You don't go to work every day. You go to a bar every day.

Weezer video over and I'm exhausted. The job, as usual, was a totally enjoyable cluster fuck. It was a goofy concept for a cool band: they play in the parking lot of the Forum. They try to break Guinness Book of World Record stuff. They have 500 extras, all fans of the band and totally deranged, helping them. Very funny. Pie fight, dodge ball, biggest skateboard, longest game of Guitar Hero, most acoustic guitars broken, blah blah blah. Too bad the job was underbid and there weren't enough crew and we had five video cameras and no time and and and and... It was only enjoyable because I got to see a bunch of guys I haven't seen in ages and all we did, besides hustle, was crack jokes and talk shit. Good times. Went to Tortuga after with Josh and some of the other guys and once again didn't drink. Go for raging sobriety. Now I'm sitting at home with Ghost stressing about when, or rather if, I'll ever work again. I hate freelance sometimes. Bills pile up, money goes out, and never quite enough comes back into the old bank account. At least I'm shooting a freebie in Vegas on Sunday and Monday. It'll either be really cool or totally stupid and then I come home and take a step back and 2nd AC for my pal Vincent. Oh, the humanity! Whatever, a fucking paycheck is a fucking paycheck. 

Hmm, fry cook you say? If only there were surf in Chad...

Peace out, bitches!