The Long Weekend

The Northeast has been my home on and off for the past decade. Traveling up and down this slip-and-slide only to climb right back to its peak once more. Maine. Vacationland or as it has been toted to the masses. American flags line the roads of small-town America. An Old fashion church slumbers, fasting away. The dirt road in a wooded wonderland curiously curls its trajectory. Mousam Lake, a cabin overlooking its prowess. My brother from another mother is back stateside and has invited me to his family property upon this secluded lake.

Years ago I roomed in a two-bedroom house with him and his younger brother Pete on the west side of San Andres, living in Santa Barbra. It was a quaint little house, a white picket fence with a small deck on the front, and a screen door that would snap when it shut. A convenience store not but a block away called Fernando’s, owned by a lovely little Asian family. A lesbian couple to the right of us and the owner lived on the left of us. He worked with Pete at his hotel as a security guard. I don’t think there wasn’t a time that I didn’t see a small glass with two ice cubes and some sort of liquid courage in it. He would tender bar on our deck after his late shift. He would meander over and place himself upon our corner of real estate as if he owned the place, which he did. Still, this elderly black gentleman was the salt of the earth some days and incomprehensible on others. A small house in the back of us with two men named Richard coining them the two dicks in the rear. This piece of heaven is where I would come to intern life at. It’s where I finally after 18 years stood under the ambiance of college, new surroundings, and people of faraway regions regaling.

It was the eve of the Summer solstice as I remember. We melted away at a house party nearby finding the courtship between conversing and gloating. Dustin and I who was Pete’s brother returned to the house just after 1 am. It wasn’t until later that I heard Pete. The snap of that screen door cracked me awake to someone tumbling up the small hallway to the kitchen and then back out again. The second time this happened my door flung open and in the backlit doorway stood Pete, fisting a two-gallon water jug. The jug went up as Pete took a swig and proceeded to spit all the water at me and scream Summer Solstice! I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation even though he had woken me up mid-slumber. His brother and I came out and he immediately hugged us, but we hadn’t realized that he was without trousers and his undergarments. Professing his love for both of us. Pete was a couch side dweller. We only had two rooms and three people. He claimed the couch as his domain. The next morning while I was at work, Pete came in. He was still wearing the same sweat-stained shirt and fisting with the same water jug. Luckily he had acquired pants. He looked like death. He slid bracing himself to the wall countering his off-balance disposition. A simple apology. It didn’t bother me about how he acted I actually came to realize that Pete is as true to form as anyone I have ever met. He along with his brother showed me the value of having a good time and honoring your true nature. I am someone who has always been so focused on driving my life to a particular destination that I forget to stop from time to time and enjoy this wild ride.

Present day, dockside the sights of old friends coming together to regain the nostalgia of earlier days. Old flings and the telling of stories with high pitch rhetoric. Goosing a fella for the oversize puffy coat he wore back in the mid 90’s and a retelling of a spin-the-bottle game at a party. Dustin’s mother even told me about how she was at the graduation house party with her son partying alongside them all. An oddball taking shrooms offering the

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delights of his plaid viewership. Chicken cutlets grilled to perfection. These weren’t my people but I was somewhat grandfathered in as a good old boy who could hang with the crew. The shroom smuggler kept at it with this one lovely trying to get her to sip the tea of the mushroom variety and making her quite uncomfortable. I offered to play her cribbage and occupy her time so that she didn’t feel as uncomfortable continuing to turn this unaware male specimen down. I don’t ever remember feeling uncomfortable in any conversation I’ve had with new people in my life. I’m a people person and I value the intake of content that each person permits me to see of them. I know that there is this superficial masking that happens with introductions and early conversational get to know ya’s. It’s the guarding of oneself to not feel the judgment that comes with being vulnerable in your true form. Masking is a way to soften the blowback in case you feel threatened based upon expressing your character of persona. Thus the liquid courage needed at these little get-togethers. Within this long weekend, I could not have anticipated the unpredictable nature of human behavior.

Fast forward a bit, Friday was the bonfire with my brother from another mother but Saturday I went out with the crew I had been working with these past six weeks. Blood sweat and tears were poured into this gig and I knew that everyone had worked their asses off developing and creating for each corner they operated under. The end was near and in the midst of this tenure coming to a close it was only tradition to land at the gentleman’s joint. I hadn’t set foot in one for over five years now and it's not a place I generally frequent unless of course the occasional bachelor party or even a celebrator send-off. I had just come from the casino where I had won some cash. We met five other crew members barside. The curly-haired fella from Manhattan told me that he had convinced one of the ladies that he was Mark Ruffalo’s brother and to go along with the rouse. I wasn’t there but three minutes and this gorgeous little blond comes walking over. I stop her to save her the trouble of a sales pitch in the awkward space of selling me what I’m here for. It’s like coming to one of those conventions that you pay for and the speaker spends time still trying to sell you. I paid to get in here for a reason, so just show me. She takes me by the hand and walks me to a sad room with corner cubbies and a bouncer at the door. She says no touching as she sits me down in a chair. She takes her clothes off and immediately starts with the lap dance. $25 a song and the songs are like 2 mins long. The conversations in these private sessions have to be way below the belt in all areas of mind and body. I’m following her with my eyes as she smirks and turns around on me. Small talk all the while getting the bump and grind treatment. We cover logistics of where I am from my name and what I am here doing but nothing substantial. I could tell she was a little bit shy but masking was something she worked on. She told me her name was Amelia and that she flies planes. I found out that she is an avid hiker and can tell by her body she is very fit. She likes the adventure types and I am halfway into that world just by the proximity of work.

Am I a thrill seeker? A distinct conversation I had with a fellow producer/shooter about the lives we lead. After the long nights, we spend out on the Atlantic far from any land piece it’s measured on each of us, our character. We step off the pedestal from the floating chariot and catch a production vehicle with a production assistant who drives our weak weary and tired ass back to the hotel to catch a shower a meal and some z’s. In that 30 minutes between the water and the hotel we as shooter/producers reflect. What did we just go through? On this occasion, I had the opportunity to ride with a fellow warrior of the waters. We commiserated upon our boat's lack of catch and the stories we capture. I haven’t known this gentle southern lad very long but I have shot a few scenes with him and he’s on a very difficult boat to produce at times you must have thick skin. His words speak of the stories we tell about the people we capture. He’s humble and honest but truthful in his tellings and doesn’t sugarcoat

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the layers. Our back and forth within the car is more of a therapeutic transgression. We have been in the thick of it. The last two boats on the water with no catch to capture true tv time. Moral was low and on the water far from anything when you aren’t catching you feel the heaviness that lines the empty pockets of a googan. A term coined by other fishermen for those who lose fish more than their average offshore fishermen. This particular job tests the boundaries of how much you are willing to work, what capacity can you create from, how to get compelling content, and all the while not fall into the ocean. The largest derailment for operators of my kind tend to be the overwhelming components. We are in charge of 4 almost round-the-clock cameras mounted for fishing. Two inside and two outside. Our 788 mixer which if you ask me is kind of excessive. It’s a full bridge sound mixer and we need to be able to operate it or give almost minimal effort to understand how to record audio and troubleshoot for potential disaster points. Four other specialty cameras, one mounted on a painter's pole to post up in the water, a couple goose neck GoPro’s to mount at various spots on the boat. An A7 for stills and slow-mo, a mini gimbal for more specialty as well as drone to capture the mundane, and finally our large-scale cameras for all the tv content. The organization must be on point and you must have to have your own process to develop what works best for you on whatever boat you are on. Notes have to be taken and matched with specific time codes to collaborate the mess of media that subdue your time on the boat. A bird nearly runs right into our mini van and the production assistant is rattled. He’s a young 20-something still trying to understand what he wants with his life, living at his distant cousins for this job and working the late shift. He’s wearing a mask for precaution and I can tell from our previous encounters he’s intelligent and hard-working. Anticipating the next move is how a kid in his position moves up. He was shaking and maybe it’s because this industry is so desensitizing or merely that I could care less about a damn bird being killed but I had no effect. The southern gentlemen said it best, “that bird had a death wish.” Is it something to be said about the job and lives we lead. I’ve nearly kicked the can on three occasions and possibly a handful of others on these adventure “thrill seeking” avenues that I had cornered for work. I think perhaps I enjoy the dominion and nature of what I do. I hadn’t really got into this industry to film a fishing competition show or a reality drama about c list celebrities trying to reconcile their relationships. I fell in love with cinema at the ripe age

of 15. A class that was offered at my high school showcased films of many origins and nature retelling of stories through perspectives I hadn’t had the opportunity to envision ever. Kubrick and Kurosawa. Lynch and Leone. Films that forever shaped the telling of stories. So as I sat front seat shuttled I reflected on why I was here doing the things I was doing. Obviously, it wasn’t where I had envisioned myself after 18 years in this industry but then again not many can do the things I had done on that boat with or without a fish fight to prove I did work. It’s important you stick to your code of character. I want to tell stories that and that hasn’t ever changed and I will continue to do so with whichever platform I am offered. It’s a lonely operation at times to fill the mental capacity with the hope of content and to be flushed with lack of it. The fellowship within each show is part of the reason I continue to set out on treacherous adventures. It’s people like my southern partner in crime who understand the stakes, and what’s given never to be received again.

The stripper had taken my belt off, wrapped it around her neck, and noosed it by clipping it in the buckle. She handed me the other end and smiled. I woke up that morning on the bottom half of a bunk bed in another state entirely. Previous to that night I was fresh off the water tumbler smacking birds in the face with minivans. Won 5k at the casino and rushed to a strip club. The stripper, despite my effort to get her number, found me on social media. Professing she broke her number one rule: never going out with anyone from her place of pleasure business.

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She lead a double life and was actually a relator but only worked in the club 1 or 2 times a month for the thrill of it. She eventually came to visit me at my hotel. She wasn’t but 5 foot nothing 100 pounds of pure ecstasy. She jumped on me as soon as we entered my room and threw me over my couch arm toppling me while undoing all the necessary things. Now she had cancelled on me one night previous and I just thought she maybe wanted a little attention and wasn’t going to give any effort to hang out so my expectation was low. She sent me this.

I’ll start by whispering into your ear all the things that have been running through my mind since I left you and then I’ll run

my tongue down your neck and feel your chest as you start breathing heavier. My eyes meet yours and they tell you everything you’ve been dying to hear without the need for any words. I feel your impatient hands crave my skin and slide off my clothes but I move away and slowly take off your boxers. My mouth is watering as I swirl my tongue around the head of your dick. Then I’d suck on just the tip of your throbbing hard cock teasing you I’ll gently kiss your balls and write my name on your cock with my lips. You desperately want to shove it down my throat, but not yet. I owe it to you to take my times you know exactly how bad

I want to please you.

The weekend had long passed but it carried on its essence of perpetuity by extension

and joins us, by proximity at times. The shell of life craters like a teeter tater as we bend and move through its peaks and valleys. The trajectory seems random. Carry with you this, as you crest past the moon and rise with the sun. Our daily spills through the week and the week motors through the month. Years pass and the relationships we carry seem to be less and less as our responsibility for life grows with the passing. Take the time to enjoy and relish the path presented and don’t hesitate on an opportunity. Extend to yourself grace. Give as much as you take and be mindful that you aren’t the only occupant of this world. I tend to rely on novelists much more experienced with writing to convert my overall into the be-all.

“I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.” Jack Kerouac