999

A couple of posts ago, I talked about the yacht race. This is how many days I have left, before I say goodbye to the company I've worked for for eight and a half years. It'll be 11 years almost to the day by that point. The exact starting date of the race hasn't been announced yet, and probably won't be until January of that year. But I like to have things to look forward to, so 12 Jun 2015 is the most tangible date I can give myself. I don't know which ports we'll end up sailing in to. I don't know where I'll go at the end of the race. And I'm actually excited about that.

I've had a career. I decided when I was pretty young that I wanted to do theatre professionally. I've been a lighting tech, run sound, automation, stage management, even acted and been paid for it. I started my own company with a couple of friends, wrote scripts, built sets, hung lights- and on one memorable occasion, a snow machine with a squirrel fan which blanketed the audience. I've loaded and fired pyro.

I've programmed automation for three Cirque Du Soleil shows. I've gone from an hourly employee, to Show Lead, to Assistant Head. I've gone from having a problem with authority to being the authority.

And I'm only 32, and ready for something else. Automation, theatre, is comfortable for me. I have no problems operating a multi-million dollar system with people's lives in my hands, while two thousand people watch in awe. I'll take a screwdriver or a wrench to just about anything, especially when I've got a bunch of people waiting for me to either continue the show, or cancel it.

So the way I see it, I've got 999 more days until the end of my career. Will I continue to progress in that time? Who knows. My bosses know I'm making this trip, so are definitely less likely to consider me for promotion, but I'm fine with that. I have 999 more days to work on finishing some of the writing projects I'm working on. I have 999 more days of 2am shopping, and 24 hour bars, and showgirls and slot machines.

I have 999 more days of paying for the trip.

The Future.

Three years. I have to make it three more years. Three years of living in Las Vegas, the stupid hot summers, dusty windy winters, constant construction, and twenty-four-hour whatever you want. It's been eight, so it's less than half the time I've been here already, and when you look at it that way it's much more survivable.

It's not that I hate Vegas any more. It's grown on me. It's like a mole that you hate when you're young, cos everyone makes fun of it. Then you grow up, realize that those people don't really matter, and accept the mole as a part of who you are. I'm accepting now that Vegas is a part of who I am, and I don't really mind it too much.

It's just a matter of getting out before the Vegas mole metastases.

But I have a plan to get out. Actually, this week I'm signing a contract to get out. And as a result of that contract, and money paid, Sometime in July of 2015, I'm going to be a part of a crew on a round-the-world yacht race. It hits six of seven continents, ten boats, eleven months, fifteen ports of call, and about 450 crew over the course of the race.

I've known about the race for a little over a year. But about six weeks ago, out of the blue, I said fuck it, and decided instead of talking about the race, I was going to do it. Emailed the recruiter to arrange a time to talk about the race while I was in the UK, but instead of just talking, I actually went in and did the interview. Got accepted. Come pay day, I'm sending off some money, along with the signed contract, and that's my life for the next four years sorted out. No more buying computers, or cameras, or rounds of drinks, cos all the money is going to the race. It's expensive. But I'm at the point where I feel like I can't afford to NOT do the race. I need a kick in the arse. I need a challenge. I need to get the shit kicked out of me as only the Northern Pacific Ocean can do. I need to go away for eleven months, get out of my comfort zone, out of my rut, and see more of the world-- at least the wet parts of it.

So for now, that's what's going on. At some point, I might ask you for money. It's expensive. But I won't ask just yet. Right now, I'm just letting you know if you want to visit Vegas while I'm here, you got three years. And if you're already here, then we'll hang out at some point. But three years is it. Then I'm gone.

Preparation

I've been doing this all wrong. I keep thinking about the things I'm doing, and how they're a means to an end, a path to take to go where I want to go, but that's not the case. I used to know that, but somewhere along the way I forgot.

Working on ships, it used to piss me off no end when people sad 'what happens on ships stays on ships,' and claim that it wasn't real life out there. I always refused to take that point of view, because if you're spending nine bloody months out there, that's a good chunk of life that I'm not ready to write off. Admittedly, a lot of the shit you can get up to seems surreal, like you're living someone else's life. You can cram a lot of experiences into a short time on a ship, and looking back it sometimes doesn't seem real, but you can't qualify a part of life as not real. I used to know that.

Well, I'm getting back onto that train of thought. The past couple of years, I've been talking about becoming a writer. I've talked about leaving Las Vegas. I've talked about living on a sailboat. I've talked about travelling more. And the whole time, it's as though I've been waiting for something. I've been preparing for when I'm a writer. I've been getting ready for when I live on a sailboat. And I need to stop doing that.

I'll leave Vegas one day. I'll do all the things I talk about, because, hell, I'll never live it down if I don't. I expect each and every one of you to give me a full serving of shit if I fall short in anything I intend to do. But I've been bumming around thinking that what I'm doing right now is preparation, and doesn't really count. I got a cheap sailboat, not because I like the boat, but because I'm getting ready, learning all I can, for the day I can finally move aboard a bigger one, and cast off. I'm preparing for the future by doing this now. But when you keep doing that, you forget that now is part of your life too. None of us get enough time to live, and if you spend too much time looking ahead, you miss chunks. So the boat, the writing and editing I'm doing that is preparing me to be an author, sure, it's all preparation. But I'm enjoying it. I'm already doing things that a lot of people never do. And while I'm doing them with the express intention of moving on to bigger and better things, I'm going to try not to lose sight of the fact that I'm a third of the way through the final edit of my first novel, which already makes me a writer. I'm spending weekends out at the marina, working on the 23' Ranger sailboat that's mine, which already makes me a sailor. The preparation for what I want to become, what I want to do, has already got me there. And I almost didn't notice.

Timing

I've been spending the last twelve days convincing myself that it's not my fault, it's just bad timing. Again. And once I almost had myself convinced of that, I thought more about it. Maybe it's not bad timing. Maybe it's good timing. Maybe it's pushing me in the direction I need to go, which is away, outta here, once more unto the beach, dear friends. There was a shitty movie made about my life a couple years back. I say shitty, but in the interests of full disclosure I never saw it, because I don't like Dane Cook. Good Luck Chuck, the story of a guy who could shag you, and the next guy you met would be your true love. Except I don't even need to shag 'em, all it takes is a kiss. I'm on seven now.

But this year, with it's terrible timing, has led me to a decision. I'm going to apply for the Los Angeles Show, an as-yet unnamed production that I'm not sure how much I can talk about, what with Cirque's penchant for secrecy and spectacle. The jobs aren't posted yet, nothing's set, but even the decision to apply makes me feel better. I'm going to see about getting out of Vegas, changing my pace and my surroundings. And if it doesn't happen? Well, then it's not the right time.

Is there such a thing as bad timing? You get stuck at a red light, the first car stopped, and that's bad timing. But then in front of you a car hits a patch of oil, swerves out of control, and runs into four other cars, five if you'd have made the light. Your son chooses to slam the car door, but your hand is still in it. Crappy timing, unless you have some sort of disease that is slowly rotting your bones in that hand, and you wouldn't have found out if it weren't for the little bugger (true story, that actually happened to a friend of mine, I forget what the medical problem was tho).

So timing's what you make of it. I'm writing about timing for my hundredth post. Good timing? And while the. . .coincidence? of my timing with these seven women seems pretty shitty from my end, and has caused me more than a bit of self-doubt over the years (I mean, at what point is it you, and not just chance?) I'm working on not letting it get to me. I'm telling myself that rather than running away from this last incident, I'm letting it guide me, propel me towards something new. It's reminding me that Vegas really isn't the sort of city I would choose to live in.

And not to belabour the point, but speaking of timing, some of what I'm writing here will work for my book. One of my characters, Brokes, has to make a decision, and I haven't been sure of how to go about it, and now I think I know.

There are so many things that do work out, which is pretty fucking incredible when you think about it. If the universe has been around for billions of years. . . hell, if you believe in Genesis timing, and think the world's only been around for six thousand or so years, it's pretty incredible anything happens at the right time. I think of an instant as the time it takes to go from now to then. Say a millisecond. There's three point six million of those in an hour. And there's been more than fifty-two and a half million hours if you believe in Genesis. Whatever you believe, that's a metric shit-tonne of instants, so why is anyone surprised when things don't work out? Nothing should ever happen right if you look at the odds. And when you bring space into it too, and the chance of being in the right time and place, I'm surprised we even bother.

But there have been those times. Things do work out. Events conspire, bring two people together for a moment. Even if all that's left is the memory of lips brushing together and a lingering tobacco taste, things worked out, and now things are working out still, convincing me to get off my arse and get out, get better, get on with it.

I'm getting on. I'll get book one back in the next couple of weeks, and then I'll get online and start submitting. The timing's right.

Motivation Pt. III

This month has been productive for me so far. I finished building a set, opened the show, grilled for twenty people, started re-doing my 3000-piece jigsaw puzzle, ran a console twice, and have written almost thirteen thousand words, spread out over three projects. Four, if you include blogging as a project. There's something else, but that's private. And the best thing is, the month's not even half-way. I'm looking at my original goal of twenty thousand words for the month, and thinking I should shoot for thirty thousand. I mean, why not? Why stop when it seems to be coming right now, the characters are just setting themselves up for the situations and conversations they've been having?

I'm not going to knock it. I'm not going to stop and ask why I've all of a sudden got this burst of motivation, because as soon as you wonder if the motivation is going to stick around, it buggers off.

This blog entry is more a reminder to people to not stop. You can take a break, pause by all means, but don't do what I've been doing for years. Don't make any excuses, cos they're all bullshit. You know it, too. There's a quote from Nelson Mandela that I have up on my bedroom wall, and while I make no pretenses that my goals are as noble or lofty as his, it can speak to everyone:

"I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet done."

While my use of the quote is pretty selfish, and I see freedom as freedom for myself than a whole country, it's good to remember that we're all headed somewhere. Maybe Vegas is just a place I've stopped for a while, to catch my breath and enjoy the view, but it sure as hell isn't the place I'm headed to. There's no freedom here for someone like me. And right now the view is my motivation. Looking back, seeing where I've been and how far I've travelled, and looking forward, seeing what's in store, is the best muse a person could ask for. Because you're all there, and I can see the whole world from up here.

Stars

I've always been fascinated by the stars. I remember trying to learn some of the constellations when I was younger, and only got as far as the plough (the big dipper to you in the US) and Orion. I can usually find the North Star, and sometimes the Pleiades, but that's about it. IF pressed, I'll give any number of excuses, from I didn't have a telescope while growing up, to I moved to the US and the star patterns are different here, as to why I don't know more constellations. That's actually almost a valid excuse. The North Star, living in Vegas, is much closer to the horizon than it is in England. Everything shifts as you move further north or south.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped paying attention to the stars. I took them for granted. The bastards were always there, hanging in the night sky above me, so I didn't have to think about them much. I lost sight of them. I still appreciated them when I remembered to look up. I spent most of my time looking out, staying at my level. I lived in cities, on cruise ships, where ll the bright lights are within a couple degrees. I didn't have to crane my head back to look at different worlds, I could see them behind the twinkling in the distance when I looked out over the Willamette river, or on a different deck drifting above the inky black ocean, or as part of a cluster in the newest, shiniest, most-advertised hotel Vegas has to offer. Street, room, head, night lights became my stars, and I looked to them.

Well, fuck that. I miss looking up. I'm done looking at a hotel tower, room lights giving a poor impression of a close-up night sky. Having lived in Vegas for six years, I think I've come to know what to expect from the stories behind the lights, and not much of interests me any more. We've become a culture of instant gratification, of misplaced self-importance, and that's what each and and every one of those lights has become. When our VIPs have become people with handles rather than names, with no discernible skills other than making the rest of us worship/hate/envy/mimic/mock them, then what is the point in looking up at a building and wondering what the stories are behind the lights? They're all the same. It's a bunch of people who saw The Hangover, or Swingers, or any one of a thousand movies or shows about Las Vegas, and decided that they could reproduce that when they came here.

I don't want to spend my time looking at lights, and wondering the stories behind them, when I can give a pretty good guess about them. I want to have no chance to guess. I want the people behind the lights to be original, have dreams and aspirations and stories and pasts that I cannot begin to guess at. I'm done with clones, with media-inspired plebes. I want to be able to look at the lights of a city or cruise ship or collection of humanity and find intelligent life, rather than having to turn my gaze skywards and hope that somewhere out there it exists.

Because we're doing a damned good job of killing it down here. We need new role-models, new leaders, and new selves. We need to stop using other people's drama as entertainment, and go out there and let the world entertain us. If you stop to think for a moment, the stars up above have a much better sparkle than the ones we fixate on down here.

Success.

I'm not there yet. Not by a long shot. But I think I've made a pretty good start on it. The hardest part was deciding what I wanted out of life, but for now I've mostly decided that. It's good, it gives you something to strive for. I've decided I'm going to be a writer. Scratch that, I've decided I am a writer, just not a published one yet.

I know I've listed them off before, but I'm going to do it again because it keeps me focused on it. I'm currently working on four novels (although one hasn't been looked at in months, it's still there waiting to be written). I've got four short stories I consider ready to be published (and I might just throw a couple up here in the meantime, see what you think). I have three short screenplays that could be filmed tomorrow. I'm working on two feature screenplays, with one more I need to start and a fourth I'm thinking about.

Now, none of this is success, because one of the purposes of writing is to be read. I'm not Kafka. I want it all published, even the stuff I don't finish before I die (and just a heads up, I am so going to fuck with people and deliberately leave something bizarre unfinished). I haven't been successful yet by my definition as a writer, but I think I'm on a good track and it'll come.

I've been working in theatre for eighteen years. From being a chorus member and giving a hand at weekly set builds, to programming Automation for a Cirque Du Soleil show, and being the TD for a theatre company I helped found, I've come a long way. That's pretty successful, I think.

But there's one aspect of my life that I feel is a failure right now, and it's bringing down the rest of it. I feel like my personal life is a shambles, that I'm failing at something that used to come so naturally to me, and it's buggering up my focus and my motivation.

I always thought I was a good judge of character. I prided myself on working out who someone was, and what they were like, and whether they were worth my time. Moving around as I did, this was really handy; I didn't have years to develop friendships, bouncing from one place to another. I made a lot of good friends, most of whom I still have today. But it's been living in Vegas, and doing so well in every other aspect of my life, that has made this stand out recently. I still have a few good friends here, but I've always been better at focussing on the negative rather than the positive, and it's the friendships that have fallen by the wayside, that have revealed themselves to be less than I thought they were, that I can't get out of my head. It's the people who declare friendship, but then only remember it when it's convenient, or they need something. And I feel that it's my failure. I don't understand people any more, I don't get how they can be like that. I feel like I'm disconnected from the human race, standing outside looking in, and scratching my head in confusion.

It turns out that the search for alien life has been a success. You need to stop looking off-planet, because I'm here, living amongst you, watching, making mental notes, and trying to understand. Although whether or not it's intelligent life is debatable. . .

merge

One of the worst things about driving in Las Vegas is the inability most people seem to have with merging. Why this should be, I don't know, but I'm beginning to think if people got the hang of it there wouldn't be so many traffic flow problems on the freeways. The thing I love the most is when people slow down before joining fast-flowing traffic. That's not the point of an on-ramp, people. You're supposed to get up to speed, generally 65 mph (although the always-present construction zones play merry hell with that limit). Instead people slow down, start to get nervous, so when they do actually join the traffic flow they cause it to slow a bit. When this happens several times over a couple of miles, it has a knock on effect and then you're moving as slow as molasses in January.

But then, in defense of these timid drivers, the people they're trying to merge with are generally bastards. They won't necessarily let you in when you signal because that would mean they'd drop back one spot and <gasp> get to where they're going a second or two later than they deserve. The horror! How dare they be a few seconds later than they would have been? How dare they have to drive with an ounce of common decency? I have no problems speeding up and pulling in in front of them if they're trying to block my attempts to merge.

And you know what struck me about that? No, not another car. Driving in Las Vegas is very similar to politics in this country. Everyone's trying to get to their destination, and unfortunately you have to share the road with other people. Sometimes you have to merge, take another road, or if construction's really bad and there's absolutely no traffic flow, you have to find another route. And that's not happening right now. There seems to be an inability from politicians to merge with one another. There's no yield, no give way. If they don't make it through the traffic light then they'll block the intersection. And that's not how a country should be run. It shouldn't be-- it CAN'T be-- my way or the high way, and that's what it seems to be like right now. The traffic is jammed, it's not moving because politicians are so absorbed with their own destination that they don't want to let anyone else merge.

It seems as soon as a politician gets in to office, the first thing they think about it their re-election chance. If they got in to office thanks to a majority of votes from a certain demographic, then they'll do anything to not piss that demographic off. Keeping your elected position is now half the job of being a politician, in the same way that keeping your job is half of having a job. But I keep my job by running shows to the best of my ability, and not doing a completely crap job. They keep their jobs by talking about what they're going to do, and how much the other candidates would suck. If I went around talking about the cues I was going to run, or the contactors I was going to replace instead of doing it, I wouldn't have a job. And while I might disagree with the way some things are done, and people might not like the way I do things, we still all work together to do two shows a night, five nights a week.

Part of being a society is a bit of give and take. Not all give and take-- this may come as a bit of a shock, but I like a decent argument. But when we have political parties fighting tooth and nail against every suggestion given by the opposition, the only thing that's going to do is bugger everyone. If people don't learn to merge then we're going to end up with one hell of an almighty pile-up, and then no one's going to get anywhere cos the road is blocked, and there's a bunch of rubberneckers looking on. And if we can't learn to merge while doing something as everyday and interactive with other people as driving, then what hope do we have of our elected officials leaning to work together?

And use your bloody turn signal. I can't let you merge if I don't know you want to. Go on, move your finger that one inch. . .