What I Really Want to Be When I Grow Up

So I meet this girl in a bar.

Well actually I've met this girl before. We shared a class together. I sensed her competition then, but found out she was just a Networker. Hobnobbing with everyone she thinks might have a glimmer of hope of aiding and abetting her dreams. Part of the Landmark Forum. It's akin to L. Ron's Empire. She invited me to an orientation session thinking I was of the right stuff. What my brain computed at the end of it was

CULT

Yes, I see that everyone else has a glass! As much as that Kool-Aid looks very tasty, I'm not thirsty, thanks.

So years pass. And this same girl walks into my bar - the once a week engagement I have at the Cheer's Equivalent. She's with a date. During the date she is coquettish. She whips out the wiles. They don't sit across from each other; they sit side by side. Time elapses and she begins to cry. Not quite Hollywood crocodile tears. That kind doesn't produce a facial bloating or extreme redness in and around fine features. Hollywood tears are a beautiful, lush, dropper-fed saline compound that is nothing short of haute couture accoutrement when plummeting down the right cheek of Cher.

They're not real though. If they were I think I'd cry in public more often.

After some time of waiting for the moment to pass, waiting for the swelling to reduce, I reengaged this girl by using the tactics learned from my brother, the one that Fatty most resembles in nature - generally being an annoying twat, but at least a funny one. And she tells me she's fallen in love with me.

People fall in love with me all the time. It's a curse.

I think it happens because I genuinely care about people. And I listen. And I make fun, while telling them exactly what I think. And I dispense wedgies. But mostly it's because I pour drinks. I mean, who's kidding who?

As she's about to leave she asks me if I'm still in the business. Film. I tell her that the business leaves me cold. I told her I got into it thinking there was a day coming soon where finally the business of race was irrelevant. I half stuck with it for about 5 years, but discovered it was getting worse. Further racial compartmentalising which may or may not have been due to homeland security threats were informing the parts written and subsequently the parts offered. I'm not speaking of my homeland. My own homeland is secure, thank you. It's the one south of me which is the Great Dictator, the one we look lovingly up to. The Big Daddy who sets the precedents and takes chances, pushes proverbial envelopes by squirting inordinate amounts of gall.

These have been the parts that have been offered to me. In no particular order:
Asian Shopkeeper
Asian Reporter #1
Asian Reporter #2
Kung-Fu expert
Doctor So-and-So
Pharmacist

I think the only reason I haven't been asked for the role of Pianist is because my hands are bigger than some men.

The Comrade: There's nothing for me. Out of 200 scripts there is one that actually makes me think. I want to do something that changes the world. I'm sick of the constant pandering to the lowest common denominator.
The Girl: I want you to write something with me and my writing partner.

Fatty, the love of my life and joy of my loins, took me out to a wonderful restaurant a few weeks ago. The French name literally translates to an amusement for the mouth. I don't know how amused my mouth was, but it was more than a little delighted with the massive plate of seared foie gras brought to the table. This dish would certainly be one component of my last meal scenario... if given a choice.

During dinner Fatty and I made a pact. Individually or collectively, we would accept offers of any hair-brained scheme that came our way.

We shook on it.

The Comrade: I've never done it before, but sure, I'll write a movie with you and your writing partner.

Which took 2 sessions.
Which was great fun.

These two girls who became my writing partners met at the L. Ron Look-a-like, but without the alien infestation. The organisation's greatest espousement is the actualising of one's dreams. These two girls became Power Women to me. They get shit done.

Like...
Securing locations for nothing.
Rounding up 40 cast and crew who worked either pro bono or for a small honourarium.
And did it tirelessly.
Getting all the equipment and consumables needed for making this short film a reality.
Shooting in public without a permit and not getting arrested.

Without...
Any shame of asking.
Any fear of the answer "no".
Feeling responsible for everyone else's satisfaction.

It was in the can by 1:30am Monday morning.
They even had a bottle of bubbly
Which was cracked directly after the last shot.
They did it right.

I was hungover when I went for rehearsal.
It was Ack's birthday weekend.
But, I learned my lines.
It was the least I could do.

Throughout the process my body was retaliating. For years I thought I didn't want to be in the business because there were no parts for me. But the truth is I don't like the medium. I find having a marker snapped 2" from my face rather frightening. I find having a bunch of cooly dressed young sycophants telling me how wonderful or how great or how beautiful I was in that last shot really rather irritating and mostly unbelievable.

And that's it.

Film is the business of induced reality.
It's not real.
It's pretending.
It's nothing I'm about.

Random Person: Do that thing again.
The Comrade: What thing?
Random Person: You know. That thing you just did. It was fucking hilarious.
The Comrade: I can't. The moment's gone.

Last week I helped Fatty make a gift for his 90 year old grandfather. It was to be a story told in 4x6" photographic allegory. I shot it in black and white digital, had it processed online at the very convenient and most impressive Vistek - a mere 3 blocks away for photo finished pick up. It's all to be arranged in an acid free flip book adhered with old photo corners. We're employing adhesive UHU, sticking little captions under most of the 90 commemorative shots. Thus far, this process has been sent through 6 different computer applications. Though much time has been massaged upon it, it has been nothing short of a labour of love.

Last night at my once a week night of employ at the Cheer's Equivalent Bar I felt shy. It happens sometimes. There are some times that I like to retreat into a bit of a shell. I like to do a bit of behind the scenes orchestrating. Sometimes I don't like fronting. But I eventually warmed up a bit. Naturally. Something you don't have the luxury of in front of a 35mm lens.

I'm happy to be doing little projects that don't make my wallet any heavier, but do make my heart fuller.

I went out for lunch with my brother Vince today.

Vince: The problem with kids today is they have no direction. They don't want to do anything except hang out with friends and play video games.

The Comrade: But those are fun things to do.

I was waxing politic on the entire education system in North America and the dangers of sending a child through all the steps a parent thinks a child should go through.

The Comrade: Well, what is he good at and what does love doing?

Languages.

The Comrade: Why isn't he being guided in that direction? Why are you setting your kid up for either middle management or slave cubicle farmer?

In 2 weeks I will be 37 years old. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Not in that sense.

I don't want to be a hypocrite. I believe that parents shouldn't foist their own trajectories or dreams upon their offspring. Each child is an individual but certainly part of the Collective. The answer to the question: What do you do for a living? should be I do happy for a living.

Jimmy, my darling brother-in-law who is married to my sister whom I can't even look at right now because she's too appalling at the moment, once said: Love ain't gonna pay the bills.

It's a hair-brained scheme, but I'm going to find a way for it to.