Feel, Feel It Grow

In Your Mind, In Your Mind. (The Hard Road, Sam Roberts, We Were Born In A Flame, Rel. 2004)

Is it the end of September already? Good! Because with just about 98% of it - it couldn't be done fast enough. Stupid fucking September.

Ok - Who want's an anxiety attack? Thematically & mathematically I can only hope that there is either some crazy scholar, or 1000 monkeys reading Freud out there who will absolutely determine that somehow work = anxiety attacks.

In my entire life (before this September that is) I've had two. Both were 6 years ago - the first was 3 days after my Dad passed away, the second was about 2 weeks after that. Both were truly well deserved, to be sure. In the last 4 weeks though? I've had five. Two of these recent episodes were especially notable as one of them was in a plane, 35,000 feet up, about an hour out of Vancouver en route to Toronto for the film festival. It was NOT fun. For about 5 minutes there, I was seriously about to pull the trigger on landing the full plane (including both my boss, and Academy Award Winning Actor Jeffery Rush) in Winnipeg due to a medical issue. The great thing about Air Canada is that the Chief Steward actually found a doctor in business class, brought him back to me (I wound up camped out at the back of the airplane in the Stewardess's section) and after checking me out asked one of the flight attendants for a couple of scotches. Strong booze apparently, helps relax constricted blood vessels, plus with the altitude & pressure, allows the lungs to be able to feel like they are bringing in at least the bare minimum of oxygen. I remained in the kitchen area for the remainder of the 4.5 hour flight, the Flight Attendants all cooed and mothered over me, and poured as much free scotch down my throat as I could stand. (You know those National Geographic shows with the baby chicks in the nest, mouths agape anytime a parent flies by in the hopes of them stuffing some sort of bug-based mulch down their yappers? Then picture me with 4 matronly flight attendants with a hand-truck full of booze - you'll get the idea).

Notable Episode # 2 was last Wednesday after returning from Toronto. We've been having all sorts of problems at work, but Tuesday and Wednesday morning I was having problems trying to catch my breath. With visions of blood clots running through my mind, I called my Doctor and told him that I was having trouble catching my breath. He told me to hang up the phone, and go immediately to Emergency. I coyly said that I might just be having an anxiety attack - as they've been happening recently, and he said "GO to hospital - it doesn't matter if it is anxiety or not, rule it out, get checked out because it's medical malpractice if you don't - and we'll see you first thing in the morning at my office."

So off to emergency I went. It was kinda funny actually, because of all the days I should forget my wallet at home, that was the day. Dr. Johnson told me to bring a good book as I was going to be a while. Also, on the way back to my apartment from work, I took a couple of wrong turns - all from a route that I've taken every day for the last 2.5 years. (It's weird getting lost where you know exactly where you are). But I finally got home, dropped off my laptop, and knowing the wait time in emergency, I packed another bag with a tooth brush, a couple of books, a change of socks & underwear, and headed out (again) to the hospital. I could breathe, (well sort of anyway), I got through the rush hour traffic, arrived at VGH, entered the parkade, and just when I shut off my car, I realized that I had left my wallet in my lap top bag at home. "Fuck."I said to myself. So I had to leave the parkade, explain to the attendant that I'm an idiot, who isn't breathing well, who forgot his medical card, credit card, and cash in his wallet at home, and back home I went.

Well I didn't really forget; because the thing with Anxiety attacks is that you don't think totally quite straight. Sometimes vision is a little blurry, and little things like directions, finding your way home on routes that I take everyday become a little challenging. It's like you're there, but not really there. But I got home (again) ran upstairs, retrieved said wallet, then shakily drove BACK to the hospital to re-enter the parkade and start the whole process again. 8.5 hours, a CT Scan, lots of needles, blood tests and such later? Was pronounced clean as a whistle, smart like stick, sharp like marble, and I was free to go. I emailed my boss around 10:30 PM saying I was ok, and on my way home and was going to be at my doctor's first thing in the morning and would talk to the office after that.

A side note to all of this was after 5.5 months on the blood thinners to get rid of the clots in my lungs after my much beaten-to-death-surgery-stories, (which no-one needs to hear about anymore), is that I was also experiencing some fairly sudden, massive, and alarming hair loss. It was enough that 4 weeks ago I googled "warfarin" & "hair loss" and came up roses. (Well, that, and literally filling an envelope full of hair that had fallen onto my desk in the span of 4 short hours) that I went to my Doctor the next day, with said envelope of hair and pathetically showed it to him:

Me: Look at this! (extending envelope of shed hair)
Dr. Johnson: Hmmmm, Well I've never heard of that side effect before.
Me: Then just Google warfarin + Hair loss.
Dr. Johnson: (Googling warfarin + hair loss at his computer), "Well... It looks like there ARE some people who DO suffer a rare side effect of warfarin..."
Me: "I KNOW! and look at this again!" (pathetically again offering the envelope of hair that I brought in from Yesterday, cradling it gently like it contained the Dead Sea Scrolls). "I don't have much going on in my life! I'm single, don't have a lot of bank, I'm apparently middle aged, and all I've got going on for me is my hair! You HAVE to help me."
Dr. Johnson: It's fairly obvious, you have to leave your job. As your physician, I'm telling you that you need to leave your job. I'll even give you a note. Stress & anxiety are killers, and, well, you have to leave your job. Your body & more importantly your subconscious is telling you what to do.
Me: ... I know.
Dr. Johnson: Regarding the hair loss? It also seems that we have to find you a woman who is just as shallow as you.
Me: Tell me about it.

Welcome To The Movie Business

I just spent close to 2 hours on the phone tonight with a U.S. Producer who has a film lined up & ready to go. It is a funny idea actually, totally tongue in cheek, and without giving away any of the plot - it might or might not be about a certain breed of voracious tiny rat-dogs that get genetically crossed with a certain notorious carnivorous fish, and then start graphically killing everyone at this remote, wooded camping area. (I smell Oscars!). I also hear stuff like this all the time and usually discount it, but he has a big name attached, & owns his own CGI SPFX house, has the budget together, PLUS can shoot it on the cheap. I thought to myself: "I could sell it this" (All the while trying to avoid the fires of hell...)

But again, I get all sorts of stuff thrown at me all the time, but I liked his pitch, and He was unlike most of the other "Producers" though. I checked him out on IMDB, and he has financing, has done a deal with a major studio in the past, and most importantly REAL. That was the biggest thing for me. I guess that everyone has a film that needs to be sold, and I have to deal with a lot of dreamers, time wasters, assholes, and people who quite frankly have no idea what they are talking about.

But really, I don't mind. I'm building a business, (but it's also possible that I just like to hear myself talk), so I emailed the guy my number and we had a chat. This is sort of my internet dating filtering thing. I figure that I'm a fairly bright guy, and a good judge of character, so if I can get a feel from them from a phone call while getting the scoop on their business plan, financing, production facility etc., then I will know sooner than later if they are full of shit, or ultimately worth investing a couple of months & a lot late nights and hard work towards my future or not.

More important though is the kind of person they are. I've dealt with assholes before - and believe me - there are no more worse assholes than the film business. So we talked, kvetched, and after a while, we started to connect. We were speaking the same language, and I gave him enough tantalizing information to keep him interested, all the while going back to his spiel, trying to poke holes in it, to check out his bona fides. The type of person they are is really what brings me around. It's that if I make the decision to make a long term investment in this person, then they'd better be worth it. Life's too short, you know?

He asked me questions about my background, my work history, and I did the same. I told him about the huge companies I've worked for, and the many deals I've made etc., and in turn he told me that he ran a production house, shot commercials for Nike, and then told me about his wife who is his producing partner, and how solid they are, and how they were out walking their dogs when he first called me etc. We gradually we got into each others comfort zone. He told me that he was going to send me the latest draft of their script later this evening.

*Bear in mind that we had been talking to each other on our cell phones*

About 10 minutes after we hung up, my phone beeped with a text message. I got one, then immediately a second text from HIS cell phone and they read verbatim:

Sept 12, 2008 8:11:26 PM: "Hey hot stuff! I'm writing late tonight but i have time tomorrow to see you. Would you like to make it a date? Please deedel yourself really good tonig..."

Sept 12, 2008 8:11:42 PM: "...ght and send me photos so I can't see straight... Meow!"

Me: Shocked, looking at my blackberry "... Right".

Ah, the movie business! Love! Marriage! Mis-sent text messages! (Mistakenly to me, and certainly not to his wife, co-producer, & dog-walking life partner etc,).

I do need to bone up on my intra-personal radar though. I thought I had this guy pegged as someone I could do some business with. Part of me wanted to write him back asking for pics in return or something - but that would have just been so wrong, on so many different levels.

Sometimes I really have to question what the hell I'm doing for a living.

You'd Better Turn That Frown Upside Down

"There's only two things that frighten me man - Dr. Evil and Carnies." (Austin Powers).

After a couple of days of sheer Toronto International Film Festival induced madness, I did my yearly sojourn to my dear friends Brian & Lynda's place in the far wilds of Northern Ontario. They are located (from what I can gather) just west of the Laurentians, and apparently just south of the Arctic circle, while at the same time firmly ensconced on the far western fringes of the Canadian Shield. This, according to my calculations puts them somewhere in the vicinity of Gimli, Manitoba.

I love going up there though. Each time I rent a car for the drive, Brian (probably subconsciously) gives me directions to drive these beautiful secondary highways, rather than the huge traffic clogged expressways, and I'll tell you - that young Man has it going on with his directions. Having lived out on the West Coast for the better part of 17 years now, I'm pretty familiar with the lay of the land, and I do love it out here. But, maybe I've got a wandering eye, and sometimes I'm looking at more than what the west coast can offer me, even with all her womanly charms. I think that sometimes Northern Ontario is the girl you want to marry, but the West Coast is the girl you meet in the bar. Who knows? All I can tell you that I've got a wandering eye - but come winter, I'll probably be changing my tune, and thanking the Gods that I live in Vancouver where no-one has had a heart attack shoveling rain.

In Ontario in the fall, Brian's directions always take me through these rolling hills so I can zoom past full, lush fields of ripe corn, through these delightful little hamlets that are full of antique stores, (Complete with angle parking on the main streets, 'natch), wineries, and so much quaintness that quite frankly, makes me want to puke. Finally I arrive at his place to be welcomed with open arms, a fridge full of cocktails, and the best barbequing that I've ever been privileged to attend. This weekend was no different.

We wound up going to a tiny, lovely village called Uxbridge a few minutes outside of Brian's tiny, lovely village, and there was the massive, booming town fair going on. When I say massive & booming - I really mean the whole fair covered about 300 square yards - complete with Carnies. So with his neighbors, we took the kids, and watched as they got jacked up on cotton candy and went on the rides. There was no beer gardens though, because apparently there was some alcohol + knucklehead induced malfeasance last year - so they put an end to that right smartly. Bastards. So We walked around, laughed, watched the kids do their thing on the Strawberry Ride and the Mini Train Ride, mocked & got frightened by the Carnies, then we went back to Brian's place for a huge dinner, a huge amount of red wine, a guitar thing, a firepit, a hot tub, and a fair amount of debauchery.

All in all, it was a pretty great day. I love going out there. I even bought a cool cowboy hat to try & fit in. (It didn't work though - I was still pegged as "City Folk").

The next morning, I did the usual get the hell out of bed / jump into the car / make the mad dash to the airport / dump off the rental car / just make the plane and fly home thing. I arrived back to the West coast on a hot Sunday afternoon. It took a while to get home from the airport as there was traffic everywhere, so I rolled the windows down, and took the slow drive down past the beach at English Bay. I watched the people stroll on the packed beach, past the huge trees, watched the magic-hour sun paint them and everything else with subtle shades of green & gold, and finally made it to my door. I walked in, and after days of meetings, miles of walking, late nights and early mornings, I dropped my suitcase on the floor, stripped out of my travel stained clothes, and walked around my empty apartment.