Prelude to a Big Break

For part one – which I thoroughly enjoyed writing – click here.

To recap (very briefly), there’s nothing wrong with saying you’d do certain things differently. You move through life, you learn lessons (constantly) and you try and grow through these experiences. That’s the way to do things. Otherwise, I’d still be crapping in a diaper. Maybe I’m overextending with that analogy, but “overextension” and “brief summation” go nicely together. Like Ginger Beer and Gosling’s. Or Jameson’s and steely resolve.

If I were the type to sit down and write an outline for a post like this, we’d be able to follow some sort of natural pattern. (Not my style. I’m working on it.) So instead, I’m going to vacillate between industry speak and idiosyncratic semi-inside jokes that I will enjoy much more than you. At least I’m honest. Let’s get this out of the way first:

Things I’d do exactly the same.

The drive down to California. It was perfect for what it was; a functional drive across the United States of America for a very reasonable price ($430-ish). When I drive the Smart Car back this summer (so I can lease-bust it and buy a 1976 BMW from a hippie in the Hollywood Hills) I’m going to take a little bit more time; go to some baseball games; find the coast; visit people and release between 7 to 10 videos where my weight will move in the opposite direction of your typical Survivor contestant. It’s going to be amazing. There’s only one seat available for a co-pilot. Tim Grant has right of first refusal.

Signing with SMS Talent. There are a thousand reasons why they’re a great agency pour moi. Since this piece is projecting out towards 2,000 words, I’ll give you one: There are a ton of things about Hollywood that are unfamiliar. Unfamiliar when you’re thousands of kilometers and three time zones away from your family is tough. SMS gives you that familial feeling. They seem to genuinely care about shaping my career the right way. Neat choice by me. Neat choice. (Friends of mine will attest to regular deployment of the word “neat” in my vocal repertoire. Don’t think I’m being sarcastic.)

Writing Prelude to a Big Break. Look… I don’t like everything I’ve written for this blog. Can you imagine me trying to pull the “brooding and mysterious” persona off around a group of people I know now? It’d last for 3 minutes before somebody came back with, “Sorry that you cried so hard after not landing Melrose… that must have been tough.” Having a site like this is the 21st century version of a portrait. Steadily shifting and changing. It’s thoughtful and honest, reactionary and overly emotional all the time. Again, I don’t like everything about it, but I wouldn’t change anything.

Taking this photo:

Vince Carter once said that the best alleyoop dunks happen because of bad passes; the bad pass raises the ceiling for the dunk because Vince would have to improvise. (Here’s my favorite.) Well, guess what? The best mustaches are bad mustaches. They hit the whole spectrum. They really do.

Oh… And just a quick sports aside: Holly Mackenzie recently wrote a piece about Vince Carter and Raptor fans with the basic premise being, it’s time to let bygones be bygones. Holly, please imagine the following scenario: A stranger approaches you on the street and asks you for five bucks. After an initial decline, this individual pleads and persists; they detail the stinging effects of a global recession, coupled with mounting legal costs stemming from an unfortunate car accident they’re being forced to defend in court. After some consideration you dig into your pockets and find a five-spot. Upon accepting your charity this person – without any type of identifiable provocation – kicks you in the shin as hard as humanly possible. While you’re on the ground in stunned disbelief, they show you a Hermes wallet stuffed with several hundred dollars. Then they take your five-dollar bill and use it to buy cigarettes for a teenager.

Some people aren’t worth forgiving. Ask any Red Sox fan how they feel about the standing ovation they gave Clemens in Fenway during the tail end of his first run with Yankees. Vince Carter is a morally bankrupt, narcissistic, detached dinkweed. I will never forgive him. Ever.

(Sorry… Back to the post.)

Things I’d do differently.

I’d bring more sweaters. (Again… my apologies. Still distracted. Though, it does get chilly at night.)

I’d buy new running shoes before I came here. Not joking anymore. I actually can’t think of anything substantial. And my knees, calves and ankles hurt a lot. My sneakers have more mileage than a Turbo Diesel Mercedes from the early 80’s at this point. Not the smartest move by me.

(One more try.)

I’d have booked a job. At the risk of stepping on the toes of my “The Hollywood move by the numbers” piece that will follow late tonight or tomorrow, it warrants mentioning that I haven’t received (or earned) a pay cheque since early September. For a 28-year old man that’s just not acceptable under any circumstances whatsoever.

I’m working on it. Hard. Really, really hard.

Don’t be surprised if you see me on the job in Toronto this December. I’m going to be everywhere.

The cupboard seeming a little bare in the second stanza of the piece isn’t intentional. Overall, this has been a glowingly positive time for me. Even the negatives – most of which don’t need mentioning – have an inherent lesson that I’m using to my advantage.

If this were a book, I’d have a crappy ending on my hands. But it isn’t a book. It’s a story… and it’s just beginning.