God, moviemaking is a gigantic pain in the ass. I went to college for it, so I kind of knew what I was getting into, but I’ve never really attempted anything of the magnitude that I’m attempting now. I’ve also got this record going into production this week, so I’ve got the art and mixing to deal with, and I’ve been doing some shit for my wife’s office, which has officially made me uh…what’s the word? Crazed? Frazzled? Something like that. Today, I have to go to work at the bar. My schedule for the next few days is as follows. Work Thursday, work Friday, Friday night rehearsal, work Saturday, Sunday morning first day of principal photography, work Sunday night, shoot Monday morning, then work Tuesday morning Wednesday morning Thursday morning and Friday, Saturday shooting, Sunday shooting, Sunday night work Monday morning shooting….and it goes on and on like this. Fuck.
Also, just got a call that my kid has already bitten twice at the daycare. One more and he gets sent home, which is real bad, since we’re both working all day. I have no idea what to do about that…Grown up-ness is hard, man. That’s why we’re all dorks. We’re out of our element all the time.
I actually can’t tell which part of my life is the kid part and which part is the grownup part. Well, the having a baby part is grownup. The working at the bar though? Kid or grownup? I dunno…All the various art projects that stress me out so much that going to work is almost a relief, is that grownup stuff that runs my life or kids stuff that helps me create and escape? I dunno. Internet porn? Officially adult, but really, kind of adolescent in nature, innit? I have almost no cut and dry line between my stress and my leisure. It’s making me crazy, but you know what? I think it’s better than when my stress was my job and my leisure was just sitting around. Because that’s fucking dull, and the only thing that happens then is that your job consumes your life and your stress consumes your few precious moments of free time and you sit there miserable, just refreshing your email, whacking off, watching tv, drinking a beer, smoking weed, playing video games, whatever, just thinking “man, I gotta go back to that fucking place tomorrow and it SUCKS!!!!!!!” and that’s NO fucking fun, man. No thanks. I’ll take the perma-stress, I guess, because it helps put everything in perspective.
Wow, I actually feel better after writing this. Thanks, dogs of war, for listening.
The two things on this earth that make me the saddest are lost pet signs and old delivery guys. Lost pet signs make me picture worried, crying kids, parents who feel absolutely horrible and scared lonely pets. The whole thing just makes me so incredibly sad.
Old man delivery guys…man, fuck. I order pizzas a lot. I also live on the third floor. When the guy comes up with a 2 liter of coke (which all pizzas in Chicago come with, for some reason. I don’t drink soda at all and I’ve got about seventeen 2 liters in my kitchen because they’re the pizza delivery equivalent of tortilla chips at Mexican restaurants) and he’s in his seventies, oh fuck me. It’s heart breaking. Pizza delivery is a job for a sixteen to nineteen year old guy. It’s a rad job. You take your shitty car out, play your music, smoke pot, maybe pick up your girlfriend and get a handjob (if she’s cool) and generally cruise around your town taking it all in.
When you’re seventy, however, not the same. You lived your life wrong. While all your peers are chilling out in retirement or death, you’re stuck lugging 2 liters and pepperoni and mushroom calzones up 3 flights of stairs to a bunch of stoned college guys. Your back hurts. You can’t even eat pizza or drink soda anymore. No one you work with was even born when you got to the point where you no longer cared about pop culture…much less remembers your favorite Gershwin song, much less remembers Gershwin at all…It’s sad. Okay, now I feel worse again. AND I gotta go to work.