QOTD 5: I coulda had class, I coulda been a contenda.

Happy Wednesday Blog Otters. After reading yesterday’s QOTD and finding out the passions of our little group of ragamuffins, I started to wonder, what has been the APEX of that thing you’re fighting for. Is there a moment or moments, or period of time in your life that you can absolutely point to and say “That’s what I’m all about,” or “That was me being the best me I could be”? Essentially:

What is your crowning achievement, thus far, in life?

For me, there was a period between 2010 to 2012 where the proverbial stars in my eyes aligned. Having spent high-school and a good chunk of community college in a technically oriented field, I made the switch and went all in, enrolling at a school in Chicago and more-or-less mortgaging my future for a chance at TV production-y greatness.

So, there I was, living in Chicago, living on my own, going to school, partying, working part time, having the quintessential college experience, and feeling more creatively fulfilled then ever before – but well aware that unless I could find a real, well paying, job, I was on borrowed time and likely doomed to a life of debt and broken dreams.

A professor and former ‘Siskel and Ebert’ producer says we should start a movie review show. I say yes. A week later I was interviewing Aaron Sorkin. Two weeks after that I was interviewing Randall Wallace, a few months after that, Morgan Spurlock. Combined with phoners with Ray Romano and Vanilla Ice, I was on top of the world. But I was more proud of  my fellow classmates who were interviewing Jesse Eisenberg, Armie Hammer, Mandy Moore, John Malkovich, Thandie Newton, Topher Grace, Dimitri Martin, and all these other luminaries because of this ‘show’ I helped create. It was an insane two years. I joined a friend in a silly web-series that she had to do for class, I started reviewing movies for Starpulse.com and “Streetwise” magazine, which was sold by homeless people for two dollars – I bought every issue I was in. I got to sit in the press row. I farted in front of Michael Phillips once. I felt I was really making some headway.

In the back of my head I had this sinking feeling that we were all just playing pretend. It’s one thing to ‘run’ a show for a college station, and it’s another to translate all that work into a career, especially in a business where “Who” you know is on par with “What” you know.

But I did. When I heard the ‘Ebert Presents: At The Movies’ was looking for interns, I immediately applied despite having graduating college 3 months earlier, and was promptly brought aboard as a volunteer, then production assistant, then fully paid producer. You know those Eminem songs when he raps about being at the top his game? How no one could stop him, he was the best, and all that? That was me. I ran the website, I brought the show into High Definition, I even (literally) put words in Roger Ebert’s mouth. It was like Slumdog Millionaire, practically every question they had, I knew the answer to. Like the pants of a man with five penises, the gig fit like a glove.

I’m oversimplifying the whole situation, but they eventually offered me full time work with benefits and all the fixings. I gave a homeless guy twenty bucks on my way home from work (“Thank you Lord! Thank you Jesussss!”, he said), and gave my somewhat loathed part-time tech job my two weeks notice for the second time. I sauntered to my apartment, secure in myself and who I was for literally the first time and my friends were there with beers and smiles of congratulations.

That two week notice period was my apex, my defining moments. I connected cancer charities with news outlets, I promoted documentaries about gang violence and social issues to the masses, I was really working in television, being paid to talk about movies, edit copy, pitch ideas, and be nice to people. I could see any movie I wanted free of charge. I had access to every single DVD that had been sent to Roger Ebert on the off chance he’d give it a review. I saw an entire documentary featuring John Tuturro dancing like a mad man. I could turn into PBS on Friday night literally anywhere in the country, and see my name in the credits.

Some of Chicago’s street lights tend to saturate the streets in a soft glow, and that’s how I felt. Bathed in a golden aura of joy and purpose and determination. Despite all my insecurities, neuroses, fears, worries I was
never working hard enough, angst over my less-than-stellar opinion
of myself, I made it. I really fucking made it. Life was beautiful. Chicago was beautiful. The two buses I took to work every day were beautiful. I took the long train home some nights just to marvel at this glorious city I would call home for the foreseeable future. I had friends that liked wrestling and wrestling games. I had other friends who liked golf and pro football. I was in walking distance from Wrigley field, a Gamestop, Thai restaurants, and a bus ride away from a pinball museum and the world’s most delicious hotdog stand. I met a pretty girl. I seduced her via the power of You Don’t Know Jack and a confidence to make the first move that I never knew I had.

I was the man I never thought I could be. I took this picture one of my first days as a gainfully employed television producer.

By the following Monday, it was all over.

But that’s a whole other question for a whole other day now, isn’t it? 

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Blog Otter Award: wnyxmcneal for reminding me how close to home “Big Fan” hits for some of us, and in a round about way suggesting today’s question. Your reward can be found here you shame spiral inducing jerkface.

– Yikes, sorry for the over-share above. It’s kind of nice to write about something that isn’t a game, movie, or some other commodity-esque piece. I can try to space them out.

– Three poker game signups, we’ll make an actual thread tomorrow for the QOTD. Be prepared to share bad beat stories, bad player stories, and your best suck outs of all time.