The Reality Of Last Decade: Pt 1 of 17

Just over a week to go. I can hardly believe it. This torture is almost over. It is with what could only be described as a gargantuan amount of optimistic enthusiasm that I look forward to January first, 2010. I find it hard to believe, but ten years has passed since my publisher and I first sat down to discuss my going undercover for what we were sure would be the boldest journalistic experiment conducted to date. It began as a laugh, really, a bet, a handshake barside during an Oregon Duck football game. I had just returned from my first real assignment, going undercover for nearly nine months pretending to be an actor trying to break into the movie background extra scene in Los Angeles. For this piece, I had agreed to shave off my beard, cut my hair to an American-Mainstream length, and lose 110 pounds to become a svelte 158 pound aspiring actor. I was to attract and capture a talent agent, become eligible and subsequently join SAG (The Screen Actor’s Guild(of America)) and then be paid good hard American cash for my work as an actor in real Motion Pictures. I achieved my goal, completely surprising the preconceptions of both publisher and public at large, as portrayed in the upcoming Focus Films production ‘Extra, Extra!’. We were celebrating my success, having a few drinks at a nearby purveyor of alcohol, and as we drank, spoke, and then drank again, we wondered : How far could we take this madness? He told me what I had done was ‘Not that big of a deal’ , that I had spent ‘Only eleven months’ working on the piece, and if I had ‘Any real balls at all’, I would be able to tolerate ‘Ten years working on a real piece’ . I, of course, told him he was completely out of touch, and a homosexual to boot. The logic began to degrade from that point onward, with name calling and such, until an unlikely field goal was to be attempted by the rookie kicker of the Huskies of Washington, at which point we became polarized: “ If this piece of shit makes this field goal, you have to spend the next ten years wasting your life and then writing about it “ he slurred. “fuck you!” I replied “This guy is awesome! Buy me a drink! I’ll accept your challenge..” - Drinks were passed between us. The field goal was kicked. The field goal was good. “ What do I get?” I asked. “You didn’t say whatchoo wanted. You just said you didn’t want me to win” My publisher hiccupped. “what would you want”? “I wanted to lose” I admitted. “I want to be part of the boldest journalistic exercise known to date. And, I want you to buy me another G&T” He slammed his pint glass down on the bar top, and squinting his eyes together in what he thought was a menacing fashion, he pointed a finger at me : “You wan well gin or that fancy shit”? Well, some some time later, after a series of challenges of strength (which I won of course) wit (I won) and ultimately luck (The flip of a coin – I lost) I agreed to do it. I was going in , and going in deep. I had no idea at the time just how deep. I would become participant and observer in a fishbowl of monstrous proportions. I was to become an outcast – A suicidal, self-employed mechanic bachelor who would waste his best years living under the radar. I would become the most un-eligible bachelor to sport a soul patch, making friends in order to get close to the action, and then swindling, burning, both close friends and nameless corporations with equal enthusiasm. I was to make a living entirely on my own (My publisher at this time had very limited resources, or so he tells me) as well as letting NOBODY in on the secret, what was happening. In all this time, ten years, I told only one friend about my true intentions here. He paid the ultimate price for this knowledge. His story too became fixed in my manuscript, and one of great pain and anguish. I was to become a nobody, a netherman, an anti-Midas, everything I was to touch was to turn to shit, and I agreed, and signed a pact with the very Devil. I had no idea what I was in for. The next ten years would prove difficult, to describe it lightly, I was to become the addict of a number of drugs, the object of ridicule and derision, the target of an assassination attempt, the recipient of a paternal lawsuit, as well as the object of hatred of dozens of close ‘friends’ in this new drama. Even my own parents were to become victims in this ugly game, losing tens of thousands of dollars across the breadth of the experiment, as well as losing something greater : the belief that their very own progeny was ever going to amount to anything greater than a nowhere ex-con oil changer at the local Pep Boys. .. Now, looking back, I realize the sacrifice may have been too much. I thank God that they lived to see this thing through to the end however, at least if they can hang in there for just a few more weeks, until I get my Christmas bonus. Even now, I can not believe the depravity of the last decade. The women I let believe that I love them, the friends made out of convenience, the actual family ignored and abused, the money wasted.. I nearly lost myself entirely. There were times, weeks, that I had to hide from all the new people I had met and revert back to my true self, my old self, and stop with the drugs, and stop with the booze, and run 5, 6 miles a day, do my push ups, my sit ups, in secret, to not drift too fucking far from reality. We began, thinking, how can I make enough money to live all this time? I knew he would back me up, ultimately. I had a degree from the University of Oregon in both Literature and Psychology. Neither of it mattered, a degree in anything was enough to get a job teaching. I chose to get as far away as possible to gather my thoughts; Taiwan would be the perfect place to compose myself, I thought. I could earn dollars while thinking about what I was going to write in the next ten years. I agreed. I nodded my head and thrusted my person into the uh-huh of the day.