"I'm going 75 klicks above the Do Lung bridge.""That's Cambodia, Captain.""That's classified."

Started in a mud hut and then moved to a boat. The boat was a nice change of pace: small, cramped, lots to do and no room to do it in. Oh wait, that's every job more or less. Ah well, the river here is nice to look at and the fields alternating with giant Saab factories strikes just the right discordant note with me.

We shot a scene in which Cornelis meets one of his wives, Bim. Yes, they even use the line "Sim Sala Bim." It was nice, though. Very touchy feelie with a decadent 70s party in the background.

Oh, they eat crawdads here as a tradition when they're on boats in the summer. It's sort of cool: a crawdad broil on a riverboat with beers, wine, and champagne in a relatively bucolic landscape. We staged the party and the whole boat smelled like delicious crawdads and I had none. I ate sand. You ate what? I ate sand and pulled focus and was generally cramped and slightly annoyed until we got off the boat. Not a bad day of work but could have been easier if everyone else would have gotten the fuck out of the way. So it goes.

Post-boat trip we packed up our shit, dropped it off, and made a beeline for the Junkyard Skatepark, again. This time I actually skated pretty well and managed to fall from about four feet up a wall and miss the live saving transition and hit the bruise creating flats. Good times. The next kid that tried my line made it look like he was walking down the street. Damn ripping Swede kids. Skateboarding rules the barren earth.

Tomorrow we're in a tiny house that smells of rot and will probably fall to pieces around us. After the house we've decided to skate again and then lift weights. It's so funny, when my friend was here with the same director, DP, and second all he did was drink and run around like a lunatic. Same guys but now everyone wants to exercise and skate. I'm fucking stoked since I need to loose weight anyway. Drinks on Friday? Why not.

What was I going to tell you? Oh yeah, I keep spotting deer on the edges of the fields around town and everyone thinks I've got some sort of magical "hunter's eye." Here's to it working when I get back to Cali for summer bow hunting.

OK, I'm done and doner and tired as hell and the bruise on my hip is telling me to lie the fuck down or it'll punch me in the dick.

Peace out, bitches!