For the past week I've been halfway through writing a blog about how poor I am, how the current work scenario sucks, and how broke I'll be for the holiday season, before dumping the post altogether. Not only was it depressing me more, but whining on my blog felt petty and boring.
But, now that I've written a preface, let me bring you up to speed.
I haven't worked a "legitimate" job since the X Games. I came off of that gig with a bit of a high from a job well done, an awesome title to add to my resume, and a nice little chunk in my bank account. Since then, the job market for freelancing dilletantes like me has been a barren wastelend. A couple great interviews, but nothing that fed my to desire to work and my need to keep cash in my pocket. Work always slows down in the fall, but this year has been overtly brutal.
Among the depressing thoughts that lately crept into my head was that my "glory days" are over. For some, these glory days might be sporting accomplishments in high school or sexual conquests in their twenties. For me, I began thinking, it was my years of work with MTV, flying all over the country, chilling with celebrities, and working high profile events.
Then, my inner voice, the one that is usually reserved for soft spoken gems of wisdom always a couple hours too late, began SCREAMING at me, something about that if my so-called glory days were working for MTV wrangling club kids so they could dance on Global Groove, or bribing audience with tequila and donuts to show up and stay for early morning shoots at Spring Break Cancun, then I was a sad sack. My wise inner voice then called up a couple of its buddies, including my voice of concience, my voice of temptation, and even a couple old imaginary friends of mine for an intervention. They said, "David, your glory days are ahead of you. You are meant for great things. Your filmmaking career has only just begun. And your short film 'Asstoids' is proof of this."
Actually, this is when voice of reason cut that voice off. "Well, don't gauge your future based on Asstoids. But listen, you have four more months to make four more shorts, and if you put some actual effort into one of these, you'll build the credentials and confidence to perhaps shoot a feature film."
My old imaginary friend John Barkington, a race car driver, added, "Besides, you're sitting on a pile of great ideas that nobody will care about until you actually write them. They're cluttering our living space in here. As a matter of fact, I was looking underneath the cushions on the couch for change, and I ran across your idea for the Fantasy Football movie... along with some porn. The football idea is great... although I think you could have a career making adult films too."
Voice of temptation nodded emphatically.
Everyone gave me a big hug, and then they sent me off. I asked if I could go to rehab somewhere for a couple weeks, and they something about how rehab was basically a legitimate form of procrastination, but my problem was procrastination, and that the best thing for me was to get off my ass and back headlong back into focusing on the Group 101 shorts.
It was totally inspiring.
I then immediately went and played SOCOM 2 on Playstation until 4am.