*I am not finished yet, though I took 15 months off...I wonder if any of you are still out there*
1994 was shaping up to be an interesting year, a big earthquake, a new job and a still overwhelming desire to be famous. I often think about my times as an actor, and wonder about my motivations. I know, it sounds all actor-y. But I really do wonder. Was it truly a desire to be on stage (which I loved dearly)? Was it the adoration and applause of the audience? Or, was it just a pathetic need to be important. More importantly, am I still led around by the nose by that same need?
At the time, I wasn't thinking about it too much, I just wanted in. I used to picture myself appearing on the Tonight Show, sitting next to Johnny Carson (for you younger folk, he was the old guy ... before Jay...the fisrt time). I used to think how cool I would be, not one of those jerk actors who came across all snobby. Somewhere in my head, I am sure I thought I would finally have value to my parents if I were famous. I now find the thought of that icky and sad.
I began meeting with a very well-known manager named Bob Thompson. Bob told me to choose a career, I couldn't be an actor, a director, a writer and a producer; one would always take precedence. To my long-lasting regret, I said actor. I wish I had said writer. Bob set me up with a very expensive photographer who did the first truly professional head shots I had ever had (no offense to Paul, who took some wonderful head shots for me when I was in a jam, but it was not his chosen field). With these new calling cards in hand, I began to pursue an agent. To add some hopes to my pursuits, I also began doing Casting Director Workshops. I met and read for some of the best Casting Directors in all of Hollywood. In May of 1994, I began extra work and what was then referred to as "action extra" work (this is low-level stunt stuff which was mostly comprised of me getting hit in the head with various objects by celebrities for film and television). It was fun, but I made very littel monty because I had to work a full manager's schedule at the restaurant.
In June, I gave notice at the Beverly Hills restaurant so I could pursue my career (gawd that sounds ridiculous to me now). Cathy had quit school and taken a job at a place that sold toner and I felt free to really go after my career. I spent time in various TV and film sets that summer working with big-name actors and smaller actors. I was not acting, I was a living prop. However, I tried to do my part with integrity, and I was often rewarded with extra days or SAG pay for those jobs. I met (thogh I am certain talking to me would be compared to talking with a plant for these folks) Geena Davis, Michael Keaton, Christopher Reeves, Ernie Hudson, Jeff Bridges, Ralph Fiennes (who knew I would meet the Dark Lord), Angela Basset, Vincent D'Onofrio, Kevin Dillon, Alicia Silverstone, Tom Sizemore, Bill Paxton, Ellen Barkin, Cynthia Rothrock, Jena Claude Van Damme, Jim Belushi, and many others who would never be as well-known as these celebrities but who did their job with a professionalism I grew to really admire. Many of them dealt with me with real grace and a giving nature. Very few were mean (I am pointing at you Voldemort!). I still love to tell stories about these times. They are unusual and fun, and outside of the normal experience of most people. Additionally, since I am not an important part of these stories, I can go on and on about them and not feel bad about myself at all. That by itself is awesome!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
getting old(er)
In my head, I know that I am not old. To my shock, this year I feel in my heart that I am. My body just does not respond like it once did, and I can no longer just drop ten pounds a week when i realize I have let myself go. I am going to have to start watching what I eat, being intentional about excercise and planning for things rather than being super spontaneous. Apparently, there will be no graceful entrance into my later years. Or maybe there will, I have no idea.
And that is another thing, as I get older, I am more aware of the things I don't know than the things I do. After meeting a know-it-all in his twenties, I commented to a friend that I had it all figured out in my twenties also and have spent the last two decades learning just how much I don't know. So, here is s hort list of things I really don't know:
Why people do the things they do
Which political party is worse
How to motivate Christians to live by faith
How to parent
How to fix a car
Which is the quickest route home from almost anywhere
Why artists feel excluded in most church environments
Where my keys are
Where my shoes are
What I was looking for and where I left it
And that is another thing, as I get older, I am more aware of the things I don't know than the things I do. After meeting a know-it-all in his twenties, I commented to a friend that I had it all figured out in my twenties also and have spent the last two decades learning just how much I don't know. So, here is s hort list of things I really don't know:
Why people do the things they do
Which political party is worse
How to motivate Christians to live by faith
How to parent
How to fix a car
Which is the quickest route home from almost anywhere
Why artists feel excluded in most church environments
Where my keys are
Where my shoes are
What I was looking for and where I left it
Part 74
I was let go at yet another job in the same year. This time the stated reason for my dismissal was, "You are an asshole, and I can't have an asshole running my company." I think that is fair enough. I was only 26 and had a lot to learn. From there, I took a job at a tiny Italian restaurant on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. This business was fascinating, because while it was a very small restaurant, it was owned by a billionaire whose office was across the street. To say that this made it an interesting job is an understatement. Our greater company was run by someone reputed to be a former member of the Israeli Mossad, and the owner also owned a casino in Vegas. At the time, this scared me to death as I thought these guys might kill me if I pissed them off. Years later I discovered who and what they really were: The owner was the man who invented junk bonds and leveraged buy outs. While we were not similar in many ways, I still learned a lot from him and those he surrounded himself with. When I left in the summer of 1994, I was surprised to find out that they really liked me.
During my time in this job, more specifically in January of 1994, two major events happened. First, in early January on the way to work, my car was hit by what appeared to be a homeless man just walking across the street. When I jumped out of my car, he attacked me. I quickly defended myself with what my memory still tells me was only four hits. As the event ended up being recorded on video, I came face-to-face with the fact that personal memory isnt that great as the video showed that I hit him at least 7 times. Unfortunately, he passed away. While I was not arrested because the LAPD officer nearby could clearly see (and had recorded on his dash cam) that I was defending myself, I did have to go through a Grand Jury proceeding (apparently this is the law, I don't know). Anyway, I was given what is called a no-bill, meaning they were not pursuing any charges against me and the case was ruled a justifiable homicide due to self-defense. What bothered me most about this was that I never felt any effects of guilt or remorse and I started to worry that something was broken inside me. Regardless of the fact that I can justify my defense, most people still struggle with some intense feelings regarding a situation such as this and I did not. I am unsure as to why this is, but it is probably the thing that mostly keeps me from grieving when people I know pass away. I can cry at a well-made commercial, but shed no tears when people die. That just seems odd.
Anyway, the other event that January happened a week or two later when the Northridge earthquake hit. I don't know if you have ever been in a major earthquake, but I have been in several: Sylmar 1971; Loma Prieta 1989; Northridge 1994 and nearby in several others. For a while there, I was in the middle of every major earthquake in California during my lifetime. I am happy to say, that season has passed. That year, we were awakened by what I would still describe as the worst shaking of any quake I had yet been in. We lived in Venice Beach in a tiny bungalow and I just reached across and pulled Cathy out of a dead sleep into the door jam for protection. It was scary, the power went out, we were violently wakened by the shaking and lets face it, we lived in the hood. I had to walk down the block to grab a flashlight out of my car and ended up having to work the next day also. We were very busy as the water in Beverly Hills was not safe so people were coming in for bottled water and a little breakfast. One aftershock caused a marble gargoyle (or something like that) to fall from the roof of our building and another had the chef and I hugging in a door jam in the storage space three levels below ground hoping to make it out. As I think of it now, it was a funny scene, but at the time it was not funny at all. I should have known that 1994 was going to be an eventful year, but to be honest, I just wasn't that introspective.
During my time in this job, more specifically in January of 1994, two major events happened. First, in early January on the way to work, my car was hit by what appeared to be a homeless man just walking across the street. When I jumped out of my car, he attacked me. I quickly defended myself with what my memory still tells me was only four hits. As the event ended up being recorded on video, I came face-to-face with the fact that personal memory isnt that great as the video showed that I hit him at least 7 times. Unfortunately, he passed away. While I was not arrested because the LAPD officer nearby could clearly see (and had recorded on his dash cam) that I was defending myself, I did have to go through a Grand Jury proceeding (apparently this is the law, I don't know). Anyway, I was given what is called a no-bill, meaning they were not pursuing any charges against me and the case was ruled a justifiable homicide due to self-defense. What bothered me most about this was that I never felt any effects of guilt or remorse and I started to worry that something was broken inside me. Regardless of the fact that I can justify my defense, most people still struggle with some intense feelings regarding a situation such as this and I did not. I am unsure as to why this is, but it is probably the thing that mostly keeps me from grieving when people I know pass away. I can cry at a well-made commercial, but shed no tears when people die. That just seems odd.
Anyway, the other event that January happened a week or two later when the Northridge earthquake hit. I don't know if you have ever been in a major earthquake, but I have been in several: Sylmar 1971; Loma Prieta 1989; Northridge 1994 and nearby in several others. For a while there, I was in the middle of every major earthquake in California during my lifetime. I am happy to say, that season has passed. That year, we were awakened by what I would still describe as the worst shaking of any quake I had yet been in. We lived in Venice Beach in a tiny bungalow and I just reached across and pulled Cathy out of a dead sleep into the door jam for protection. It was scary, the power went out, we were violently wakened by the shaking and lets face it, we lived in the hood. I had to walk down the block to grab a flashlight out of my car and ended up having to work the next day also. We were very busy as the water in Beverly Hills was not safe so people were coming in for bottled water and a little breakfast. One aftershock caused a marble gargoyle (or something like that) to fall from the roof of our building and another had the chef and I hugging in a door jam in the storage space three levels below ground hoping to make it out. As I think of it now, it was a funny scene, but at the time it was not funny at all. I should have known that 1994 was going to be an eventful year, but to be honest, I just wasn't that introspective.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Part 73
Though I was firmly entrenched in the idea that I was, first and foremost, and actor, I was still open to other art forms and engaging in different media for my voice. I got my first pitch meeting in November of 1992 with some producers I had met while working at the deli. I really didn't know much about how things worked (though you never would have known this by looking only at my arrogance and self-aggrandizing), and I still don't know how real they were. But, after picking out a concept to pursue for a Television show, they went to work on getting me a pitch meeting with a network and I gathered some friends around to do some writing. We really never accomplished anything because I chose other actors I knew who had some writing experience, and we basically accomplished nothing in our two writing sessions. In late December, as Cathy and I were headed back to San Jose for Christmas, I got the call that we would be meeting with ABC in early January. So, my first visit home, I was full of bravado and frankly, very full of myself. Unfortunately, the pitch meeting never happened and I never developed anything which would have prompted pursuit of a further appointment. The producers stopped calling or returning my calls and the project went away, as they so often do.
I was also in the process of two writing projects of my own volition. One was a novel based very loosely on when my brothers and I had run away in 1981. The other was a play about the pressure of Tolerance creating an intolerant culture. It all took place inside a jail cell in a fictional country and was called, "the caged." Mid-way through the process of writing the play, one of my friends sid it sounded more like a movie and I changed the work into a hastily written, 7 or 8 page treatment for what I envisioned in a screenplay. The difficulty is that I knew nothing about the structure of screenplays. So, in Late March of 1993, I called up my friend Paul in San Jose and asked him if he would mind writing it with me. Not having a computer, most of the writing was completed by Paul (95%) and he changed it to an action film. Paul knows what sells and is a very visual thinker, so this made sense. On the other hand, I am all about the words (dialogue), so it didn't feel like me at all. I still credit this as the first screenplay I ever finished even though I really did almost none of the writing (an occasional note on swearing, because while Paul was a good kid who really didn't swear properly, it was my everyday vernacular).
On July 2nd 1993, Paul and his wife were visiting Santa Barbara and Cathy and I drove up to pick up the completed script. I also picked up a vicious case of food poisoning, but that is an unpleasant memory and I will not disgust you with the details. After recovering from my illness, I made copies of the script and set about the foolish task of trying to prodice it myself. Gathering a little money from what turned out to be an illegal raffle (I ended up having to give most of the money back), I bought some supplies and began breaking down the script. I had absolutely no experience or knowledge of how to produce a film. I just figured that it would be roughly the same as producing a play, I was wrong. On top of the constant realization of just what I did not know, my dog actually ate some of my production board (no joke). I was so demoralized, that I let the project go. Paul was still using the script at that time to market his work as a writer.
In late July, I was fired at the Deli...by my brother no less, and with cause. My bitterness about some decisions of the GM (I was by that time a manager) were playing out in my actions and he sent my brother to deal with me. It did not cause any problems between us and I went on to my first job as a GM of an independant restaurant in Santa Monica. This only lasted 3 months, because while I was good at analyzing the issues and implementing plans, I had not yet learned how to treat people. During my time there, I was hosting a radio show on cable radio (back when no one had cable radio, and I sucked); I had begun Kenpo Karate after being away from Martial Arts for a few years; and I met a manager who was a big deal and agreed to meet with me and see where it went. He had been a Producer on The Paper Chase among other things and was managing Rob Estes (who was on Silk Stocking at the time, but went on to Melrose Place fame). I gave him the script and he asked me a simple question, "Are you an Actor, Director, Writer or Producer?" When I told him all of the above, he was not amused and told me to pick one. He told me to know who and what I was, I could do all of the above, but I could not effectively BE all of the above. To paraphrase the old Knight from the third Indiana Jones movie, I chose ... poorly. I said actor, because it was all I ever knew myself as. He set me up with a great photographer, but really didnt pursue me any longer. Unforunately, I was so full of myself as an actor and did not have the hunger which propels most actors to power through bad auditions, mean casting directors, dismissive directors and studios and producers. If I had it to do over again, I would have said producer, but it is what it is.
I was also in the process of two writing projects of my own volition. One was a novel based very loosely on when my brothers and I had run away in 1981. The other was a play about the pressure of Tolerance creating an intolerant culture. It all took place inside a jail cell in a fictional country and was called, "the caged." Mid-way through the process of writing the play, one of my friends sid it sounded more like a movie and I changed the work into a hastily written, 7 or 8 page treatment for what I envisioned in a screenplay. The difficulty is that I knew nothing about the structure of screenplays. So, in Late March of 1993, I called up my friend Paul in San Jose and asked him if he would mind writing it with me. Not having a computer, most of the writing was completed by Paul (95%) and he changed it to an action film. Paul knows what sells and is a very visual thinker, so this made sense. On the other hand, I am all about the words (dialogue), so it didn't feel like me at all. I still credit this as the first screenplay I ever finished even though I really did almost none of the writing (an occasional note on swearing, because while Paul was a good kid who really didn't swear properly, it was my everyday vernacular).
On July 2nd 1993, Paul and his wife were visiting Santa Barbara and Cathy and I drove up to pick up the completed script. I also picked up a vicious case of food poisoning, but that is an unpleasant memory and I will not disgust you with the details. After recovering from my illness, I made copies of the script and set about the foolish task of trying to prodice it myself. Gathering a little money from what turned out to be an illegal raffle (I ended up having to give most of the money back), I bought some supplies and began breaking down the script. I had absolutely no experience or knowledge of how to produce a film. I just figured that it would be roughly the same as producing a play, I was wrong. On top of the constant realization of just what I did not know, my dog actually ate some of my production board (no joke). I was so demoralized, that I let the project go. Paul was still using the script at that time to market his work as a writer.
In late July, I was fired at the Deli...by my brother no less, and with cause. My bitterness about some decisions of the GM (I was by that time a manager) were playing out in my actions and he sent my brother to deal with me. It did not cause any problems between us and I went on to my first job as a GM of an independant restaurant in Santa Monica. This only lasted 3 months, because while I was good at analyzing the issues and implementing plans, I had not yet learned how to treat people. During my time there, I was hosting a radio show on cable radio (back when no one had cable radio, and I sucked); I had begun Kenpo Karate after being away from Martial Arts for a few years; and I met a manager who was a big deal and agreed to meet with me and see where it went. He had been a Producer on The Paper Chase among other things and was managing Rob Estes (who was on Silk Stocking at the time, but went on to Melrose Place fame). I gave him the script and he asked me a simple question, "Are you an Actor, Director, Writer or Producer?" When I told him all of the above, he was not amused and told me to pick one. He told me to know who and what I was, I could do all of the above, but I could not effectively BE all of the above. To paraphrase the old Knight from the third Indiana Jones movie, I chose ... poorly. I said actor, because it was all I ever knew myself as. He set me up with a great photographer, but really didnt pursue me any longer. Unforunately, I was so full of myself as an actor and did not have the hunger which propels most actors to power through bad auditions, mean casting directors, dismissive directors and studios and producers. If I had it to do over again, I would have said producer, but it is what it is.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Part 72
The restaurant I was working at was suffering from a poor location, or so we were told, and I could not make enough money. I have always suffered under the delusion that I will have more time to look for a job when I am not employed and I ended up quitting that job just 2 short weeks before they closed. I began looking for management jobs, it was time to be responsible. I had a few interviews, but nothing panned out, and after a visit to my brother's in Santa Monica, Cathy and I decided to move to Southern California.
On June 28th, 1992, we packed up a u-haul (even throwing one of our couches away because it didnt fit) and headed down the 5 towards Los Angeles. Keep in mind, we had no idea where we were going to live. My mom had suggested that we move in together and said she was going to rent an apartment the week before. When we arrived, she acted like the conversation never happened. So, Cathy and I were standing in my Aunt Carole's house in Simi Valley with a u-haul full of our stuff and nowhere to live. Luckily, Mom went out that night and rented a 2 bedroom and we moved in.
Cathy was miserable. I spent all day with our one car (out other car was still in San Jose) looking for jobs on the west-side and Cathy was stranded, alone, at my Mom's apartment...she just hated it. We were there for just a couple of weeks when she told me and we went and rented our own one bedroom in the quaint little suburb of Brentwood. Having no money, I took a cash advance on one of those credit cards they used to send you in the mail and we were immediately in the most debt I had ever been in. In late August, we both got jobs. Cathy began working at an upscale baby-furniture store called Bellini, and I became a day server at the well-known eatery, Broadway Deli. Cathy began some classes at UCLA extension, as she transitioned to UCLA proper. I began sending headshots out to agents and different gigs I would hear about. I also began to write more, and develop ideas for shows, movies and plays. We were poor, but we didn't really know it and we were beginning this great adventure called marriage together.
On June 28th, 1992, we packed up a u-haul (even throwing one of our couches away because it didnt fit) and headed down the 5 towards Los Angeles. Keep in mind, we had no idea where we were going to live. My mom had suggested that we move in together and said she was going to rent an apartment the week before. When we arrived, she acted like the conversation never happened. So, Cathy and I were standing in my Aunt Carole's house in Simi Valley with a u-haul full of our stuff and nowhere to live. Luckily, Mom went out that night and rented a 2 bedroom and we moved in.
Cathy was miserable. I spent all day with our one car (out other car was still in San Jose) looking for jobs on the west-side and Cathy was stranded, alone, at my Mom's apartment...she just hated it. We were there for just a couple of weeks when she told me and we went and rented our own one bedroom in the quaint little suburb of Brentwood. Having no money, I took a cash advance on one of those credit cards they used to send you in the mail and we were immediately in the most debt I had ever been in. In late August, we both got jobs. Cathy began working at an upscale baby-furniture store called Bellini, and I became a day server at the well-known eatery, Broadway Deli. Cathy began some classes at UCLA extension, as she transitioned to UCLA proper. I began sending headshots out to agents and different gigs I would hear about. I also began to write more, and develop ideas for shows, movies and plays. We were poor, but we didn't really know it and we were beginning this great adventure called marriage together.
Friday, October 30, 2009
This feels like too much
To be honest, I have avoided delving into the difficulties of life this year due to a combination of depression, anxiety and downright denial. Additionally, I am more proud than I would like and I really don't want people to know how badly I have failed this year. However, in the hopes of catharsis, I will burrow through this and reveal the struggle.
This morning I woke up to realize we had $19.50 in our account and the feelings of abject failure washed over me like a huge wave. Although I can honestly say that this time it was not my fault, there have been so many times that it was my fault that I have a hard time not second guessing every decision I have ever made. HSBC is threatening to take my car and I am wondering if it wouldn't be better to just hand it over and give up the payment. The $4200 per year I spend on just the car payment could be put to better use, and I could buy something functional and cheap in a couple of months. The difficulty with this is that I can't get much of a job if I can't get around. It is a little bit of a catch 22.
The job is a whole other struggle. My business was steadily growing, but beginning in the summer of 2008, a number of deals fell apart due to lack of financing, leaving me making only 16K this year. A friend of mine who has been in commercial real estate for over 25 years and is considered pretty successful told me yesterday that he has only made 18k in the same period from commissions. Additionally, I can't even get anyone to talk with me in my job search and I have a decent resume, I am good at what I do and have a whole nest of transferable skills. I can speculate on the reasons for not getting any responses for 6-8 months, but in the end the only thing that matters is the wall of silence I face every day. Cathy's business continues to grow, and I am so grateful for that, but I am supposed to be the one making the money and taking care of responsibilities. I am so proud of her that I don't have words for how great she is, and how impressed I am everyday by both her art and her business sense. However, no matter how much she brought in, it would never be enough to help me not feel like a failure for bringing in nothing.
I do know this, that God has and will provide for us and in the end everything will be okay. But today, I feel like a total failure. Here is hoping for a better day tomorrow.
This morning I woke up to realize we had $19.50 in our account and the feelings of abject failure washed over me like a huge wave. Although I can honestly say that this time it was not my fault, there have been so many times that it was my fault that I have a hard time not second guessing every decision I have ever made. HSBC is threatening to take my car and I am wondering if it wouldn't be better to just hand it over and give up the payment. The $4200 per year I spend on just the car payment could be put to better use, and I could buy something functional and cheap in a couple of months. The difficulty with this is that I can't get much of a job if I can't get around. It is a little bit of a catch 22.
The job is a whole other struggle. My business was steadily growing, but beginning in the summer of 2008, a number of deals fell apart due to lack of financing, leaving me making only 16K this year. A friend of mine who has been in commercial real estate for over 25 years and is considered pretty successful told me yesterday that he has only made 18k in the same period from commissions. Additionally, I can't even get anyone to talk with me in my job search and I have a decent resume, I am good at what I do and have a whole nest of transferable skills. I can speculate on the reasons for not getting any responses for 6-8 months, but in the end the only thing that matters is the wall of silence I face every day. Cathy's business continues to grow, and I am so grateful for that, but I am supposed to be the one making the money and taking care of responsibilities. I am so proud of her that I don't have words for how great she is, and how impressed I am everyday by both her art and her business sense. However, no matter how much she brought in, it would never be enough to help me not feel like a failure for bringing in nothing.
I do know this, that God has and will provide for us and in the end everything will be okay. But today, I feel like a total failure. Here is hoping for a better day tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Part LXXI - seriously, I will have to give up roman numerals soon as they are becoming encumbersome
Coming home from our beautiful honeymoon to open a plethora of presents sounds more fun than it actually is. Realizing that some of your gifts are re-gifts does not sound as amuzing as it felt. All in all, we were getting into the swing of our new life together, getting to know each other in all new ways. I have to say the first time you walk in on your wife on the toilet, you know you are married, there is a familiarity that takes some getting used to and that is all I have to say about that.
Since Cathy wasn't yet twenty-one, our first foray into the world of gambling that I had known growing up was about a month after we were married, we took a trip up to Lake Tahoe for her twenty-first birthday. Cathy has no use for gambling and it took her years to get a vague impression of the dream that I enjoyed when I would gamble. I play nickel slots, I am not a huge gambler, but I love the return when you hit a big jackpot...it may only be seven dollars, but since you put in only a nickel, that is awesome. My mom always told me, you take money to spend, only a fool thinks they will win. I didn't think we would win, but I could dream about what would happen if we hit some big numbers and that was worth the 20-40 dollars I would spend when I would go. We have only ever been to a casino two other times in almost eighteen years and I actually find them seedy and gross, but I was young so I enjoyed it.
About a month after that was my twenty-fifth birthday. And now is a little harder revelation. There are a number of people who I love and respect, who let me borrow their cars over the years under the mistaken impression that I had a license, but I didn't until my 25th birthday. Although I talk a lot about the accident where I "lost my license", the truth is that I should have been jailed for not having one and the cops just let me go. The state of California revoked my ability to get a license in 1987 after my accident until I turned 25, or until I had proof of insurance which I couldn't get without a license (or so I was told). So, on March 4th 1992, I drove Cathy's car the block or two over to the Los Gatos DMV and took my driving test and got a license. Prior to this point, I had been pulled over by police for everything from standard checkpoints to wrong turns to bad tags, everytime wiggling my way out of it through false sincerity and charm. Now I actually had a license. Cathy would proceed, through a good influence and genuine love and care for me, to change my paradigm without really challenging it directly. Her goodness is a mirror for my flaws, and her love is the support I often need to change. I love her for that and many other things.
Since Cathy wasn't yet twenty-one, our first foray into the world of gambling that I had known growing up was about a month after we were married, we took a trip up to Lake Tahoe for her twenty-first birthday. Cathy has no use for gambling and it took her years to get a vague impression of the dream that I enjoyed when I would gamble. I play nickel slots, I am not a huge gambler, but I love the return when you hit a big jackpot...it may only be seven dollars, but since you put in only a nickel, that is awesome. My mom always told me, you take money to spend, only a fool thinks they will win. I didn't think we would win, but I could dream about what would happen if we hit some big numbers and that was worth the 20-40 dollars I would spend when I would go. We have only ever been to a casino two other times in almost eighteen years and I actually find them seedy and gross, but I was young so I enjoyed it.
About a month after that was my twenty-fifth birthday. And now is a little harder revelation. There are a number of people who I love and respect, who let me borrow their cars over the years under the mistaken impression that I had a license, but I didn't until my 25th birthday. Although I talk a lot about the accident where I "lost my license", the truth is that I should have been jailed for not having one and the cops just let me go. The state of California revoked my ability to get a license in 1987 after my accident until I turned 25, or until I had proof of insurance which I couldn't get without a license (or so I was told). So, on March 4th 1992, I drove Cathy's car the block or two over to the Los Gatos DMV and took my driving test and got a license. Prior to this point, I had been pulled over by police for everything from standard checkpoints to wrong turns to bad tags, everytime wiggling my way out of it through false sincerity and charm. Now I actually had a license. Cathy would proceed, through a good influence and genuine love and care for me, to change my paradigm without really challenging it directly. Her goodness is a mirror for my flaws, and her love is the support I often need to change. I love her for that and many other things.
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