Holy Snarkies!

So, the grand ominous quest to the land of Iowa, where the blond caucasians live and the soy and corn stink up the fog-ridden humid mornings was... I have no clue where I was going with that. Anyway, I went to Iowa with my favorite (sleeping with the) enemy, and had a great time. Stopped in Indiana, where the interstate construction never seems to cease... saw an old friend, one who was once fat, but is no longer, but sort of is... anyway, great to see him, his wife, his kid, and his bun-in-the-oven.

And then there was the opening at Fox Reality in Los Angeles. Well, not exactly for Fox Reality, but that's what it amounted to... couldn't take it for whatever reason, so I did the cool, non-Wilmington-film-industry-thing and gave the position to a friend of mine who happened to be moving from Wilmington to Los Angeles the day after I found out about the position. Oh, how nice of me... (Jon, if you're reading this, I drink for free FOR A YEAR when I finally make it back out there).

And that's how it works in California. People help each other get PA and runner jobs... unlike another faux film community I happen to have lived in, where those that fight for PA slots don't tell anybody else for fear of competition and for the simple fact that many of those fighting for those slots are just assholes.

But, bleh...

My favorite enemy looked absolutely stunning at the wedding in Iowa, by the way. So much so, a gas station attendant told her that she made his day. Well, buddy, she made mine, too... and I got to see her in a swimsuit that afternoon. Lick me.

Remind me not to drive over any bridges in Minnesota.

I've been combing my cats with a "furminator." Those work awesome. All pet owners MUST buy a furminator. Seriously.

Padres are in third place? What the fuck? When did the Diamondbacks suddenly start contending? Damn you, Tony Gwynn... unretire already.

And there I was, stuck in traffic on a hot, muggy, Sunday afternoon, when the sky blackened and lighting flew up from the Earth into the sky in what was clearly the strangest weather phenomenon in the last century. Okay, I just made that up, but I had you going, didn't I? Don't lie... you know I did.

By the way... if that person who hates "..." happens to be reading this (and she sometimes does), take this: ... ... ... ... ... ...

Oh, and when are you returning from France?

Right, okay... I'm making zero sense, but that's only because I have a lot to say, no way to say it, and my friend is in the kitchen slicing up chicken while my German Shepherd whines for my attention and my girlfriend ditches me for a mysterious entity codenamed "Andrea" and a cup of white chocolate hot chocolate from Starbucks.

Kick ass, right on, carpe diem, and all that other horseshit people say to egg each other on.

And vote for Clint Eastwood.

And the Winds are Blowing... ?

Okay, so here I am in Wilmington. No job, no dogs (well, one... but I should have three), no social life, no nothing. Seriously, I literally have nothing material, save for this laptop and an old Army cot. Not that I mind, of course... I'm a little attracted to the idea of being able to leave at a moment's notice.

Anyway, so here I am in Wilmington. Coming to Wilmington was a bit of a stretch. I knew it was an overrated film town to begin with, but I had my reasons for coming, and most of them have or are coming to fruition. All that said, I have once again discovered my love for being on the go.

So, here I am in Wilmington, wondering where the Hell I'm going to go next. I have several options: return West, either back to Los Angeles or to Las Vegas; go to Texas and try to latch onto the next season of Prison Break; go to Vancouver and try to latch onto the next season of Battlestar Galactica (difficult, as Canadian film regulations make it hard for non-Canadian's to get below-the-line work); rejoin the active Army and go to Iraq or Afghanistan with my friends; sign up for Halliburton (gasp) or KBR and get overpaid to go to Iraq or Afghanistan; go to Japan and work with an old friend in the Japanese film industry, or just drive until I get sick of driving and stop somewhere random (I particularly like this choice... don't know why).

But, here I am in Wilmington. Wondering and waiting as the itch to wander grows slowly but surely. Should I stay? Or should I go?

Hmm... guess I'll keep wondering and waiting.

First Full Week Back in Wilmington: Some Notes

Well, it's official. Yesterday marked my first full completed week back in lovely Wilmington, North Carolina. I actually officially moved back May 19, but I had to return to Fayetteville and didn't actually stay here until May 21.

Anyway, some notes...

Wilmington's film industry seems to be no better off than when I first left it. Three projects, almost all wrapped. No available film jobs. Nuts.

The humidity is killing me.

I had to split up my three dogs. It sucks. They're sad. So am I.

I've been sick for the better part of a week. What a way to celebrate returning to an awesome beach town.

A bunch of "friends" have yet to return phone calls or emails. Thanks, guys.

Another friend told me to never contact her again. Still confused about that one. I'm not sure if she found out about my "adventures" in Latin America or not. ;)

I quit smoking on May 26. For those who didn't know, I started again on May 5, when I stopped in Dallas for two days and stayed with the guy who taught me how to smoke in the first place.

It's very weird shopping in my old Food Lion and eating at my old Subway. Can't explain it. It's just weird.

My laptop is painfully outdated, and despite my best efforts to upgrade the hardware/software, it really doesn't invite me to use it... hence, the few blogs and complete lack of other significant writing.

I cut all of my long hair off. I officially look like a soldier once again (even though I never looked like a soldier when I actually was a soldier).

My cats are pissed that I haven't let them outside yet.

I have no idea how the Padres are doing, and have no clue how the Chargers are progressing with their off-season. Also, I don't even know if the Ducks won the Stanley Cup. In fact, I'm not even aware that sporting events are occuring right now.

I hurt my foot, my hip, and my elbow doing pratfalls for a buddy's video project on Saturday. He showed me a rought cut, and my pain didn't even make it on the trailer. I feel used.

I taught my dog how to jump in and out of my room window, primarily because I'm too lazy to walk him around back.

Finally, despite feeling so out of place and mostly being bored with nothing to do, I feel great and am loving it.

Shoot me a line, people. Let's hang out.

Afterthought

As I'm typing this in my rented room in Wilmington, North Carolina, there's a strange and constant curiosity floating around the back of my mind. An afterthought of sorts. It's asking me what the fuck I'm doing here, once again in the place that I left not 14 months ago. Strangely, despite the plethora of reasons for being in North Carolina, I can't really answer that question. What the fuck am I doing here? How the fuck should I know?

And that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? How the fuck should I know about anything? The answer to that shouldn't surprise you: how the fuck should I know?

Maybe it's me, maybe it's this place, maybe it's the fact that my three dogs are split up in three different locations, but I really feel like I shouldn't be here. During one of my first days back I was driving down Market Street headed for downtown, and I could've sworn the trees were telling me to leave. No, I'm not crazy (not certifiably, anyway), but that's the sensation I got.

I know what you're thinking and you're probably right. It's just me. Nothing new there, everything I've done right and done wrong has always been just me. This shouldn't be any different. But it is somehow. My whole life I've been little more than an afterthought to most people, but here I'm practically nothing. The person people roll their eyes at when his number shows up on their caller IDs. It's worse than afterthought... it's not being thought of at all.

Of course, again, that's mostly my fault. I didn't really make an attempt to embrace Wilmington when I was here the first time, even though I love the place. Then again, that logic might not work here, since I hate Fayetteville, North Carolina, but feel absolutely at home in the shadows of Fort Bragg.

I've never been remarkably good at anything. Baseball, maybe, but with most things I was merely competent. People say I'm a good writer, but most of that is undoubtedly false encouragement, and until I make a living as a writer, I won't ever make the mistake of agreeing with them. There was, however, one thing that I was among the best at, and that was being a soldier. Now, I never fit in well with the Army system, but nobody in uniform anywhere in the world could tell me that I didn't know my job, and know it well. Whether it was demolitions-related or reconnaissance-related, I knew what I was doing better than most in my field. Jumping out of planes I can't claim such confidence with, but I'm not really confident with anything that you can do perfectly and still maintain a good chance of dying.

The irony here is that I treated the Army much like most people treat me: as an afterthought. It was merely something I was doing until I was ready, financially and mentally, to pursue other things. My dreams, in particular, and we all know how those are turning out.

Still, as Memorial Day approaches and the notifications from the Army become more frequent, I can't help but feel some guilt in not being a soldier anymore. There are friends I will remember this upcoming holiday, though I remember them always, and the burden of not being there when they were killed is sometimes too much to bear. Maybe I came back to North Carolina to fulfill some fucked up destiny. I, with my good-for-nothing left foot and bad attitude, just might wind up back in uniform. Half-unwillingly, of course, but who knows? I have a tendency to leave things unfinished, and maybe this is one of them. This is all, of course, afterthought to me. But then again, it's probably even less to you.

Still, I'd rather be an afterthought buried next to my friends and fellow paratroopers than "that guy" you sometimes hang out with.

Options

What a day again. My current uncharacteristic streak of having good days is somehow continuing under its own power. I don't know why, and I don't really care. Well, I don't really care as long as it holds up, that is.

Last year, I wrote a little blog about how my employment options were nil. No matter what I did, I couldn't get a significant job to save my fucking life. My resume is narrowly tailored to two things: being a filmmaker; being a soldier. Yes, the irony is that, shortly after I wrote it, I landed a job as an engineering and marketing assistant, but that's not the point. I couldn't get a job that I actually wanted.

Somehow, and once again I don't care how, all of that has changed within the last week or so. The irony here is that I'm already immensely busy without these new occupational developments. Followers of this blog know that I am busy producing a short film, pre-producing another short film, writing several scripts, and traveling a lot. But... now I have a job offer in lovely Reno, Nevada, to possibly work for a television commercial company (they do the NBA commercials for MTV, and have just landed an OLN network development deal). I also have fishing line and bait in the water for a possible (but, admittedly, unlikely at this point) job in Wilmington, North Carolina. And there's the persistent option, option three: Los Angeles.

Make no mistake, my ultimate goal is still Southern California with all of the bad traffic and crazy people, but the first two options certainly will help me get to California much more effectively (but not more quickly).

Anyway, I don't want to sound as though I'm bragging, because I'm not. I'm just a little surprised at my good fortune this year. Of course, last year more than made up for my lack of bad luck, but I'm moving on.

I guess I'm going to see what happens.