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Reader Post | By GK
Follow me, like, share and tip me… So I stay on the right side of the street.
Of course we now know many of our film and music heroes were deviant immoral freaks, so I won’t mention any, but some of my heroes in film, literature and music definitely influenced my naughty boy approach to comedy and creativity in my early years.
I was the class clown, the guy who got in brawls, walked the halls of high school with my stories of car chases and such following me. I ate up that Rolling Stone magazine imagery of the rock star or counterculture celebrity whose books or records were topping the charts.
I imagined myself on Letterman or accepting Academy Awards. But alas, my destiny took a few detours and as it turns out, thank God I didn’t get seduced into that warped world.
The thing was, when anything rubbed me the wrong way I was very uncooperative, whatever it was. I remember when the producer who asked for an option agreement on my screenplay took me to lunch at the commissary at Universal Studios, he asked me some odd questions like my religion and what I was willing to do to make it in the industry.
I guess the answer is supposed to be, “anything.” But that would never come out of my mouth in a million years. I wasn’t interested in people finding odd jobs for me above and beyond what it took to type out thousands of pages. Why would I want more work or responsibility than that?
Even crappy jobs found an employee whose dedication to that job was sorely uninterested in being a team player or a grunt willing to “do anything.”
Whenever I was sent to a temp job it took me a few hours to rise to a self appointed consultant and tell them they were doing everything wrong. That machine should be there and that one there and why the hell is that moron in charge.
My stalking began around 2003 and this was one of the turning points that found my job history even more threatened by “them” than the damage I was perfectly capable of doing myself.
The video studios I worked for were guardian angels in my life. It was something I enjoyed and was pretty good at and intellectual long hours never bothered me. What bothered me was factory assembly lines. Pure hell.
This is what led to someone offering me work trimming medical marijuana in Northern California. Which led to having weed in the trunk of my car, which of course led to being busted by a state trooper. Now that ten years have passed I can tell that story and all the other stories.
Point A to B (with weed in the car) hit me like a choir of heaven sent angels. A premise I could have fun with. My Charles Bukowski, Factotum travelogue of ill-conceived efforts to turn a buck, while dodging stalkers, cops and other landmines.
You know those stories where there is a house in the middle of nowhere and the dark woods that surrounds– has evil predators lurking?
Who in their right minds would drive 3000 miles with weed in the trunk?
Who in their right minds would teach himself guitar while driving from Los Angeles to Orlando. People passing me looked over and saw me strumming my new guitar as I drove. Most didn’t flinch.
And some of my stalkers were of the dangerous kind who would have loved to redirect me into an underground D.U.M.B and then there were the kidnappers who had cages that were quite above ground. Well, the one I spent a few days in was deep under the Sheriff station and me and 5 other guys discussed what would we do if the upstairs met with a nuke or a virus or zombies.
We were at the mercy of guys behind thick cement who didn’t come around very often.
Yeah, not a leading candidate of– if you are going to do the crime, you gotta do the time. I am very claustrophobic. One reason I prefer driving jobs like trucks and taxis when I can’t find video editing work.
Indoor labor with clocks that taunt a person all day is like boiling for eternity in scalding excrement… You know– like maybe a cashier at Walmart?
But come on, a pound of green weed? Pretend you are weighing up a pound of green beans at the grocer. A pound of jelly beans or pumpkin seeds– sure doesn’t sound like much, why does a pound of medical marijuana sound like plutonium?
The thing is, the title… Point A to B (with weed in the car) is my Night of the Living Dead. A title that promises adventure. Or like the series, the Walking Dead that never runs out of extras who want to play zombies, there is no way I will ever run out of adventures between A and B.
How do I know? Because I ran a camera for 40 years and guess what? I never ran out of shit happening.
I mention child support in the first episode. Well, weed took care of my arrears and got me even again. But for the sake of public disclosure I will add… No not really, fact meets fiction always in my world. I’m exaggerating, or am I? And why would it matter as we face extinction?
The freest person on Earth is a starving artist. That is why I play one on TV.
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