As I Please IV: New Life Edition

Never say never again. It's a worthwhile bit of advice, and one I did not take, because on August 3, 2020, after a hiatus of sixteen years, I not only traded one coast for another, I returned to the criminal justice system...something I swore I would never do.

In my personal experience, most people break pledges to themselves out of desperation or desire. In my case neither status obtained. My decision came about after three years of exhaustively, some might say tediously, weighing the decision. And now that I have made it, I have no regrets. I am still a paid part of the entertainment industry, but it is now a side-job and one I do remotely. As for novels, novellas, novelettes, and short stories, well, I can write those from anywhere, and will. For me, the decision to return to the criminal justice fold was largely based on a need (I think that is the right word) to be a part of something that actually matters. Movies, television, and video games do impact people's lives, of course, often very profoundly, but there are levels of impact and it was important for me to be involved at a much higher level. It was also important for me to get away from the fundamental corruption of the industry, with its poisonous self-importance, ass-backwards values and hypocritical caste systems. In no other place on earth is the concept of failing upwards put into practice more assiduously, and in no other place does credit get distributed with less regard for those who actually do the work. Let me give you some specific examples. A few years ago, I was part of a four-man team who put together a gigantic online and television advertising campaign on extremely short notice. This campaign required long commutes, seven day weeks and immensely long hours. It was delivered on time and considered a massive success. Some time later I was informed, more or less in passing, that it had won not one, not two, but three Cannes Lions. As one British writer put it, Cannes is "arguably the ad industry’s most significant global awards festival." In other words, it's the Oscars of advertising. So I was part of a team that had won three advertising Oscars. And yet not only did I never receive a statue (in fairness, they do cost $1,200 euros each), I was never even formally notified that my team had won them. There was no letter, no phone call, not even a text message. There was no "thank you" from those who had employed us. There was nothing. And yet somewhere, someone who had never stayed up 'til 3 AM night after night after night putting this campaign together, who'd had no say in the day-to-day operations or artistic direction of the ads, who hadn't even introduced himself to the people who were doing all the goddamned work, has three of those statues on his desk. And got to go to France to collect them.

Another incident that stung me more than I would care to admit occurred when I was working for one of the premier make-up effects studios in Hollywood. I was once again part of a team, which in this case was working on six different television shows simultaneously. One of them was The Orville, a sci-fi show which required not only a staggering amount of foam latex prosthetics for those who were playing aliens, but also the very highest level of quality for each piece. Unlike The Walking Dead, which didn't require a great deal of care for the zombie masks, cowls and so on because the zombies (walkers) were seldom shot in close-up, The Orville's pieces had to pass the high-definition close up test. The smallest imperfection ruined the mask. When you need both quantity and quality, a great deal of ass-busting is required, and bust our asses we did. There was many the day I came home from the studio so exhausted I didn't have the strength to open a jam jar. And you know what? People noticed. Seth MacFarlane, the show's creator and star, invited us to his house when the season wrapped for the cast-crew party. This is something I would have dearly loved to do, not only for the obvious reason that it would have been a blast and a great memory, but because I fucking deserved it. It would have been the reward for months of back-breaking, time-consuming, attention-demanding labor. Yet the invitation was deliberately withheld from us until after the party had been thrown. My boss, who had a habit of preventing his employees from getting individual recognition or attention for their efforts, to the point where he intercepted boxes of crew shirts and gave them away to his friends rather than the people who had earned them, had decided he did not want us there. After all, the more of his people who showed up, the less attention would be given to him. So: I never met Seth MacFarlane, for whom I worked for an entire year.

A final example. I worked five seasons on a television show with a format similar to Top Chef. (It was not, I hasten to add, Top Chef.) Though I slaved like a stevedore on that show, working all afternoon, evening and night into the next morning every other day, I was denied credit. Although my role was crucial, I was technically "shadow crew," which is an old Hollywood trick which allows studios to pay crew without allowing them any credit for what they do. This detestable practice is even more common in the world of video games, where those who do virtually all the work are enjoined from getting any credit whatsoever.

I could, if I wished, fill pages with such incidents, many of which happened to me, some to friends or colleagues of mine. I could fill even more pages with stories of those who ended up with their names on scripts they did not write, or won awards like Emmys they did not deserve. And I could scribble a volume on how certain people in positions of power exploited -- sexually exploited -- their employees or simply abused them. At one studio I remember my boss using his employee, an effects artist, as a mistress and personal assistant, and punishing her at work for arguments they had in their private relationship. This is the textbook definition of sexual harassment, but when I told him this, he said, "She won't do anything about it. She's got no self-respect." However, I think I've made my point. Life is unfair everywhere, but the natural unfairness of life is not an excuse to tolerate, to champion, and to perpetuate a system where idiots and assholes hold all the marbles. In any event, things like this are only a small part of the reason I left. They just made it easier when the time came.

I don't wish to give the impression that I left in a state of bitterness or regret. Not hardly. The thirteen years I spent in Los Angeles were probably the most dynamic and certainly the most accomplished of my life. The experiences I had there, the people I met and worked with, some of whom I had grown up watching on television or seeing in movies, were incredible and sometimes even surreal. I got to do, on some level or other, nearly everything I had set out to do, and quite a bit I had never imagined doing. And I am also very proud of having left on my own terms. Most people who want to work in The Industry last 6 months to 2 years in L.A., and leave only because financial pressures drive them away. Many -- probably most -- never make one dime in the field they wanted to become a part of. But I was getting work until the very day I left, including writing work, which is damn near impossible to land. And unlike some, I never fucked anyone over to get it. I never put my name on a script I didn't write, or claimed credit for things I never did, or stole a job from a friend and mentor because I saw it as my big break. I never let a corrupt system corrupt me, and I'm proud of that, too.

Did I accomplish everything I wanted on the scale I wished to accomplish it? Hell no. I'd be lying if I said that was the case. I had some painful near-misses and some crushing disappointments. Like everyone else in the business, I sometimes went months when the phone didn't ring and I wondered if I'd ever work again. But as I said, I'm not finished with the entertainment industry, and so far, it hasn't shown itself to be finished with me. Hollywood (the industry, I mean) is a remarkable place, and I suppose one day I will return, because like the Mafia or the Irish Republican Army, once in, you're never truly out.

Having caught you up on the reason this blog has been dormant for the last two months, I'd now like to get to the As I Please part of As I Please. These are random observations and thoughts which have occurred to me during the months I didn't have time (or an internet connection) to write this blog.

* Driving across the United States, I once again learned that the Southwest is beautiful, interesting and raw -- one minute it's 107 degrees, the next you are crawling through a thunderstorm so violent the lightning in the distance is welcome for the flashes of illumination it provides. One minute you're in pure desert, the next curving through gigantic rock formations so ancient even Father Time can't remember when they were built. Once you penetrate the Midwest, however, the scenery begins to dull. Missouri is wild country, and you can well imagine why Confederate guerillas made it ungovernable during (and after) the Civil War, but as you exchange it for Illinois the boredom begins. From my home state through Indiana and Ohio, across a corner of West Virginia and into Pennsylvania, the geography is pancake-flat and the scenery, minus a few large cities and some picturesque river crossings, about as boring as boring can be.

* When I finally got access to wi-fi, I streamed The Highwaymen, a Netflix movie about the hunt for Bonnie and Clyde starring Kevin Costner and Woody Harrelson. I was reluctant to watch this movie despite being interested in the subject matter, because Costner's movies tend to aggravate me. No matter who he is playing, no matter what the genre of film, no matter how unlikely the scenario, there is always a scene in which his character bullies and humiliates some other man who in real life could probably beat the shit out of him. It's almost as if he has a clause in his contract. But this movie was surprisingly good, and while Costner does manage to squeeze in the requisite scene where he thrashes a much bigger, stronger guy, this time I didn't mind, because Highwaymen is much more than a period piece cops-n-robbers movie. It's about how proud men deal with age, and with change; it's also about the culture, and the cult, of celebrity. Both are still relevant even after the 100 years that have passed since Bonnie and Clyde finally paid for their sins.

* I'm 48 years old and still can't order a plate of hot wings without wearing most of them by the end of the meal.

* The word "activist" is soft coin indeed nowadays. Like "hero," it has been applied to so many who don't deserve it that it has lost almost all meaning. Among my parents' generation, and my own, an activist was someone who lived for a cause and was willing to undergo all sorts of hardships, discomforts and risks, including the risk of physical injury, imprisonment, economic ruin or even death, to see their cause triumph. Today, an activist is someone who clicks "like" on a Facebook page or shares memes on Instagram or Twitter. To dub people who are politically active on social media, but nowhere else, as "activists" is an insult to the people who got blasted by water cannons, savaged by dogs, smashed by clubs, and in some cases shot dead, while fighting for things like civil rights. Let's be a little more careful with our words.

* Speaking of words: the following have lost nearly all meaning due to overuse/misuse: communism, feminism, fascism, socialism. Racism is on the verge of being a meaningless word since the definition of it is constantly changing and expanding to include more and more behaviors, thoughts, attitudes, tones of voice, opinions, and even body language. I was told yesterday that saying "I don't see color" is covert white supremacy, as is the scientifically accurate statement that "there is only one race -- the human race." I sometimes seriously wonder if Trump is funding the people who find racism and white supremacy behind every tree, because they are doing much to get him re-elected.

* Twenty years ago, in York, Pennsylvania, there was a big gray-haired man who shambled around town wearing oversized headphones and carrying a sack containing God knows what. He was dubbed Pub Claus, for his resemblance to Santa mixed with his propensity for occupying barstools, diner counters, anywhere he could set up shop with his books, music player, and sundry items. I saw him everywhere I went, from the street outside the courthouse to the local diner, and he annoyed the shit out of me. He was always blathering about anime and in short, behaving like what I considered to be a classic weirdo. Tonight I encountered him again, at the restaurant where I am writing this. His technological level has improved, but he's still the same weird old dude. The major difference is my reaction to him. I am now pleased and delighted that he is still getting at it, still being true to his own unapologetic weirdness. And it saddens me that twenty years ago I wasn't human enough to celebrate his decision to live a free life, untroubled by the judgments and opinions of others.