up back home in Pittsburgh.
But I didn’t win.
The grand prize went to Rex Hermogino, the “Love on the Internet” guy. I probably should have known things weren’t looking too good for me when Tom Green called me “the Clay Aiken of the competition.”
In the early days of being iJustine, I often had to validate what exactly it was I was doing—the people closest to me were supportive (usually), albeit a little concerned. “We think it’s funny and all, what you’re doing,” they would say, “but . . . is this a job? What are you actually going to do with your life? How are you going to survive?” The only response I ever gave my friends or family was to shrug. I just had an inkling that despite the apparent craziness of my life, despite the unconventional nature of my “career” aspirations, I was on to something.
I, Justine: An Analog Memoir Page 6