Well, this'll sure get the job done if you can find a fence post to rest it on while you take aim.

At some point they must always call wrap and it is for this moment that all hands are primed and ready. Cases are out on the tailgate. Escape routes for camera and carts have been scouted, prepped, and jealously guarded. At the moment of the last shot and the call of "That's a wrap, boys!" previously immovable grips and electricians, bodies ossified into our camera cases and into the walls of the location, spring into action as if once again powered by twenty-something muscle and grit. Our department moves with a swiftness and purpose seen only in upper echelon military units and ant colonies. We are silent. We are serious. We are getting the fucking job done and we will not be stopped.

At the gates of every cavernous department truck there is a flurry of action and a cacophony of slurs, insults, mendacity, and orders. There are things to put away and they must all, no matter their size or weight or relative expense, be put right. the. fuck. back. where. you. found. them. bitch. To do otherwise will result in the misplacing and loss of said object which, in turn, will lead to delay. Delays on set for gear are unacceptable especially if the delay was self-inflicted through neglect and laziness. As the gates rise and fall and gear is stacked up and then loaded there is always at least one person making sure that every last bit of crap goes back into whatever little hole it always goes back into. In our department I am that person and I suffer no shit from my people. I do not ask of anyone what I haven't already done when once upon a time I had their job and I also do not ask them to do anything I wouldn't do. As such, when, on the rare occasion it happens, gear is lost I direct all calls from rental agents and irate production staffers to the imbecile what lost the gear in the first place. Technically, my 2nd AC is the one who should keep the gear in order, everything in its proper place and grouped according to function. When I need something I want it yesterday and the only way for that to happen is if the system is followed. Not too hard, right? You'd be surprised.

Farmer John just wrapped. We are missing nothing. We have successfully babysat half a million dollars worth of plastic, metal, and glass. We are good pirates and we are very good at our jobs. We have earned our beers.

Peace out, bitches!

Pity. I shaved very close this morning in preparation for getting smacked by you.

I spent the day at Dodger Stadium helping to sell Farmer John hot dogs. We photographed fat guys scarfing down hot dogs in a baseball stadium. It was humid, muggy, and annoying and it's really demoralizing watching fat guys pretend to eat and then spit up half chewed food. Goddamn. What a stupid-ass way to make a living.

On the positive side, I'm one day closer to going hunting.

Peace out, bitches!

I know kung fu.

Today was lovely here in LaLa- the sun and smog were out, the carnivorous wild parrots were screeching and killing pigeons on the lawn, the dog was wagging his blunt little tail, and I cleaned the house and did my laundry. I also made a run to Bass Pro as I realized that I'd forgotten to get a shirt for the upcoming lethal phase of Operation Bowfinger. I suppose I should have used a "Bowfinger" quote but I felt the breathless idiocy of Keanu Reeves line reading was more appropo as I spent the latter part of the day in full dress rehearsal for the end of next week. Yep, I put on full camo outfit with hat and boots and gloves and face mask and binos in chest sling and backpack. I stood out in the sun and shot arrows in my back yard and realized two things: 1) (this is the important thing) my sights got knocked so I had to dial them back in, 2) despite having some fairly nice "anti-sweat" undies it was still hot in my hunting get up. I'm hoping the altitude might bring some relief but you never know. I do have some other tricks up my sleeves and we'll see if they fool the wily California mule deer that I'll be desperately trying to find. I'm excited but I have looked over the regs and I've only got an 11% chance of nailing a deer. Doesn't sound good, does it? The one fact that I can find any solace in is that most people out bowhunting are mullets and that the guys who do score do so every year. Perhaps I am one of those bowhunters and not one of the mullets. (Note to self: cut hair.)

In other news, I've got two days of work with the OG as J Boogie has taken a TV show. This translates into some guaranteed work every month over the next five months. Not bad, not bad, I can live with that. Let's all cross our fingers, arms, toes, legs, and whatever else you can cross and sincerely wish that the economy comes back or half the ACs in LaLa up and quit.

Peace out, bitches!

Wait Master, it might be dangerous... you go first.

I just surfed my ass off! It's bigger than the great outdoors here in SoCal and I woke up at 4:30am and didn't really stop until I went to Bean's at noon to make chilliquilles for Moose and his party guests. Dammit! I surfed Emma Woods up in Ventura County first and then after an hour I rolled down to Topanga with some friends and not only did battle with half the surfers in SoCal but also scored a couple of barrels. That's right, fucking stand up barrels just outside of LA. Fucking hell, I'm beat and happy and I'm going to get myself a pizza. I going to bed early again and getting up and doing it all over again tomorrow.

So now that I've calmed down I'll say this: Moose had a really funny birthday party. Here's the menu: coffee, donuts, chilliquilles, and Spanish tortilla. What the fuck? Then we walked to the beach and watched some horrific closeouts slam into the beach. Mariano showed up and we all chilled and now that Ghost and the Darkness are home all we can think about is sleeping. On that note, good day sir!

Peace out, bitches!

I'm a drunk, Bear, a screw up. I just surf cause its good to go out and ride with your friends. I don't even have that anymore.

Ha ha! My pal Kym came out and surfed with me this morning and the surf was, for the first time in ages, incredibly good. Bog played on the beach in her pajamas because that's what she wanted to wear today. Good girl, off to a crappy start vis a vis fashion and she's not even a teen yet. Anywhy, the waves were good, the water was warm, and the sun was out so I can't complain. I just spent the last five hours prepping cameras and now I'm off to meet up with the Korean Bear. He's in town for a week and guess who else is around? The one and only Buzzbomb from Pasadena, Professor Barney Grubbs! Could be rough, people, could be rough. Despite the fact that I need to be and at work by 7am I think I'll have people over for a few cocktails and see what becomes of it all. Perhaps things are finally looking up around here.

Peace out, bitches!

I'm gonna hit you so hard that when you wake up your clothes will be out of style!

I had the day off and it was lovely. Paid some bills, surfed a bunch, was amazed by Bog's use of the phrase "Jesus Christ!" while gardening read the whole paper, and played with my dog. Lovely. Too bad that's all coming to a close as I need to prep cameras and deal with work and a visiting friend. I'll be helping to sell Milkbone products all day on Friday and on Tuesday and Wednesday I'll be helping to move Farmer John puerco products. Things seem to be looking up in America these days, yes sir! Fine dog food products (that I'd never use) and even finer pork products (that I'd never use) for sale and no one seems to be too down. Yeah, right. I watched the President address the arrest and shabby treatment of Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and all I could think was, how in the hell did an illiterate rich hick "run" the country for eight years? Are the American people that stupid? The President gave a well reasoned, long, and articulate response and then Wolf Blitzer tried to rip on him after the address for giving a long answer. I guess in the age of Twitter an intelligent answer is too much for people to process.

I'm off. I'm off like a prom dress and I'm going to read Karen Armstrong's The Great Transformation. It's quite good, you know.

Peace out, bitches!

You're in the asshole of the world, Captain!

Welcome to Monday. Enjoy!



Peace out, bitches!

So we don't get our balls blown off!

It is Thursday and I am on a set and I am bored but thankful. Go for easy job made impossibly difficult by people what don't know what they want. Oh well, at least I'm working and hopefully I'll be stalking the woods of Los Padres National Forest near Santa Barbara very soon. Got all the gear, including brand new super sharp broadheads, and I'm ready to make a bunch of bonehead mistakes and not get a deer. Whatever, I've got time, I think. Funny thing is, the season already opened for the coastal area but I'm working and there are rumors of a job next week. Balls. These are the times I wish I were rich.

Peace out, bitches!

Even when I was a kid, I always took it for granted people wanted to play the games I like, and I'd be furious when they didn't.

Have you ever looked up, in the middle of something, and thought "this one thing about me makes me want to totally kill myself"? WAIT, I know it sounds totally insane and "I should call Captain right fucking now!" but really, it's more of a theoretical thing. Let me explain: I was looking at my front teeth, the ones that garnered me the title of Bugs Bunny since I was, oh I don't know, zero, and I thought, "Huh, these are never going to change and I'm totally annoyed by them. I should just call it a wrap." Yeah, weird, I know, especially since I've always felt that whenever I'm depressed the best option would be to kill some random jackass (lord knows the world is full of 'em) and as I watched that person die I'd feel way better that I was still breathing. Huh, I just read all of this malarkey over and I've decided I read utterly insane and stupid and so, on that note, I'm done. Please disregard the painfully stupid paragraph you just struggled through and realize this: I'm not suicidal or anything else cowardly. I'm just thinking and babbling and feeling slightly off about the whole thing. Just thinking. Just pondering. Just teasing it all out in my grey matter and wondering why it is and where it all goes. Harmless. Calm down. Don't pick up a phone and call me. Don't freak. Harmless and ephemeral bullshit from a sub-par intellect full of Pacifico and an empty house. I love you all but more importantly I love myself and the potential destruction I might still be capable of wreaking on the world that I so loathe. Jokes, bitches! Jay-Z, calm down. Ok, I'm done.

Peace out, bitches!

Well, after this I should think nothing of falling down stairs.

I was in Las Vegas for three days and although I returned on Friday afternoon, I'm just now feeling back to normal. I fucking hate Vegas, I really do. It's not so much just the strip either. It's more that the entirety of the city is allowed to exist despite all natural evidence that no one and nothing should be able to exist in that particular bit of Nevada. Add to that the petty greed and corruption of the Strip and you have a perfect example of all that is wrong with American culture. Capitalism, greed, avarice, weakness, vice, and all things venal are piled up as high as can be and everyone jumps in expecting to win. Dumbasses. Might as well jump into your local sewer and give away all of your money as you do so. I sat outside of Vegas, literally on the edge of the city, and shot a time lapse shot of the sun going down and the lights of Vegas coming up. It was actually rather enjoyable as the sky lit up like a cauldron of fire and a swarm of bats came out of the hills and buzzed me. I was downwind of the hills and a pack of coyotes came within ten yards of me, spooked only by the snapping of the time lapse shutter. They had no idea I was there! A couple of pebbles tossed their way seemed to convince them that I was not worth their trouble. We also shot some time lapse from the tops of various casinos and the birds eye served to reinforce my conviction that Vegas is a monument to resource mismanagement and man's bizarre need to "conquer" nature. Watching the water show at The Bellagio is interesting from an artistic perspective and completely depressing from an environmental perspective. So it goes, so it goes. Business is apparently down by some ridiculous percentage but the town is still full of Teva wearing slobs wandering around with flagons of booze. There not spending money the locals tell me. I feel bad for the locals but they knew the risks.

Yesterday the Girl made us drive from Upland to Pasadena to home to Capistrano beach. We basically drove about 172 miles all over SoCal. Why? I'm not entirely sure the explanation will make any sense but here goes. Upland was so I could buy needed supplies at Bass Pro Shop. Good fun, and ate a nice pastrami and Swiss sandwich. Then we went to an Immaculate Heart High reunion in a park. Interesting? Then home to get beach stuff so we could drive almost all the way to San Diego for a beach party with the Girl's coworker. Nice people, no waves. Then we drove to Santa Monica for dinner with Super Nana and an Immaculate Heart alum. Good food, good times, please let me sleep.
Next up: work all week and then finally go deer hunting. Damn, what a week.

Peace out, bitches!

Hello... Operator? Can you hear my voice? You can? Are you sure? Well, then I must be here.

I got an email the other day. I opened it and read it. It said they were suckers. What? Anywhen, it was from someone who had found this blog by looking for quotes from "Golden Child." He liked my blog, said he wanted to follow it, and generally made my day. What a nice guy. I accidentally deleted his email and so I say this on a Wednesday morn: to you, the guy what liked me blog, thanks. I'm glad I entertained you and I hope you make your way back here again some drunken, bored night.

So Operation Bowfinger gets underway in regards to deployment next week. Yep, I will be motoring up to the Los Padre National Forest near Santa Barbara on Monday morning after surfing with Bean. I plan on car-camping in a couple of different areas for the week as the Girl and the Midget will be away for the week. Girl is going to DC for a teacher conference and we're sending the Midget to a penal colony in the South Pacific. She has horrible table manners and we've simply grown tired of her. I'm off to pick up Thumper from the smithy and then I'm going to buy some broadheads and shoot them for the afternoon. Then I'm going to Vegas for a gig. Good times. It just occurred to me: some of you might not know what a broadhead is, or rather, what it is for. It's an arrow tip (you can swap 'em out) with several, usually three, sharp blades designed to murder whatever it's plunged in to. I love dangling participles. The blades are razor sharp, the wounds are ghastly, and the deer totally deserve what they get. Not really, but it sounds kind of funny to me. So, yes, I'm about to make several of my arrows deadly and I aim to put one of them through the lungs of a perfectly innocent yet delicious deer in the coastal mountains of Southern California. If all goes well this time next week I'll be butchering a deer in my backyard. Wish me luck! Or, alternately, curse my caveman ways. Stick and string, stick and string!

Peace out, bitches!

Are there no gods... no Buddha? If you exist, hear me. You are mischievous and cruel! Are you so bored up there you must crush us like ants?

So I didn't blog for about a week and all hell has broken loose. Thriller died. That blond old lady died. A guy who talked with his hands died. A muscular man in tights and his girlfriend died. An old murderer died. Oh, and a bunch of "unknown" men, women, and children died all over the world. What a fucking mess. On the plus side, no one I know died and none of the people I know seem any worse for wear with the deaths of all of these famous people. I guess that's a bit of a win in the grand scheme of the uncaring universe. It's times like this that my firm faith in Crom really pulls me through.

OK, must shower stinky dog and then finish laundry. After that it's prep time as I'm back to work all week. Thank you, Universe.

Peace out, bitches!