The Beginning

...and all the trappings that go with them.

The odyssey of the last 18 months has been a strange one on my little brain.

DISCLAIMER: I knew that, coming to Houston, I was not going to be a "name" in this anime business.  The fact that some people actually enjoy my work, because I sound like a Darth Vader who smokes (thank the parents for that, BTW), is nothing less than inspiring to me.  Frankly, there are a lot of people who don't know what I've done and that's perfectly fine.  I came here to work, not to be famous.  Regardless, the falloff in the anime industry still caught me somewhat by surprise.  As a result, I've lost a house and damn near wound up on the streets because I was waiting for something else to fill the void.

Note to the casual observer: if you're capable of handling a shovel, fill your own voids. 

The fact is, thanks to my physical condition, I'm not a terribly pretty thing to stick in front of the camera.  This drastically reduces what my agent can get me because a large part of what they have to offer, other than voiceover, is related to the few film or industrial projects that roll through here.  And, again, because of my pipes and my generation's "backlash" against men who sound like their fathers selling them things, there isn't as much commercial voiceover work for me as one might think.  I do warm and friendly as well as the next guy...  just deeper and more authoritatively.

Frankly, for anyone who is my age and working in the advertising business.  I'm tired of your "daddy" issues.  Grow up, already.  We're all parents, now, in one form or another.  If you haven't raised your own kids yet, chances are good that you've at least mentored someone in your own line of business who's younger than you are.  And, wouldn't ya know it, you probably weren't the least bit threatening to them.

[/soapbox]

Regardless, I understand that the market for "me" has a certain window and focus to it that can't suddenly be widened.  I went up to DFW to record a role many months back that wound up on the cutting room floor because, in at least one person's estimation, I sounded "too old" in spite of the character obviously being a 7 foot tall 350 pound bruiser.  I'm sure every guy who's built like that sounds like a Brady Bunch kid, but by the same token, it's not like I didn't get paid for my work.  I just think of the waste and shake my head.  I am, of course, thankful to the friend who had the faith in me to cast me in the first place.

It's actually been a year since I finished writing Pumpkin Scissors for ADV, a property that's now in the hands of FUNImation.  I don't know if anyone's line-producing that product since it's already finished, but if there are any questions about the series you might want to remember that you've got Charlie Campbell spot directing for you and I'm not hard to find, either.  Kyodatsu Syndrome, if anyone's wondering.  I don't lament the work I'm not doing in that realm anymore, either.  If the market opens back up, those skills haven't left me either.  I've learned so much about storytelling by being able to tinker with and manuver inside a finished product and see how other folks construct their tales that I simply have improved my own art as a result.  You can't give that experience back, and I sure wouldn't want to.

BTW - these are not criticisms.  They are the way certain things happened and my own reactions to them.  Decision makers get paid to make decisions based on their own experiences, not mine. The other artists involved in these processes are people I respect and treasure, and it's my hope I don't otherwise hack them off with my catharsis.

However, there's one thing that pretty much evaporated in the process like mogas sitting in a bucket on a hot summer day.  (All the ex-soldiers know what I'm talking about).  That thing was a certain sense of independence.

I never made a lot of money when I was supporting myself with my acting and writing income, but I only had to sweat my projects. 

Now this, in and of itself, was a double-edged sword.  As an actor, you can't put "extra effort" into things like self-promotion.  You send out too many demo reels, headshots and resumes to people who don't want to see them, and you get the reputation of being amateurish in your self-promotion and more than a little psychotic.  You try going to and buying up every class you can take, your money dries up on you and you get a reputation of "well, I see the guy in classes a lot, but never on a set anywhere."  And frankly, during my "down" periods between projects, this was tough to take.  In my former professions, I could always go to the boss and say "Hey, boss!  Gimme another role in the organization, I'm ready to contribute more."  Then, I would put on my new hat, along with my other responsibilities, and eventually be rewarded for taking on more than Joe Average in those places where I worked.  It was a great system.

In the entertainment business, you do this, and people say "Hey, asshole, we'll call you when we need you."  Period.  The fact is, that superior ambition does not suddenly create acting roles for guys who are under 6 feet tall and over 300 pounds (as I've often been these last 5 or so years) with the deep voice that sounds like OMNIDAD.  These are all truths.  I accept all of them.  The problem is, I'm wired like a servitor droid who likes to WORK HIS ASS OFF.  Other than the entertainment business, I've always earned promotions in every profession I've ever tried.  In the entertainment business, you are what you have to offer.  And, since my disease effectively limits my ability to exercise, my only "promotion" I could give myself - in the form of a more chiseled physique - is not that easily attainable.  I get a little cocky at times like now when I can walk around my place of work up to 10 hours a night.  Then, I get brought crashing back to earth when I have to kneel next to a mannequin to give it CPR a couple of days and both of my legs make a sound that scares the shit out of my classmates.

That sound... the sound of two broken ratchets: the clattering of swollen menisci under both my kneecaps.  Then, and only then, I remind myself there may never be the heavy hanging and banging in the gym that occasionally gave me an acceptable looking physique in my 20s.  Of course, I won't kid myself about that, either.  It was only when I was practicing tae kwon do 3 or more times a week that I had the cardio workouts that made my body match where my mind wanted to go.

Anyway, the point is that the market for the "best me I can be" (as my first agent put it) is mighty slim, got slimmer and almost got away from me. 

Last year, I took my third swing at Securitas - who rewarded my experience with a supervisory position.  I then bolted to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice to try corrections, and ran screaming once I came to my senses.  And, here I am, working security again.  I had an interesting conversation with my client the other day.

"You're the best guard we've ever had."

"That's probably why I prefer the title 'security officer.'"

"What do you mean?"

"A 'guard' is someone you pay to be a roadblock.  An 'officer' is someone who occupies a position of trust in your organization and handles security issues with proactive measures, an attitude of customer service and forges strong relationships based on communication."

"Wow, that's a great notion.  You're right, you are a security officer."

"Thank you.  And, since I'm the best you've had working for you, and I'm kind of doing the paycheck to paycheck thing, I was wondering if you'd be interested in having me out here more hours per week to get me some overtime or perhaps negotiating a raise with me since I know my boss won't approach you with it."

"Gee, I'm sorry.  We're on a budget here and I can only get you what you're already getting."

"So, let me get this straight.  You pull down more than a quarter million dollars in rent receipts every month, you pay your office staff salaries that rival some of the people who live here and give them discounted and free apartments within your property system and I'm the ABSOLUTE BEST at what I do, and that's only worth $8.50 an hour with no benefits?"

*stunned silence follows*

"You all are good people here.  Don't sweat it.  And, by the way, you were right after all, not me."

"What do you mean?"

"At that price, I'm the best GUARD you've ever had.  Just don't plan on keeping me around at that price."

"I understand."

In other words, at this point, it's MY fault for settling for less than what I can bring to the table in my own life.  I'm one class away from finishing my medical transcription diploma with Penn Foster, and I don't plan on making it my profession any time soon.  I've done enough research, post-hype, and found that I might not be as happy with it as I had originally envisioned.  However, I don't quit things, either.  I'll get the rag, hang it on my wall, and say "hey, lookie!  More edjumuhcation for me!"  Like the last couple of years, it's something I've learned that I can't and won't give back.

So, where does that leave me, exactly?  Some day, that phone's going to ring with a potential acting or writing job.  Where do I put the flexibility back into my schedule?  Do I give up? 

I damn near did.

I actually emailed my agent about a month ago when I got the notion to pick up a second job and told them, "look, if you want to drop me from the roster because I'm not going to be that available, I understand."

However, I may not have been looking for the right second job.  Ideally, the "right" second job would be one that would help get my foot in the door, make the transition easy, allow me to contribute as much or as little to the cause as I need to and allow me to wear as many different hats in the organization as I can, but still give me time and/or days off if I'm called back to the world of the actor and the scribe.

Wait, that's actually a pretty good description of my ideal first job.  And, if all goes well, I've found it.

In about two weeks, I will be going to work for Yellow Cab as an independently contracted cab driver.  By the end of March, I'm hoping to be an owner-operator.

Imagine, if you will (just love hearing Dusty Rhodes' voice when I type that), getting that call from your agent.  You push one button in your cab and tell the dispatcher that you're going "to lunch."  Maybe a half hour... maybe three hours.  And then, when I'm done with that gig or audition, I push that button, and I'm being sent to drive people around again.

Holy.

Shit.

Why didn't I think of this sooner?  And then it dawns on me... when I first got to town.  Only, I didn't know how to drive around here that well.  Nowadays, I do pretty well for myself.  And, frankly, I have to admit I love nothing more than driving around in my truck and listening to sports talk radio or classic rock or spoken word in between jobs or rounds or whatever.  Hell, I'm one laptop mount and wireless internet away from practically living in the damn thing anyway.  So, yeah... why not?

I probably strike a lot of you as the potentially "hard boiled cabbie" type, anyway, right?  =)

Here's to the future, no matter what it brings.