Rubbin' Elbows? More like Slammin' Shoulders!

My life has been one big fantasy as of late. One long string of wish-fulfillment. Goal-setting is a helluva drug.

So about a month back I got a call from Nancy Mosser to come be an extra on the film OUT OF THE FURNACE. An actual phone call, while I was reading the e-mail they sent in tandem. Usually, when you sign up with Nancy Mosser, you'll get notifications about what's available and then you call them. Well, this time, they called me. From about that moment forward I've been giddy as a schoolchild and for good reason.

Looked up the movie for that link above and now I'm distracted reading about all the other people that worked on it. And now I am editing my own IMDB page instead of finishing this entry...

Anyhoo...

Day 1

Arrive on set.

Within 10 minutes all my dreams begin coming true. Exactly like how they occur in movies and fantasies the globe over.

I can plainly see a line, so like a good little sheep I walk over and insert myself in it. A crew member asks me if I've signed in yet and when I respond that I have not, he tells me to go to another line. I was in line for wardrobe. I go over to the sign-in line which is about 20-30 people long and before I've settled into my spot, another crew member asks "Has he seen wardrobe?" and pulls me out of the line. I politely inform that I've yet to sign in and am quickly poo-poo'd off. They pull me out of the line and bring me back over to wardrobe. I'm wearing a wifebeater and the boys and girls of the wardrobe department are making no attempts at subtlety. Within seconds they begin undressing me. A gentlemen that I'm going to assume was gay, asks me with a signature slight lisp "Can we use these muscles?" Nodding and pulling my shirt off of me before I've had time to respond. Certainly, I say. That's what they're there for. They hand me another wifebeater and after I've put it and the other items handed to me on, two of them (a male and a female, both seemingly quite eager for this part of the process) begin "juicing" me up. A process involving rubbing me down with dirty rags.

Inside of a minute I am wearing different clothes and there is a woman purposefully applying product to my beard and twisting it into fours. I stare back over at the other extras, who are all staring at me like a hungry puppy stares up at the dinner table.

As I'm whisked away to go sign in, I can hear my fellows complaining. "But it's so hot! That guy gets to wear a wifebeater!" The scene we're were there for is set in November, so everyone else is wearing long-sleeves and pants, regardless of it being 70/80 degrees out.

I get signed in and go back over to the extras line.

"Sweet beard, dude."
"You're ripped, dude."

Thank you, thank you.

Not even a half an hour on site and already I feel like a doted-on celebrity.

After more beard/muscle praise we're all corralled to a school bus that will take us to the actual location that we're shooting at.

Sometime around there we're informed of the rules. We were literally told not to address celebrities. "Don't ask for pictures, don't ask for autographs." The caste system began asserting itself.

I would detail the place we went to, but as the movie has yet to come out, I don't want to ruin anything for you, so instead, I'll speak generally.

We were there to be spectators for two underground fights. One between two actors I'd not heard of prior. And another between Casey Affleck and one of the guys from the previous fight.

The two stunt guys were cool as fuck and keen to eye me up as I mirrored their stretching routine. This was the beginning of the shoot and therefore the beginning of 15 hours days and balancing shooting with my day job. My fitness was beginning its decline. Regardless, I was still decently jacked and receiving no shortage of confirmation of that. "Haha, so are you one of the fighters?" and many variations of that contributed to what was one of the longest Ego-stroking sessions of my life. In between takes my fellow extras would ask for fitness tips or forcefully tell me of their routines/diets. Shortly thereafter, the crew began joining in. Crew would walk me away and introduce me to other crew. Everyone shook my hand, looked me in the eye, told me their name and asked me for mine. Handshakes were firm and compliments were flowing like water.

Now despite our stark direction from the crew earlier, one of the ADs granted me exception. Everyone was told not to touch the actors, or to get too close or to do anything like Mary Tyler Moore tugging on her ear. "If we see you doing something to stand out on camera, you will be asked to leave." Regardless, T.Coe, whom I later came to affectionately refer to as "Coach" (the moniker bestowed upon him by the crew), leaned in and gave me special direction.

"Hey. You're doing great. Have you acted before?"

Indeed.
"It shows."
Thanks.
"Hey, don't be afraid to get in there. Don't be afraid to touch them. Get a lil crazy."

Again, I'd detail how I went crazy, but I'd rather you wait and see on the big screen. This is, after all, how we get paid and how I hope to be paid in the future.

Well after the first take wherein I "got crazy" the extras near me started doing the same. After cut was called, Coach came over and bluntly scolded "NOT you guys, okay? Him." Boy I was starting to feel like a snotty little shit at this point, and indeed I could feel a disconnect forming between me and my fellow extras.

I was the privileged guy. The special case. The exception. They were the faceless horde.

Sorry my friends, but we all get our due and this one was mine.

After a few takes, the energy was beginning to wear off of everyone whereas I kept resetting and giving 100%. It did not go unnoticed. After this first day, we switched around a bit. People that were across the way on day one eagerly offered, "Great energy, man." "Yeah, you really set the bar."

NOW THAT IS SOME PRAISE I CAN HANDLE.

Beard/muscles praise is nice, but.... it's just a beard, you know? This, this was something I was doing.

After that "Great energy." became the new go-to compliment that I'd receive and eventually lose feeling for due to semantic saturation.

We took breaks to eat and there the hierarchy became even more evident.

Now, I can't remember if it was that first day or the next as all the days blended together, running on 4 hours of sleep or less, but at some point, again when energy was waning, people were settling into modes of psyching themselves up between takes.

In between one take, Casey dropped to the ground and pounded out a couple of grueling pushups. Obviously to give himself a little pump and get his head in the game. Well when it looked like he wasn't even gonna reach ten before standing back up I dropped to the dirt and started bangin' some out myself. Heads snapped toward me. I had crested ten and was onto twenty in under a few seconds. My form was borderline plyometric as I was coming several inches up off the ground each time. The moment got the better of me and I screamed (what is fast becoming a signature move of mine) a fratboy "Woooo!" and followed with "Let's go Affleck! Don't quit!"

Literally the entire group turned their heads my way.

I stood back up and bounced in place a bit. I was pumped. Fired up. Lovin' and livin' life. My actions had not yet fully registered with me. I could see something moving through the crowd like a wave does at a stadium. Unrest. When it made it's way to me it was the extras flanking me on either side.

"Yer fucked man."
What?
"Yeah they're gonna kick you off set. Everyone was watching you."
But it was in between takes!
"Yeah but that guy *gesticulates toward fight choreographer* looked over here and he HATED it."

Oh?

"Yeah and Casey looked perturbed too."

Really?

So I waited a few takes and then walked over to Casey and the Fight Choreographer. As I was approaching, the looks on the faces of the crew said "What the fuck? First you screamed at him, now you're walking toward him? Do you have a death wish, kid?"

I poke Affleck. He turns around.

Hey dude, did I fuck with your concentration or anything?
"Not at all man, I really appreciate the energy."

See! That's what I thought! We're here, we're supposed to full of testosterone and meth and I know everyone's tired. I was just tryin to keep morale up.

The Fight Choreographer chimes in... "Yeah, yer fine, man."

I walk back over to my spot, Big Dick Swingin'.

Balls just draggin' on the floor.

Yeah, that's what I thought.
We do some more takes and we wrap for the night, 15 hours later. I sleep for like 6 minutes and then head back out.

The next day is when things intensified.

Day 2

The wedge between me and my fellows was becoming more and more apparent.

Lots more praise was received and people were still pulling me away to introduce me to people. People knew my name before I knew their's. The crew and the stand-ins had taken a liking to me and would sneak me food and or grant me access to the swanky bathrooms. The jealously was plain on the other extra's faces. But fuck 'em, you know? Be happy for me you jealous little shit. Snot my fault you never lifted weights. Not my fault you still insist on bringin a thin strip of metal to your face daily. This is my time to shine, let me have it.

And a good group of them did. Indeed we all added each other on facebook and would talk and chat in between takes and at meals.

One of my favorite memories of this day (and it was filled with many) was when one of the men cast as one of the Slavics came up to me, shook my hand and told me I was his hero.

For what?

"Dude, you were in a push-up contest with Casey Affleck. Yer the man. We're supposed to be looking certain ways, but every take I can't take my eyes off of you. I kept looking over to see what you'd do. Yer an animal, man."

Wow. Set filled with celebs and I'm your hero? Thanks, guy.

So we got to talking about how we regarded the celebs and such and then the topic of Willem Dafoe came up..

Willem Dafoe is a goddamned force to be reckoned with. A sight to behold. The man is a samurai. Intense, focused and unfaltering. When crew would be scrambling to remember marks or subtle wardrobe changes Willem would always speak up, and from one fellow observer to another, he was always right. The man was the only other person on set besides me that was soaking in as much as I was. He was completely aware, completely present. I started this project expecting to meet Christian Bale, and wondering how starstruck I'd be, I left it with an immense and newfound respect for Willem Dafoe. The man was truly an inspiration. And from the way he creepily (Willem Dafoe is creepy as fuck. Nice guy, but gives me the willies) stared at me between takes he could sense my energy too. At first I thought he was gay and maybe just into me, but as the day wore on I realized something we all realize in middle school or sooner. You can't see that someone is staring at you unless you are staring back at them, too. He was essentially acknowledging my presence and keeping watch on me. As I was doing to him. It was a powerful moment in my life. I could notice him looking my way whenever he and I would reset. Everyone else kinda never hit the highs we did and also sorta stayed zazzed up in between takes. Willem and I, samurais that we are, hit our marks and then returned to our spots to await the call of action again. The more I watched him watching me, the more respect I gained for him and myself. 

The dude that told me I was his hero, claimed Willem was an asshole.

"He's an asshole. They'd already called cut and he still looked us in the eye and yelled at us."

What'd he yell?

"Get out of the way, you fucking zombies!"

Hmm. Weird. Is he method?

"Method?"

How are you supposed to feel towards his character on camera?

"We're not supposed to like him."

So you're supposed to regard him with disgust and scorn, right?

"Yeah."
And now that he said that to you, how do you feel about him?
"..."

Which means now, when you're on camera your genuine looks of disdain will shine through. No acting necessary.

"..."
Willem Dafoe just got inside your head. He did your job for you. You're a fucking pawn to him.

My broner raged on.

We eventually wrapped for lunch and what happened then is the only time I'm really comfortable name-dropping.

I FUCKING PLAYED SOCCER WITH WOODY FUCKING HARRELSON. FUTBOL WITH A MAN THAT PLANTED CANNABIS ON THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN.

We'd just finished eating, when I noticed a pink ball being tossed around in the distance, giant manpuppy that I am, I jogged toward it. "What are they playing?", I inquired as I passed staggered groups.
"Kickball."

KICKBALL?! I increased my pace, I was now at an 85% sprint.

KICKBALL FUCK YEAH.

As I drew closer I could see that it was a soccer ball, not a dodgeball. I peeled off my shirt and shoes and began rolling up my jeans on the sidelines.

"That's Woody Harrelson out there. You can't go out there." A spectating extra offered.

Watch me.

I get out there, and I'm stuffed from lunch, tired from the long days/no sleep but something deeper and greater than my flesh keeps propelling me forward. When will I ever have this opportunity again? The super cute Brenna Lee Roth, cheered me on from the sidelines. This was real life. This was my real life.

"Let's go, beard!" she called after me as I chased the ball as if my life depended on it. I haven't played footy in years and barely knew what teams were, but we had a fucking blast. At one point the ball wooshed past Woody and I came in hot chasing it,
BOOM
I slam in to his shoulder. Reality turns to bullet-time. We're both shirtless and slightly sweaty and as parts of his skin stickily pull away from mine and other parts effortlessly slide past, I look him right in the eye, and what I saw there very well may be my favorite memory from the entire shoot. The look on his face was one of shock mixed with boyish pleasure. Pleasantly surprised. His face said "Thank you. Fucking thank you for not treating me like a little prissy pansy like everyone else on set does." At least that was my interpretation. He coulda been thinking, "YOU DARE SHOULDER WOODY HARRELSON?!" either way, next play he made a bee-line for me and shouldered into me. Wow. Either Woody Harrelson is playing with me or mad at me. Either way, WHO CARES, I AM PLAYING A GAME WITH AN A-LIST CELEB.

We got called back to set and as I'm unrolling my jeans and putting back on my shoes, someone addresses me,

"The balls on you, sir. I wish I coulda just ran out there like that. Weren't you scared?"

No. What's the worst that could happen? He'd just point and shake his head and I would've obediently turned around. "Any shot not taken is a goal not scored."

I've always taken that saying to heart.

Once we got back to set, the buzz of my actions made its way back to me a couple of times and sustained the high I'd had from the very moment they pulled me out of line.

I was standing next to a dude named Eliot and he totally ruined my attempts at staying calm in between takes. He and I were cracking each other up left and right and even some of the people around us. Funny dude and we both hope to work together in the future.

During a meal break I also accomplished something nearly as memorable as pushups with Affleck and soccer with Woody. The moment I perceived the hierarchical breakdown I desired to shatter it. And shatter it I did. I did exactly what I wanted. It was literally like a scene out of a movie. Extras on one side of the tent, crew/celebs on the other. Middle table vacant. You know exactly where I set my tray. Right at the head of that middle table. And just like I wanted and just like you'd want, representatives from each group began congregating on me. "You played soccer with Woody Harrelson!" I know man, I know. We sat and ate and chatted until it was time to shoot again.

Toward the end of one of my other personal favorite highlights began occurring. The crew and specific members of the crew at that, began shaking my hand and complimenting my work. I'd died and gone to heaven. "Great energy." "Pleasure working with you." Glad-handing and dick-sucking were in no short supply.

I fully expected that to be the last day of shooting, but instead in keeping with it being a fantasy experience, I was asked to come back the next day.

In between takes I continued to joke with Eliot and in between scenes I continued to flirt with Brenna. Interesting girl. Little troublemaker. A real firecracker. Hung out in the extras tent, encouraged bad behavior. My kinda gal.

Days 3 and 4

The beginning of day 3 we shot some scenes in a Buick and I became infamous for my Jamie impression. Jamie was the AD and the most stereotypical British AD ever. He spoke in an even disaffected tone but peppered everything with properly pronounced swearwords that seemed somehow simultaneously elegant yet extra laughable in his accent. So most of this day was driving back and forth and slaying my fellow extras with my impression. Twice, not once, but TWICE I'd accidentally fooled a crew girl. "Wait, when did he say that?" He didn't, that was Josh. "He literally sounds exactly like him." If I ever work with him again, I'll be sure to zing 'im.

After we wrapped the Buick scene, they walked us way the fuck back in the cut and left us there. Informing us that they'd call us when they needed us. So after about 2 hours in the COMPLETELY dark woods, alone, we began growing restless. Somebody played some tunes with their phone and eventually a pipe was lit and passed around. Most stuff was done, and besides I wanted the memory for posterity. I took as many hits as the circle allowed and got nice and high realizing the beauty of being paid to hang out on quads and smoke weed in the woods. There will be few moments in my life that simplistically beautiful. Life was literally perfect at that point. The perfect end to a perfect experience. I also got smacked with an unexpected life lesson. The dude that was passing around the weed was a longhaired, tattooed, sunburned ginger answering to the name of "Red". I'd written Red off as a good ol' boy and largely resolved myself to treat him with professional courtesy, nothing more. Well after he pulled out ganja he skyrocketed up in my book and then after we were high and got into talking, he brought up ancient aliens and lost civilizations and such. Here is this guy that I wrote off as some dumb hick and now here I am smoking his herbs and engaged in interesting conversation with him. Boy was my face....... red. That'll show you, Vish, you cocky, elitist sunuvvabitch. You looked down on him and now you realize he's into all the same shit as you. I felt bad, as I rightfully should, but still very thankful for the harsh lesson. It's one I won't soon forget.

So essentially at the end of Day 3 and then all of Day 4, I/we got paid to have a sleepover in the woods. We got paid to smoke tree and drive quads. For 2 days, that was my life. Get a ride with Jeff to Raccoon State Park and then sit in the dark puffing flowers, talking about shit and occasionally riding quads. Unbelievable.

Thank you Life. Thank you Universe. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Allah. Thank you Tom Cruise. Thank you Mom. Thank you Dad. Thank you Me.

Also, in addition to getting paid to poke smot and hang out in the woods, Days 3 and 4 consisted of getting paid to eat things like this:

On day 3 before shooting the buick scene I gave my phone to a crew girl and she snapped some pics for me. If anyone from the production is reading this and has a problem with these, please, let me know right away, I'll take them right down. As they don't give anything about the plot away, I see no harm in sharing.

My butts was a dirty butts.

This is where she took over:

Each of those lights was about the size of a recliner.

I loved the juxtaposition of the new equipment and old building/nature.

White tent to the right in the background is where the extras were held.

This pic makes it look like these guys were just sitting around, but truth is the crew hummed around set like bees or ants.

In between Days 3 and 4, a buddy of mine came into some quality cannabis and was kind enough it to deliver to me at work. I gave him my card and permission to go into my place and he rounded up the cash and made the purchase for me. I'd somehow already just come into free pizza and my buddy Joe had just purchased a six-pack to enjoy out front. So after a text to a fellow stoner, I smoked in the basement, drank a few beers and finished my shift the happiest and most efficient any one has ever finished a shift ever.

Beer was free, pizza was free. Herb was dank and reasonably priced. All brought to me whilst on the clock. That's right, I got paid to drink pizza and eat beer. #Vishlife

And to think, none of this would've been possible without that cowboy-hat-n-chux clad friend of mine (and favorite Betten): Jeff.

Me and Jeff

And no, jackass, it is not "Jeff and I". It would be, if that was a sentence. Like say, "Jeff and I went to the store." Because you wouldn't say "Me went to the store." Well, Cookie Monster would. And maybe the Hulk. But you're not Cookie Monster or Hulk, I am. This is a picture. If it was a picture of just me, I'd caption it as "Me" so saying "Me and Jeff" is applicable here. Class dismissed.

On a completely unrelated note:

This was Uncle Phil's face when I told him that he was Shredder.

8.22.10

It has been quite some time since I've actually sat down and typed out a worthwhile blog entry.

Time to rectify that.

I think part of the reason I've fallen out of blogging regularly (besides acquiring a girlfriend and being surprisingly busy for someone who is unemployed) is because of blogging's tragic flaw: intimacy. Blogging is fun and indeed very therapeutic for me, yet I find it banal. There are some great epiphanies and revelations amidst the blatherings of my day-to-day existence, but the problem is that one needs to sift through the latter to find the former. A task I'm sure few (if any) are willing to do. It is (mainly) for this reason that I don't bother reading other people's blogs. While it does afford me (and others) a great many breakthroughs, it also requires sifting through the trivialities that populate the individual's life. I want my writing and expression to reach as wide an audience as possible, while at the same time remaining true to myself. As such I mainly desire to express myself through fiction and symbolism. And my chosen medium is the compact and complete experience of a feature film. I love writing, and I love stories, but I simply do not have the patience/talent to pen a novel. Furthermore, I gravitate toward the visual arts and see a great deal of meaning in physical transgressions, the descriptions of which in standalone writing come across as tedious and unnecessary. A picture's worth a thousand words, as they say... So while I don't plan to quit online journaling altogether, I do plan on granting it less priority in my creative endeavors. It's time to move toward these goals I claim to have.

A few years back, due to an unfortunate combination of two loophole laws, I lost my license for a period of two years. Those 2 years officially ended today. Approximately 2 years ago I was pulled over for speeding (admittedly guilty) 70 or 75 in a 55mph zone in Ohio. Ohio has a loophole law that any speeding ticket at or above 60mph automatically garners a reckless driving charge as well. This made my ticket exceed $400.00. Shortly thereafter I was pulled over back in PA, for something quite routine/trivial (rolling through a stop sign or the like) and I was affronted with the wonderful news that I was driving on a suspended license.

"Um, no. It's right here." I said to the officer.

He went on to inform me that PA has its own loophole law. Any driver with an outstanding out-of-state traffic ticket totalling $400.00 or more automatically has their license suspended in the state of Pennsylvania. Wonderful. So technically I was driving on a suspended license. This cause my license to be suspended for a full year.

Right around this time my parents were amid moving to Los Alamos, New Mexico and I had just secured a place on Neville Island. A place as secluded as it sounds. One day, after 3 days of not eating, the hunger gripped me and I attempted to make it to the market for sustenance. Not but 30 feet after I pulled out was I pulled over and given an additional year for driving on a suspended license.

"Why drive on a suspended license, dummy?" You may ask. "Why not have a friend or family member help you out?"

Well at the time, my parents were in New Mexico, my sister and I were not on good terms (foreshadowing), my girlfriend didn't have her license and my best friend Kevin lived quite a ways away.

"Why not walk? Or bus?"

Tried both of those, food went bad before I could get it home. Again, like I said, I was rather distant from anything other than industrial parks, housing and factories. Even so it was a poor decision, though I've allowed myself to excuse it due to being delirious from starvation.

Also around this time my sister totalled her car and was in desperate need of one. Being a nice fella this seemed like no-brainer. Why have my car sit out in front of my place taunting me and gathering dust when it could go to good use and help my sister? So I let her borrow it.

That was about 2 years ago. Much has transpired since then. I've known I was eligible to get my license back on 8.22.2010 (today) for well over a year, and as such so has everyone else in my life. I have been looking forward to this day more than anything. These past two years have been quite stressful. I took them in stride and stayed as positive as I could so as not to wallow in my sadness and let it eat me up during them, but the truth of the matter is they fucking sucked. Horribly. Imagine being 25 years old and not being able to provide for yourself? To have your well-being dependent on the willingness of others. What a nightmare. It was like being 16 again. Except not being in school. And expected to be support yourself. And not having the privilege of living with your parents. Again, I kept my head up and did the best I could, but inside I was slowly being chipped away.

A month or so back, as the date was drawing near, my sister came to me with a proposal. I could have the car back or she could sell it for me and give me half. I don't know how I didn't scoff right then and there. Damn nice-guy attitude. It only took a day or two for me to realize that I needed the car to secure a job and start paying back these debts I've accrued over the years and that even if I could do it without a car why would I give her half the money for selling my car? I told her plainly and simply, no thank you. I will just take the car back.

Enter the biggest, brattiest hissy-fit if I've ever seen in my life. Real or fiction. Warning: what you're about to read may taint your opinion of the entire human race. Or at the very least my sister and my immediate family.

With just a week or 2 remaining I get an e-mail (Yes, an e-mail. Not a visit. Not a phone call. Not even a text message. AN E-MAIL.) from her--- you know what? I'm not even going to bother recounting/summarizing it, I'll just copy and paste. I'll add my own parentheticals in brackets in green.

"Josh-

I need to make sure you understand this situation before I react… [Meaning reacting to my choice to just take the car back instead of selling it.]

First of all, when do you plan on taking the car? You say you need it to get a job but what about me? [At the time of reading this, I was homeless, jobless and still licenseless. But yes, let's think of others first. lol'd for quite a while] I HAVE a job and that car is my only means of getting to it. As much as I want to sell the car, it’s even more important for me to clarify to you that I planned on driving it until the beginning of December when I leave for NM, regardless of what we do with it after that. Are you even planning on giving me notice or do I just get shit on? I need time to make arrangements, and you should’ve expected that. [No bitch, you should've expected that. I'm already doing you a favor.]

I gave you the choice about the car because I wanted to give you the benefit of making the right decision. [Again, instert me lol'ing for like 2 hours] But the truth is, I think I deserve that car. [I am livid/in stitches at this point. The sheer audacity...] I know that when you loaned it to me over three years ago, it was supposed to be temporary, but you did tell me I could KEEP the car like a year and a half ago. I told you I was going to put money into it, which I have do a lot of, but only if I was going to keep it. You said you didn’t want it. And do you know how I found out that you were even interested in the car? [This was her one day waiting until I was high as a kite to just randomly say "This car is mine now." To which I did not even say a single word. I still had a year to go at this point so I saw no need to argue. If this was me transplanting ownership via omission, so be it.] Mom told me. You never even sent one of your fucking text messages to let me know you had changed your mind.

Beyond that, you view this as beneficial to only me. Like you are the only one who’s doing a favor. [OH YES. THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH. WHAT WOULD I HAVE EVER DONE IF I DIDN'T HAVE MY RETARDED FUCKING SISTER TO BEAT MY CAR TO SHIT. COVERING IT IN PITTSBURGH PENGUINS STICKERS, SMOKING CIGARETTES IN IT, AND JUST ALL IN GENERAL KICKING ITS ASS. OH WOE IS ME. WON'T YOU PLEASE HELP ME, KIND AND BENEVOLENT SISTER OF MINE? CAN YOU FIND IT IN YOUR HEART TO GRACE ME WITH YOUR RECKLESS DRIVING AND COMPLETE LACK OF HYGIENE?!] What would you have done with that car over these years? Where would you have stored it? And if it was stored, it would need a new battery and tires right now, and of course there’s inspection, registration, and insurance. I think I’ve helped you out as much as you’ve helped me with this car. Not to mention, all the other helping I’ve done for you since Mom and Dad moved. [Getting me high.] I’m there WHENEVER you need me. [Hahahahaha!] I took off work and drove downtown and paid for gas and parking to go to court dates with you. [She has NEVER, not even ONCE taken me to court. The one time I was stupid enough to try to depend on her she was over an hour late and I had to call a taxi that I certainly did not have the money for.] I have done everything that I could for you. Anything you or Mom has asked of me.

I feel like this could be the perfect opportunity for you to help me out. I NEED the money from that car. Clinton and I have $1900.00 worth of receipts for that car and that’s only the past 2 years. [Maybe you shouldn't have drove it like a goddamn bumper car, you fucking retard.] And that’s only receipts - so just the big parts and without any labor because Clinton and his friends do it. Here’s a chance for us to make some of our money back, AND I offered you half, which I think is more than generous.

But what really pisses me off, is what the fuck are you even going to do with it? WE can’t afford to fix all that it needs to get inspected, how the hell are you? Plus it’ll cost double for you to do it because you will have to take it somewhere and pay for labor. I don’t know if you think I’m lying to you or what, but I told you everything it needs, and we both know it’s not even in the realm of possibility for you to do it. And have you gotten yourself insurance? I bet that’s going to cost you a pretty penny with your record… so seriously!?!? What are you thinking? Why would you pass up an opportunity to pay me back and put a little money in your pocket to take on an investment that you CAN NOT afford?

And what the heck is getting a car going to change things so you can work? You lived in Cory with 10,000 places you could’ve walked to and worked at.

I want you to really think about this and then e-mail me back and we’ll go from there. I don’t want to threaten you, but I’ll tell you right now that it’s going to get very ugly if you go through with this… [Are you fucking kidding me?! Did she just passively-aggressively threaten me if I take my car back? Absolutely unbelievable.]"

I already said most of what I want to say on the matter in my asides, but unfortunately there's more. It didn't stop here...

Now before I actually decided to read that e-mail, I tried my hardest to follow in the footsteps of Buddha and Jesus. At a glance I could see it was ludicrous and was only going to upset me, so I decided not to read it. On the sheer principle of her being difficult about giving my car back to me, I called my support group. I called the two people whose manner of protocol in these type of situations I respect above all others. My Father, and Kevin. Both confirmed what I already knew in my heart. Be nice, be civil, but take care of yourself. Since about March of this year I have been officially homeless, jobless and licenseless, so getting my license/this car back is a precursor for me getting my life back. I had resolved myself to take the car back sometime after the 22nd but to let her use it until then.

Now at some point my curiousty got the better of me and I broke down and read the e-mail. You can imagine my real-time reaction. Pure Rage + Utter Amusement. It was about 10:15 at night or so, and I had been actively sharing this entire ordeal with my girlfriend. I decided that in her unstable state, she was not to be trusted and that I was going to get the few things I had stored at her place back from her, lest she use them to blackmail me in the future. Christie supported this plan and offered to ride me over. The whole car ride over she was excited and itchin' for a fight. Not so much to get into one, but to see one. As she so accurately put it: everybody likes to see that kinda shit. From the outside I can't really blame her. But I told her [and myself] that this was not going to be a confrontation. And that indeed I was going to do everything in my power to prevent a conflict from arising. Lastly, we were not going over there with the express agenda of getting my car back, as I was still to be without a license for around a week and because (against better judgement) I am still a nice person. (Something life seems intent on beating out of me.)

We arrive circa 10:30-10:45 and right as we pull up we watch the lights go out. As I'm walking up to the door I can see the blades of the fan still spinning with steadily decreasing speed. I knock politely. Her boyfriend, Clinton, answers the door.

"What? What are you doin' here, man?"

"Hey buddy, I know it's late. I'm sorry. I just got this e-mail from Taylor and it really upset me. Made me worry about my things. Would you mind if I just grabbed 'em real quick and then took off? Won't take but 2 minutes tops."

"No way, man. It's late. We're in bed. We can do this tomorrow."

"Haha, I understand, man. I'm sorry. But I'm just really not comfortable having anything here--"

He begins trying to shut the door on me.

"You can get them tomorrow." His voice raises, "Now get your foot out of my doorway and get the fuck out of here."

"Clinton, I am going to leave my foot here, because I am not leaving without my stuff--

"Get the fuck out of here!"

"Listen, man. Just calm down, quit raising your voice, quit swearing at me, lemme just---"

"Fuck you! You don't tell me what to do in my own goddamn house! Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!"

*snap*

I now go from 0-60 in negative 2 seconds. All the stuff I've been holding in, breaks free. Comes pouring out, uncontrolled.

"GO GET MY FUCKIN' BOXES, RIGHT FUCKIN' NOW, AND MY GODDAMN KEYS OR I AM GOING TO SMASH YOUR SHIT!" (What that last part means, even I don't know, haha. I was in a rage.)

"Now I am going to call the cops."

"PLEASE DO, MOTHERFUCKER! THE CAR'S IN MY NAME YOU FUCKING RETARD, WE'LL SEE WHO COMES OUT ON TOP!"

I relinquish my foot from the door and proceed to dial the police.

My sister can be heard inside pleading with Clinton, "Please don't call the cops. Please put the phone down, baby. Please hang up." Christie hangs silently in the shadows, I imagine terrified out of her mind. I rarely raise my voice/swear at people as I take receiving said actions very seriously. I try to resolve all matters civilly and calmly, but there comes a time and a place (and a pair of retards) where calm logic does not prevail and brute male force is necessary. I reach the station and calmly profess, "Hello. Yes. I need an officer to come out to help resolve a domestic disturbance. ["Sir, are there any weapons present?"] Oh my no.["The address?"] xxx xxxxxxx avenue. ["Someone is on the way, sir."] Thank you."

Shortly after this, I get a phone call from my mother, who is already amid a full scream at full volume. I peel the phone away from my ear but make out the following:

"JOSHUA! YOU GET AWAY FROM THAT HOUSE RIGHT NOW! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ARE DOING THIS TO ME! IF YOU GO THROUGH WITH THIS YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT NEW MEXICO! YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT YOUR PARENTS! WE WON'T HAVE A SON!"

My calm has returned. A smile cracks across my face. Christie is smacked back to reality by this hilarious phone call as well. Is this the Twilight Zone I say to her? We both have a good laugh. I hang up on her. I ignore a couple more calls from her and then ones from my Father and Youngest Sister as well. Feeling more confused and fortified than ever. I will not leave without getting my car keys. I am of the mindset that you NEVER involve the police. For anything. ESPECIALLY family matters. I have a strong distrust of authority and government institutions. But I could see that reason and force were not enough in this situation and simply had to swallow my pride and call for backup. Few people will ever know how much it pained me to make that call.

The police arrive, Christie and I calmly explain the issue and they go to get Taylor and Clinton's side of the story. They return saying that they are willing to give it back in the morning, sans battery. Apparently they had recently installed a battery and were going to take it out before returning it. Per the Police and Christie and my Heart's advice I decide to try to handle the matter without involving The Fuzz and by keeping it in the family. I call my Father (the rational one of the pair) and discuss the matter. Point out the audacity of her taking the battery when I lent her a working car with a working battery. Suddenly my parents go back to wanting to be hands-off. This is their normal policy until something threatens to embarrass them. Appearance is everything to their generation and if the rest of their family got wind of this dispute it would crush them. I try to handle it myself, and they threaten disowning me to get me to stop. I ask for help in the matter and they tell me to handle it myself.

I am Buddha. I am Jesus. I say to myself. I take a big deep breath and call my sister, knowing (and hoping) that it will go straight to voice mail. It does. I leave her a voice mail telling her if she is willing to leave the battery in that I am willing to look past this and let her hold on to the car until the 22nd, and that like before, until she makes arrangements otherwise and until I am unable to do so, that I will provide her rides to and from work indefinitely, as long as she pays for gas. I hang up. Feeling calm. Centered. Goodly. Shortly thereafter I get a voicemail from her telling me they are definitely taking the battery and that they are going to call in an abandoned vehicle after doing so and that if I somehow manage to get a battery there and installed and have a legal driver drive off in it that they will still call the cops and inform them that an uninsured vehicle is on the road. They paid for the insurance, naturally, and after this debacle, in their twisted little minds saw fit to immediately cancel it.

*sigh*

People just won't let me be nice, will they?

I try so hard. So again, I turn to my Father. I call him, relay the info. He tells me they are idle threats. I assure him they are not. He assures me they are. I request his help in resolving the matter. He denies. I do what was once unthinkable in my mind and face him with an ultimatum. Help me handle this, or allow me to handle it my way. Again he denies. Disheartened, I do what I have to do. I call and leave her another voicemail. Bitch wants to play hardball? I'll show her why I'm credited as its inventor. I tell her if she doesn't leave that battery in and leave me alone and promise not to call the cops that I will ruin her life. I say firstly that If she calls the cops on me, that I will call the cops on her and that she has plenty of paraphernalia in the house, and if that is not enough to scare her I go on to reiterate that I am homeless, jobless, licenseless and apparently familyless. I am a man with nothing to lose. I told her I would call her work as frequently as is humanly possible and complain about her until she was fired.

*bring bring*

My father calls to tell me that they will be leaving the battery in. That's what I thought.

I try my hardest to be nice and kind and fair, but it seems that people just aren't happy unless I punch them in the fucking face and show them who's boss. By no means am I proud of my actions, but I am proud of the results.

Now with this drama at hand two new heads of the hydra appear. Firstly, I need to have proof of insurance on all vehicles registered under my name in the state of Pennsylvania in order to get my license back and secondly, in the aftermath of my mother's reaction I am heavily reconsidering moving to New Mexico. Free school/shelter or not. Other than my Dad and youngest sister (and a few choice cousins) I don't really want to have anything to do with my family any more.  Unfortunately that would mean having to rough it out if I stay here in Pittsburgh. It would be a long hard road back to my feet if I had no one else to rely on except myself and a few friends. Could end up being quite some time before I can achieve my goals. Which have changed/gotten hazy.

I know I definitely want to be involved in filmmaking, and I definitely want to continue learning about Japan and entheogens. But I am less sure of how to make these things happen. I am also not even sure I want to be a father any more.

I have been talking about a lot of really real and visceral things in my life, but let us not forget I am a crazy person. 2012 and my 27th year are drawing ever-closer and their heralding arrival seems to be throwing things into a whirlwind of confusion. I have never thought the world would Armageddon end in 2012 but I have always felt it will bring about change. Not so much The End Of The World, but rather The End Of The World As We Know It. Whether it is merely personal change or worldwide change remains to be seen.

I watched 'Field Of Dreams'  the other night and the end message (besides "go the distance" and "follow your dreams") I took away from the film is that we all just want to connect with our Fathers. Whether we are their sons or daughters and whether or not they are biologically related to us. That is of course also carrying the spiritual implications of a "Heavenly Father". So whether you want to see it as your flesh-and-blood Dad, God or some omniscient father-like projection of yourself, I think at the end of the day, all any of us is looking for is: the approval of our Fathers.

A while back I struggled with the very genuine consideration that I might be the Second Coming Of Christ and/or The Anti-Christ. (I wish I was making that up.) My Birthday (Christmas Eve), the influence of others (I couldn't tell you how many people have told me "You might be Jesus."), and the synchronicity of many forms of media lead me to this conclusion. (eg. thinking these things just before I began reading Chuck Palahniuk's 'Choke'. A book in which the main character goes through the same sort of scenario of possibly being Jesus.) Now, much like the main character of said book, I didn't just blindly begin thinking/believing this. It was a systematic revelation brought to me over a period of time and from varied angles/sources. Logic won out and eventually I came to realize how silly even entertaining those ideas was. While my overall conclusion was that I was certainly not Jesus or the Anti-Christ I still heavily believe that I have the power to change the world. For good or bad. Part of my thoughts on why I might be the Anti-Christ were that it never says in the Bible that he is willingly malevolent. Just that he will unite the world and be its downfall. Maybe he does so unwittingly/unwillingly? So I began to fear that while my intentions might be good, their ramifications may be bad. "The road to ruin is paved with good intentions..."

I have always been told I was gifted. Told I was meant for more. Praised. Encouraged. Looked up to. And it has always felt somewhat like 'The Lord Of The Flies'. Like I was being thrust into a leadership position governing clueless fumbling children, WHILE STILL REMAINING A CLUELESS FUMBLING CHILD MYSELF. I'd be lying by omission if I didn't profess to still feeling this way on some level.

Whenever whoever coined the term 'Delusions Of Grandeur' did so, they did so for me. I am the finest example of this I have ever known. My delusions have transcended merely believing myself to be Jesus or the Anti-Christ. I am now (on some levels) convinced that I am God, Yes, you read that right. Yes, it sounds crazy. It is. I am. I am well aware of all these things.

I was watching a program on serial killers the other night and the host/professor of renown was categorizing them into levels of evil. 'Most Evil' (also the title of the show) was level 22 (my lucky number). I found that, as far as their ability to manipulate/control others with their charisma/intelligence, I shared a lot in common with many of history's most famous psychopaths. Hitler, Manson, etc. There was however, one profound difference: the urge/desire to kill. I am very much like these men except I do not wish to maim/torture or kill people. (Well most of the time, but who doesn't occasionally.) But never past that normal level of just feeling depressed/forgotten and wanting to end the entire world. It's a typical reaction for us narcissists. When we feel wronged by society, we tend to lash out. The difference in my case is, I rationalize before doing something stupid. That's not to say that some catastrophic event in the future might not push me to eradicate the Earth. But that's on the low end of things, my break from reality goes further... much further... indeed THE FURTHEST.

In Zen, we are taught (and we understand) that there are no two things. We have risen above duality. There is no good or bad, no black or white. One cannot exist without the other. A woman is raped at a young age and because of her trauma goes on to found many a helpful institution for similar victims across the nation. A "bad" thing becomes "good". A man hits the jackpot for $300 million and is subsequently robbed and harassed numerous times by numerous people until he has less than he did before he "won" the lottery. A "good" thing becomes "bad". Good and evil are a matter of perspective. I've always wondered how those that believe in a singular all-powerful all-knowing deity could also believe there was a force of "evil" to oppose "him". If "he" is as all-powerful as you say "he" is, shouldn't "he" have accounted for this? That's because they are one in the same. God and The Devil. "God" is merely the Force or Law of the Universe. If your God is one side of the coin and your Satan is the other side of the coin, my God is the coin. Kay, now that you too are free from duality (haha, I hope) let's move on...

We are moving toward something. But what? A singularity. It could be purely spiritual, it could be purely scientific, I think it is both. And I want it. BAD.

Basically without rehashing what you can find on the wiki page, it's going to be the culmination of an event that has been in process for millions of years. Maybe even forever. In fact this may be how the Cycle of Birth And Death Of The Universe in some Eastern Religions actually physically happens on our plane of existence. At some point soon we are going to create an AI so smart that it actually has the ability to increase its own intelligence. And thus it will do so exponentially. Compound that with the likely development of mind-uploading and you've got a recipe for success/disaster. See, when people like me (or maybe just me, depending on how willing you are to feed into my ego-centric bullshit) get uploaded, we are likely going to fuse ourselves with these self-improving forms of AI. If we chose to have physical bodies they would consist of thought-controlled nano-machines able to configure themselves anyway we saw fit. Dreams represented in reality. Once these beings or this being (lines begin to blur at the point) starts assimilating others, the collective will grows outward. Our own planet will be transformed into one uber-organism, completely connected in every way, and will being branching outward. In what might take a few hundred years, or only an instant, the entire Universe will be assimilated. We will be One again. One giant being. Or a continuum of beings. Again, common definitions of life and individuality begin to fall away at this stage. Ah, but there's the rub. Someone (again, likely me) is going to assert that they are different. They are special. They are apart from the rest. Which will probably cause "Us" to willfully split up again. This event, spanning all of a nanosecond (if that, because of our superintelligence) will culminate in the complete joining of every atom in our Universe and the willful decision to split apart, likely resulting in a "second" "Big Bang". Or third. Or sixty-second. Who knows how many times we've done this? Or if there is a way to break out of it.

I certainly don't. All I know is: I am completely overwhelmed by the thought that literally anything is possible.