How Many Cardboard Boxes Does It Take? (Part 2)

It was 6:30 am on a Friday, and I felt like I had a lot more packing to do since that one box I put together on Thursday.  I spent the weekend packing up my DVDs, my blu-rays, my books, and of course more memories of the dozen years I have spent in Los Angeles.

Into the boxes went my full seasons of the Sopranos and Six Feet Under which in my opinion were two of the best shows to ever grace the TV screen.  I don’t care if you aren’t very comfortable with the Mob or with the idea of death, but let’s be honest.  The mob doesn’t exist anymore, and death is the only constant with the exception of love and taxes.  See how I put a little positive spin on that?

A few movies stood out to me when I was packing them up.  The Green Mile and Cinderella Man had somehow found their way into my collection, even though I know I’ve never owned either of them.  I guess this is the point in my life when I have to contact people and tell them I have their first four seasons of Entourage on disc and if they want them back they have about 17 days left to claim them.

I loved Entourage, but I hated the character of Vinny Chase.  I always thought he didn’t appreciate being an actor, and he never respected the craft the way I did for a full six years when I was really into “being an actor.” It was evident in the amount of scripts I found when I was packing, and it was obvious in the abundance of Christian Marc head shots that I wasted so much money on over the years.   Here’s one of them circa 2012

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I don’t even know if this picture got me any work.  Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t.  Regardless of the fact, that part of my life is over, but I’m going to keep these because there are a lot of embarrassing pictures of myself that I have paid to get taken over the years and that will make for some good laughs when I’m in my late forties writing an article about when I was an actor.

I started to pack my old scripts and the promo packets my partner and I put together for the web series we created, which turned into a TV sitcom we wrote, which we hired Shar Jackson and Dorian Gregory to star in along side of ourselves. We won awards for that web series and got a deal with a network, and had managers and talent agents fighting over us, but then that network was never was able to pay us the money they promised and those talent agents and managers would continue their predictable courting of you otherwise known as the Hollywood “jerk-off.”

This is my favorite clip of us in the moment:

God damn it we were so close to that dream.  We were so close to making enough money so I could help my Mom and my sister and live a nice life of hiring my friends to do production work.  We were so close to being the next big things, but in reality maybe we wouldn’t have liked it because I don’t think we were ever meant to be so scrutinized in the public eye, and perhaps any level of success would have changed us and our writing and perhaps Tasha and I would have hated having to “dumb it down” for the acceptance of the Hollywood machine. Have you watched any recent comedies on TV?  They’re just not funny.

Hollywood will take something great and something raw and find every way possible to remove all of the intellectual nuances and the hilariously funny parts you wrote and replace them with pop culture gags written by hacks and product placement ads that you don’t even know are affecting your daily routine.

That is NOT the dream I wanted for myself anyway.

As I finish with the  office stuff I look down at my moving helper, Rocco.  He is not that good of a helper, unless of course running around nibbling on old pictures and eating the Albuquerque Journal with the Walter White obituary in it is considered helpful.  God damn it, I paid $20 for that newspaper on Ebay.

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I look around the apartment and gauge the level of shit that I have left to pack.  I got to be honest, I have a lot of shit.  It’s not just big shit, it’s little shit.  Little shit that needs to be put into sandwich bags and labeled and then packed away into a box for a date later to be reopened. Of course I don’t own any sandwich bags because I’m not a pot dealer, nor do I have kids that eat PB & J with the crusts cut off.  I head to the Dollar store at 8am to pick some up.

Now the dollar store is remodeling and moving all their shit around and restocking, so for me to find the shit I’m looking for I have to ask someone where they moved the little baggies, but I have a feeling that not many of the Dollar Store workers are going to be very helpful to a guy with sunglasses on at 8:05 in the morning on a Friday who looks like he could have been up all night.

I almost bring myself to ask someone, but I think this might be fun if I try to find them myself.  26 aisles later, I finally find them, and I head to the checkout lane and I KNOW the woman must me thinking, “this drug dealer must have run out of baggies in the middle of the night and here he is now buying plastic to wrap his cocaine in.”

I don’t even take off my sunglasses, but I let her think whatever she wants to think because maybe I HAVE to be that drug dealer in her life because that is more acceptable than a guy who is NOT on drugs who is just moving everything he owns 977 miles north in a few weeks.

I pack up the next box full of office products, printers, hard drives and the little amounts of stuff that fit into baggies I never even remembered that I kept like 8 silver quarters, and a plethora of old papers and documents that lived in a filing cabinet for the last 10 years.  They don’t count as cardboard boxes, but I put them in the pile anyway.

The next day I start to pack up the kitchen and I continue the process with a box full of coffee mugs that I have collected throughout the years.  Some of them I can’t live without, others I wonder how they even got into my collection.  I’m going to leave some of them for the person who is taking over my apartment because she drinks coffee too.

I also leave her a computer, a crock pot, a George Foreman Grill and a wok because she has been one of my closest friends and my business partner over the past 9 years, and there are herds of pictures and music on my old Desktop and she deserves to hear and listen to the good times we had while we were here.

She has inspired me throughout the whole acting/writing/producing part of my life and she always told me for years to start a blog, and one day I finally listened so Tasha, thanks for that.

As I push the last box of the weekend into the kitchen I start to see that perhaps I’ve made a small dent in my humongous organized pile of shit that I call home, but alas, I am now out of small boxes.

Box count as of today: 6

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