Nickerblog

lucky #3

It seems impossible that just nine months ago, my wife and I were still absorbing the somewhat surprising news that we had another child on the way.  Though convinced we were "done," it turns out we weren't.  I blame science.  Shortly after learning the news, I wrote about the roller coaster of emotions we went through upon discovering there would be a third Nickerson baby.

We'll be going back to Cedars-Sinai (for the third time around) on Thursday for a scheduled C-section.  That's two days from now, friends.  TWO. DAYS. FROM. NOW.  As I sit here in my favorite chair, I'm clinging to the last couple of nights of silence.  My other kids sleep through the night (mostly), and it's been a long time since a newborn baby filled our nights with feedings and burpings and cryings and vomitings and screamings and cooings.  I'm not ready.  I'm weirdly less ready than I was for my first, because I've been in a state of denial about this baby's arrival.  Sure, we've talked about names and bought a new swing, and restocked 0-3 onesies and bought a new bassinet, and prepped the other kids for a new baby, but I've just not wrapped my brain around the fact that our lives will once again permanently change in two days.  Our family is about to grow again, and I'm telling you, it doesn't seem possible.  I'm excited and thrilled, of course, but I've been in this position a couple of times now. 

For the first one, Lucy, every moment of the process was a milestone.  OMG, 1 month down!  She looks like a sea monkey right now! Whoa, First Trimester gone! Morning Sickness, it's totally a real thing!  Let's tell everyone about it and throw ourselves a party and buy a bunch of baby stuff we'll never even use because we're too clueless to know otherwise!  Is that a contraction?  Do we go in an ambulance?  When?  Where do we go?  Stuffed animals, fingernail clippers, thermometers, lullabyes, music through the pregnant belly and books read to a fetus.  Cribs and matching sheets and curtains and mobiles and bumpers (and what the hell is a bumper?) and well-wishes from cousins and aunts and cards from strangers and updating everyone on everything and thinking they really care about each moment but realizing later they were being polite in the same way I'm polite now when someone is having their first.  And 35 hours of labor that ends with an emergency C-section that dissolves into a moment that takes my breath away, not in a metaphoric way, but in a wind sucked out of my lungs upon seeing my baby girl for the first time way.  I'm not sure I ever got all my breath back.  The thought of it now even makes me breathe like I'm about to cry.

The boy was a whole new experience, because it was the same experience with more experienced people going through it.  Old pros after the girl, we imagined that having the boy would be like reliving the exciting parts of the first one, without the shock and terror about every single step of the process.  Things lost to a frazzled brain the first time around were clear and memorable and equally thrilling the second time around.  Another child, after four years with only one.  They almost forgot to bring me into the delivery room, but I made it just in time and my wife and I shared a look of "oh my god here we go again."  I stayed behind the curtain because I'm not much for medical dramas, and especially when it's my wife's innards turned out.  And then he was there and I asked if he was okay more times than I expected to, and I counted his toes and looked for problems that I wouldn't recognize if I saw them.  Back to the room with the stuff in his eyes and the pricking of his feet and there he was, tiny and pink and beautiful and though I don't remember when I stopped breathing, I clearly remember finally taking a breath when it seemed like everything was going to be okay.

And so, here we are again.  Two days away from another baby that seems more like a birthday cake we're going to pick up at the store.  It seems impossible that in two short days, a person we've never known will become as important to us as the other two we never knew.  I have no doubt my breath will be snapped away from me the moment I see that newborn girl for the first time.  No matter how much you tell yourself that it's really happening and there really is a baby inside that bump on your wife's belly, it just never seems real until you see that kid for the first time.  And then, it's so intensely real that you can't begin to remember what it felt like to have full days go by without thinking about it once.

I am excited and terrified, even though I claim to be an old pro.  I wonder if you can ever really get good at being an expectant dad?  Third time around, I still feel like a dumb ape.  It suits me though, trust me.

I'll let you know how it goes.

 

Scandinavian Residuals

Thanks, Screen Actors Guild!  Twelve dollars and ninety four cents is a movie at the Arclight PLUS .94 cents!

 

Actually, I'm not complaining.  It's pretty cool, actually.  It's hard to believe I still get any kind of income from these shows I did back in the 90's and early 2000's.

10k photo op

California Kid

pulled back in

I spent yesterday working as a commercial actor, for the first time in well over a year.  Those of you who check in here will note that I just wrote something of a eulogy for my acting career, recounting my days spent chasing that dream that brought me to Los Angeles in the first place.  The day after I wrote it, I had three auditions.  A week later, I booked a national Wells Fargo commercial.  That's why I love this town.  Anything can happen, and when it does, it can be pretty damn exciting. 

The fitting was Wednesday, and it was minutes away from my office in Hollywood.  Commercial fittings are fun, because you find out who you're going to be working with, what you're going to be wearing, where you'll be shooting, and (if you weren't paying attention at the callback) who the director is.  I made a conscious effort to switch career gears, since thinking like a producer can get you into trouble as an actor.  No one wants "ideas" from a commercial actor.  Actors only need remember 3 things: be on time, know your lines, and respect the crew.  Throw in a little improv from time to time, and you've got it made.  Getting to be an actor for a couple of days was actually a nice break from the constant decision-making and problem-solving of my regular job as a TV producer.  Also, it's been a while since I've tried on 15 different outfits, been paraded in front of director, client, and agency for wardrobe approval, handled and treated with a wall of caution (since so many actors are dipshits), and felt like a smaller piece of a much bigger pie.  In other words, it's been a while since I've been hired as an actor.

Everyone finally signed off on my wardrobe and I was given a callsheet and directions for the shoot, to take place in Alta Dena the next day.  Awesome.  I've shot several times in Alta Dena, and it felt like old times to be shooting in the same city I shot a Turbo Tax commercial back in 2004, a pilot with Tom Skerritt and Mary McDonnell back in 2001, and a few other things that seem better off forgotten.  I haven't missed the pain of a stalled acting career, but it sure felt great to be back in the mix even for a couple of days.  The nice thing about acting in commercials is that you get to be the star of a :30 second film.  It's really a pretty great format.

The next morning, I relaxed comfortably into the familiar rush of shoot day jitters.  I made it to Alta Dena, went straight to makeup and hair, and said hello to the woman playing my wife in the spot, Amy French.  My character is a guy who's not great at change, so they wanted me in an 80's hairstyle.  I'd love to say my hair was REALLY far off of that, but all Zoe Hay had to do was feather it and add some extensions to the back.  It's shockingly close to how my hair looked all through high school.  Only thing missing is a denim jacket, big comb in my back pocket, and a silver choker chain.

The day was awesome.  Directed by Russ Lamoureux (who couldn't possibly be cooler or easier to work with) this spot kept me busy all day long.  Rollerblades, an 80's era Camaro, a vintage Fender Strat, and some classic vinyl were just a few of the things I got to play with on camera.  Amy French was also a joy to work with, and it was a very pleasant and rewarding day.  I've missed it, I suppose.  There's something nice about returning to performing once in a while, and maybe that's the way to keep it fun.  I also realized I have the itch to direct commercials at some point, and I added it to my list of goals.  New dreams, new goals sprung from old ones.  No need to quit one to make the others happen.

I wrapped at 5:30, sweaty and tired.  I found myself anxious to get back to my REAL job, and was thankful to have had such a great experience on the little side gig in Alta Dena.  My phone was filled with dozens of e-mails from people waiting for me to make decisions and solve problems.  Though refreshing to get a brief reprieve from that role to play another role, I drove away excited to be in charge again and back to the career my life has allowed me to attain.

How fitting that the spot I shot was written about a guy who just can't seem to progress and let go of his past.  Had I been more like him, I doubt I'd be as happy as I am.

well...

It turns out, I get to be a commercial actor again on Thursday in a really fun spot.  I'm pretty excited, especially after this post. 

Actually, I'm ecstatic.

Funny, how things work out.

brain dumpster

I suppose it was the purging that sent me down a road of recollection.  We've lived in this house for three and a half years now, and we reached that point.  Most homeowners know "that point."  It's when you have so much clutter clogging your space and brain, that you decide to just start chucking shit in a dumpster.  With baby #3 on the way (9/30), the long weekend seemed like a good time to purge.  Old desks, filing cabinets, paystubs from commercials I did in the 90's, a steamer trunk I've been lugging around since high school, clothes, chairs, lamps, props, costumes, wigs, posters, frames that never got used, broken toys, and just a bunch of other junk.  I rented a dumpster, because I knew this was going to be a big job.  It was.

 

 

There is something wildly cathartic about unloading the physical garbage and crap that's been silently haunting your soul.  I found out a couple of weeks ago that the web series I've had in development at Microsoft for a couple of years is finally dead.  Bummer, but not the end of the world.  It lived on XBOX Live and the ZUNE Marketplace for quite a while, and it didn't die from lack of interest.  It had over 70,000 downloads, and people responded to it very well.  Sometimes, for whatever reason, things just don't get made.  I'm plenty busy right now, and simply would not have the time to produce a web series in the foreseeable future anyway.  Still, since we shot the pilot, I've stored the props and furniture in my garage with the hope of one day continuing the series.  I was disappointed to see it die at Microsoft, but I was thrilled to clean out my garage.  It's mentally taxing to possess things.  It really starts to hurt your brain after a while.

I began with the big stuff.  Desks and bed frames and end tables that we've wanted to get rid of for over a year.  That stuff is easy.  It's like biting the ears off a chocolate bunny: simple, with no strategy or decision really necessary.  Once you get into the body of the bunny, you have to think about what the next bite will be.  What a stupid analogy (metaphor?)

Screw the comparisons, the point is, I finally dug into some of the boxes of files I've had stored for over ten years.  Old callsheets and SAG cards; Playbills and reviews from my assorted performances around LA; sides and scripts from projects I worked on or wished I had worked on; various incarnations of headshots and resumes; and dozens of paystubs from commercials and TV shows.  I used to meticulously organize these things.  I remember, when I was a young and hungry actor, I worked very hard to maintain the business side of my up and down career.  I wanted to remember directors and producers from the commercials I worked on.  I saved scripts from the sitcoms I had a few lines in.  I loved each job I booked so much, that I wanted to save everything about the day.  I still had directions to each location.

Finally, now a few years away from really chasing acting as a career, I've mentally let most of these things go.  I brought the shredder out to the garage, plugged it into the outlet above the garage door opener, and got to work...

My first agency contract from a small agent called Dorothy Day Otis...sides from the first real speaking job I ever booked (a non-union Nintendo gig)...scripts from Malcom and Eddie and Bette (both jobs my sister got me, since they were shows she worked on)...my first SAG card...my first AFTRA contract...my first LA headshots, and then every headshot after that...old resumes...contact sheets and sides...business cards from old contacts and long lost friends...residual paystubs...Turbo Tax, Bud Light, Fram, Klondike, MLB, Dunkin' Donuts, and contracts and paperwork from a bunch of other commercials...

...shredded.  Unceremoniously, and without emotion, I shredded a great deal of the physical proof that I was once a full-time actor.  It felt fine.

I saved the scripts from the two episodes of Friends and the episode of Suddenly Susan.  Those jobs have a special place in my memory.  I also saved a few headshots.  They're too funny not to save.  Of course, the reminiscing (and the sweet sound of the shredder) sent me down memory lane, which led to a reflective post about my career shift.  I woke up after a day of throwing away these pieces of my past and realized, "Wow, I owe a lot to my acting career.  Without it, my life would be entirely different."

I'm at one of those times in life when everything is about to change.  We're about to expand our family yet again (another girl!), I'm about to start a new show, and my oldest daughter is somehow about to start FIRST GRADE.  Everything seems to move ahead like an unforgiving current.  It's a fun ride, but boy does it go quickly.

Another bad metaphor (analogy?).

After all of that "goodbye, acting" crap, I have two commercial auditions tomorrow.  I know, I know...I'm not an actor anymore.  Still...it's just so damn hard to let it go all the way.

These days, I enjoy auditioning as a sort of hobby.  I go in expecting nothing, needing nothing, and in the end...losing nothing.  Perhaps that's what I should have been doing all along.

 

 

PS: I love that some of you still read the things I write.  Where do you write?  I'd like to add your blog to my reader. I miss knowing more than 140 characters about people.

 

 

 

an actor's life

 

When I moved to Los Angeles in 1995, I considered myself an actor.   So much so, that I packed up everything I owned into a U-Haul, drove across the country from New Hampshire with no real plan, and wound up in a small apartment at the corner of Sierra Bonita and Sunset: right in the gut of Hollywood.  It was an unglamorous life, almost immediately.  Within a week, I landed a job at a coffee shop on the corner called "Grounds Zero."  Clever.  It wasn't so much a coffee shop as it was a vagrant pit stop, and the hookers (who populated that corner outside our apartment building) used the bathroom to shower in the sink.  One evening, while cleaning up the bathroom trash, I almost jabbed myself in the palm with a used drug needle.  Great gig.  At 23 though, it all made sense.  I was an artist, chasing my dream through the bowels of Hollywood, just the way an artist should.

 

 

I didn't know anyone in "the industry" in this town when I arrived.  I had one meeting with a supposed director, who was the half-son of a woman I knew, but he turned out to be a dead end.  His rental house near Fountain was scarcely nicer than my hooker-adjacent apartment, and as he stroked his cat and babbled about projects he was developing, the hope drained out of me for a quick break in Hollywood.  I drove home in my 1988 Honda CRX with New Hampshire plates, the Los Angeles summer much hotter than I imagined in my dreams of chasing dreams, and let the reality sink in: I was probably going to have to do a lot of work NOT acting to ever reach my goal of becoming a working actor.

 

 

It's a spirit and philosophy, more than it is a career.  It begins with abandoning a traditional path for an extremely uncertain one.  Health insurance, office life, 401k's, and water cooler talk weren't appealing to me.  I wanted a life of happiness before a life of security, and when I stumbled into my first play in college, it seemed I had discovered a career that would allow me that life.  I read every book I could find about acting.   How did people actually launch their careers?  How should I start?  What did I need?  The more information I had, the better prepared I'd be for what everyone seemed to insist was a very hard road.

Every book I read had some version of: "If you can think of anything else besides acting that will make you happy...do that."  Instead of dissuading me, warnings like that strengthened my resolve.  I could beat Los Angeles.  Most people failed, but I was not most people.  Maybe it was the gambler in me that told me I'd succeed, or maybe it was the foolish kid in me.  Whichever it was, for ten+ years, that belief carried me.

That first year was tough.  Paying the rent came from catering jobs, hotel jobs, extra work, waiting tables, and anywhere else I could make a buck.  I was a telemarketer for the LA Philharmonic.  I worked in a hotel gift shop.  I worked in restaurants.  I washed dishes.  Every shitty actor job you can imagine, I did it.  It was all part of the "paying dues" portion of the career.  I expected it.

 

 

Years passed.  There were no huge breaks.  There was slow progress, eked out in small milestones. I managed to find an agent through an audition class.  I got headshots.  I went through The Groundlings Improv/Sketch program.  I performed for a year in their Sunday Company, which led to a much better commercial agent and a few TV co-starring roles thanks to my Sunday Company director (and head of WB casting), Tony Sepulveda.  I booked some commercials, and became a regular in the pool of commercial comedy guys that casting directors tend to bring in for everything.  SAG card, sketch comedy shows, more improv shows, a bit of attention from other casting directors.  It was slightly more of a career than the one I had when I lived near hookers, but it was still a very slow grind.  Money was always tight, but my outlook on life was defined by this career that I had chosen.  Being an actor allowed me the failures.  When you're an actor, failure is the norm.  As the jobs I took to keep my acting career alive came and went, my choice to follow a difficult dream fueled me.  My resolve remained strong, and I started to see some of my friends land on TV shows and flirt with fame.  Although things were slower for me than I had anticipated, I never once regretted my decision to forego a traditional career.  Though broke, relatively unsuccessful, and slogging away in a relentless city, I was doing what I wanted to do more than anything else on earth.  That mattered to me.

 

In 2000, I accidentally slipped into TV production.  It started when a friend offered me a gig on CBS' first season of Big Brother as a Story Assistant.  I convinced myself that it would be a brief foray into reality production.  It was much better money than I made as a bellman, and since I had just been fired for falling asleep in the bell closet, it was also good timing.  Though it would be the beginning of the long death knell for my acting career, I didn't realize it.  It was just another gig to pay the bills on an acting career that wasn't paying for itself.  Sure, I could work in production and make some decent money for a while.  If anything, it would help get me ahead on bills, maybe help pay for some new pictures and most importantly, make me less broke.

The Big Brother job consumed me.  For that summer, I spent most of my time either at the CBS Radford lot or on my way to and from the set.  I slept there some nights.  It was a crash course in reality TV production, and I loved it.  I started as a story assistant, but by the end, I was helping to produce the show each day.  I'd get all of the segments from the story department in the early morning, assign them to editors, give notes on the cuts, screen the segments with the CBS brass in the afternoon (which would then air that same evening), and get ready to do it all again the next day.  It was an insane turnaround, and a gruelling work schedule, but it was exhilarating.  It was the first time since my move to LA that I was 100% unavailable for auditions, but the truth was, I never had many to miss in the first place.

 

The Big Brother job led to a job at MTV on a show called Rich Girls, which led to a job on Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica, which led to a major turning point in my life.  In 2005, through a lucky series of events, I wound up as the Supervising Producer on a show called Trippin'.  Created by Cameron Diaz and Elizabeth Rogers, Trippin' was an eco-travel show, which meant...I was about to travel around the world.  As a New Hampshire kid, I always dreamed of an exotic life of travel and adventure.  As a young actor, I thought I'd be doing it for exciting roles in glamorous movies.  As a fledgling producer, that opportunity had arrived, (minus the part about starring in movies).  Not exactly as I had dreamed it, but I was about to travel the globe with a bunch of celebrities.  For the first time, I started to realize that my career as an actor was in serious danger of taking a more permanent back seat to my career as a TV producer.  I was surprised to discover... that didn't necessarily bother me. 

 

I never stopped feeling like an actor.  For over ten years, it was my identity.  From 1993-2005, I proudly told people I was an actor when asked, even though there's always been a large percentage of Hollywood that can't stand actors.  I didn't care.  You become used to the resistance, and subtle scoffing, and pitiful eye rolls.  They warn you when you start your career that you should get used to rejection, and that's true, but it's not just casting offices rejecting you.  It's friends, and employers, and people you don't know, and people that were too scared to spend their lives doing whatever it is they love, and they always want to know, "What have you done?" as if that determines whether you're allowed to choose how you identify yourself.  It doesn't matter what I've done.  I chose a career that made me happy.  How many people really have the courage to do that? 

 After Trippin', I landed on a show called "Rob & Big" on MTV.  We did three amazing seasons, and then developed another series with Rob called "Fantasy Factory."  We just wrapped our very successful third season of that (with hopefully more to come), and we also just got picked up for 16 episodes of a new series featuring Rob, which I begin work on this Tuesday.  I love what I do now.  I'd never be here if I hadn't moved to LA to be an actor.

 

For the last five years, I've been almost exclusively a TV producer.  I still do a little VO work, and the occasional TV commercial, but I don't have time to audition enough to really consider myself an actor anymore.  I keep a toe dipped in the acting world, because...well, because I can't quite let it go. 

For a long time, I thought switching careers was admitting defeat.  Now of course, I realize that those years I spent grinding it out as an actor were a necessary part of the journey to right here.  I wouldn't change any of it.*  As an actor, I learned to absorb the world and stay open to the opportunities around me.  I played roles that let me see life from multiple angles and points of view.  I watched artists far more talented than me, rise from nothing to stardom.  I made friends that will last me a lifetime, and eventually stumbled into a career that makes me happier than I have ever been.  So though I've mostly left my meager acting career behind for the career of a TV Producer, the spirit of the actor I once proclaimed myself to be still drives me.  I am thankful that I had the courage to chase it as a lifestyle and philosophy, and especially thankful that it led me to where I am right now. 

 

 

*Okay, I *might* change the rollneck sweater business card.  :)

Paper Kids

I miss the blogging community.  I know that it still exists, in some sense, but I miss it as a primary means of peeking into the lives of my friends and the people I wish I knew.  That 2005-2008 heyday of blogging may be gone, but that doesn't mean I don't continue peeking in on blogs from time to time. 

I have discovered that I'm much more selective about what I read; probably because Twitter has changed the way I prefer to process information.  More than ever, I now grab my information in fits and starts via status updates, twitpics, and 140 characters at a time.  I have almost no patience for blog entries longer than a full page, and if a website takes more than five or six seconds to load, I'm on to something else.  There's just too much content available to get hung up on anything for very long.

I'm a tough audience, but I suspect I represent the bulk of the seasoned internet audience:  At this point, it better be interesting very quickly...or we're on to the next, on on to the next one.

Of course, periodically...

Something sneaks up and hits me in my heart.

My friend Jared has two children, both autistic.  His nine year old daughter, Emma, has been non-verbal her entire life.  For the nine years that she has been alive, Jared and his wife have been unable to determine if she is able to process the information around her.  They have had no way to communicate with their daughter.

Think about that for a moment.  This child has had no way to express herself to them for 9 years.

On May 29th, everything changed.  As Jared's wife Sabra put it:

"I believe we have contact."

Using a paper keyboard, Emma has begun communicating with her mother after nine years of silence. 

The two of them have begun blogging the new journey they are making.  Truly inspiring and beautiful stuff.

Start here, and then follow the journey from the first blog entry.  

The blog is called: Paper Kids

Mud Run in Pasadena

Twitter totally knows me.

Softball champs!

gutless

What's worse than hearing someone talk about their fitness program?  You may as well sit me down for home movies and tell me stories about how great your aunts, uncles, and boring family vacations are.  I'm out.  And yet, since I already wrote an entry outlining my goals before starting p90x, I felt like it was time for an update.  Feel free to sneak out the back door now.

It's hard to talk about a fitness program without sounding like I'm trying to sell it, so I'll try to keep this update brief.  As some of you know, I accidentally stumbled onto the p90x workout, when I sat next to Traci Morrow on a plane to Kauai.  One of the unexpected side effects of participating in this regimented workout plan, is that people tend to be very curious about it.  If you've ever stopped drinking for any reason, for any amount of time, I'm sure you've been blasted with questions from your friends, asking "why?"  Combine that with a physical change and substantial weight loss, and people can't help bringing it up.  Whether hurling good-natured gibes at me, or asking about my diet or why I'm not drinking or if I miss any foods or how long I'm going to continue, it becomes a constant topic of discussion.  It makes me a little bit uncomfortable, because I'm not trying to sell p90x to anyone.  I chose to try it because of a perfect storm of events.  When people ask, I tell them it's been great for me...that it landed in my lap at the right time...and that it's changed my life.  

It really has.

My two goals when I began were:

1) Make it through all 90 days.

2) No alcohol.

Both goals were very important to me.  I won't say that I was at the point where alcohol was becoming a problem, but I can say for sure that before I started, I was drinking more than I felt comfortable drinking.  Testing my resolve, to see if I could stop drinking for three months mattered to me.  Committing to a fitness program for three months without quitting...that *really* mattered to me.  I needed a change in my life, because for a long time, I felt like I was living wrong.  I was miserable in my own body, and I missed being active and healthy.  I missed my younger self.

I made it through all 90 days, without missing a single workout and without having a drop of alcohol. Woohoo!   I also modified my diet by cutting out fried foods, cutting out most breads, reducing my fat intake, and eating way more vegetables for lunch (salads).  The results began to show immediately.  When I started, I weighed around 224(!) pounds.  At the end of 90 days, I was just under 199.  25 pounds of blubber.

Part of the program is taking before and after pictures.  Take a look at the difference between Day 1 and Day 90...

running good

At 7am, I walked up the dune, and the cool, soft sand swallowed my bare feet with each step.  The beach was mostly empty, dotted only with the silhouettes of a few fisherman, a distant dog owner in a faded sweatshirt, and an early morning couple, walking hand-in-hand towards the rest of their lives.  The cool mist, and the lingering grey marine layer dampened the excited barks of the distant dog splashing and carousing in the receding tide, and the crashing of the waves along the Ventura County beach briefly dampened my ability to process or reflect upon anything outside of the beauty of this particular morning. As I approached the wet sand by the ocean, I started running.  In front of me, an eternity.  Behind me, nothing.

Immediately, I knew I was having one of those perfect runs.  I felt strong and invigorated.  Shirtless and barefoot, I felt primal as my feet pounded into the sandy earth.  The light rain cooled my body, and the ocean tide occasionally reached my feet as I charged, excitedly splashing up at me with each stride.  Breathing the cool, salt air through my nose felt like inhaling pure energy, and I was sure I'd run down this beach on this day until there was nowhere left to run.  The sandpipers dipped their long bills into the water-logged shore, then jogged away from me, eventually leaping to the air to escape my approach.  About a mile in, a Golden Retriever, still soaking wet from his splashy adventure, ran briefly with me and carelessly licked my hand as he peeled off towards his owner in the grey hoodie.  The seagulls watched, unimpressed from the middle of the beach, and ahead, I spotted a sea lion lazing on the wet sand. 

As I neared the sea lion, it did not flinch, even with the sounds of my pounding feet and accelerated, audible breathing.  As I ran past him, I realized that the sea lion was merely the hull of a sea lion, and several seagulls were feasting on his innards and brains like gluttonous zombie birds.  I would have chuckled at the thought of this as I ran past, but the image of the dead animal, lying lifeless on the beach stuck with me, and the boundless energy that once carried me up the coast on two legs was suddenly starting to feel limited.  I continued on towards a vague goal of "that house up there," and opted instead to turn around at the next person I passed: an old woman staring out into the ocean.  I wondered what thoughts filled her head as she stood there on the beach, and then wondered what she thought of me turning around only a few yards past where she was standing, only to begin my path back to where I started.

The view was different going back.  The mist had tapered off, and the ocean water, which once seemed desperate to reach me as I ran, now seemed trying to grab my feet to drag me into the sea.  The seagulls were still eating brains, so I chose to stare out at the distant oil rig on the ocean's horizon, instead of looking again at the dessicated sea lion.  I picked up the pace, not because the air was alive with life, fuel and hope, but because I wanted to be back where I started, with this perfect run safely behind me.  The sand was my last friend now, and it splayed out in forgiving, muddy footprints behind me as I pushed through it towards my starting point.  When I was close enough not to fail, I sprinted to the spot where I began.

Back at the beginning point, I slowed my run to a walk.  Hands on hips, I savored the feeling that some call a runner's high.  For me, it was more than that.  I considered my mortality, thanks to a sea lion, but I also looked out into that ocean, thought about how lucky I am, and realized that I have never felt better physically in my entire life.  Once again, I avoided the tricky quandary of not knowing exactly who or what to thank for my fortunate life, so I took a mental snapshot of the majestic ocean in front of me, and thanked whatever put it there.  I'm content not to know, and I think that's about as close to a belief in any sort of god as I'll probably ever get.  Seems like just enough.

I turned from the sea, and walked back over the cool sandy dunes of the beach towards home.  The decomposing sea lion lay behind me somewhere, but like everything else, once behind me, he was nothing.

Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory Season 3 Trailer

This is what I spend most of my time on.  Hard to believe producing this show is my "job."

Squeaky Wheel

why metblogs matters

 
Earlier this week, Sean Bonner and Jason DeFillippo announced that their longtime labor of love, Metblogs, will be going offline at the end of the month.

"It’s with a heavy heart that we have to make this post. After our post earlier this year we’ve made repeated attempts to secure either financing or a buy-out and neither of which came to fruition. Left with no other alternative we’re sadly forced to shut our doors at the end of the month. After 6 and a half years it’s been an awesome ride and we can’t thank the authors and captains enough that have made it possible."

I am heartbroken.

For those of you new to the Internet, and specifically those of you who are unfamiliar with the relatively short history of Los Angeles area bloggers and Internet personalities, Sean Bonner and Jason DeFillippo are like the Run DMC of the web, and specifically, of blogging.  They're about as OG as it gets.  Metblogs, their amazing, connected network of local blogs which began as one local Los Angeles blog and has now extended itself around the globe to over 50 local blogs, is a project that I have watched grow from the comfort of my couch.  It began as Blogging.la, a Los Angeles area group blog that has included some of the most influential and legitimate Internet voices in existence: People like Wil Wheaton.  Xeni Jardin.  Chris Pirillo.  Moxie.  And of course, Sean and Jason.  These people ushered blogging into existence.  They were blogging back when it wasn't at all cool or accepted.  Blogging was still underground and nerdy, and these guys saw its future.

In November of 2003, the splash page image above was replaced by a live site, which Archive.org has preserved.  Here is Sean's first post:

Main | December 2003 »

November 30, 2003

Welcome to Blogging.la

Hi, I'm Sean. I few months back I had an idea. I sat on it and did nothing. Then I met Jason. Turns out a few months back he had an idea too. We got coffee, vomited ideas back and forth, and went to work. 2 weeks and 50 bazillion IM's later, Blogging.la is born.

We've rounded up a bunch of bloggers to dish out the scoop on what's happening here in LA, and that's basically the only rule. Stuff on this site will be somehow LA related, but other than that, it's pretty wide open. Events will be hyped and shit will be talked. The writers all have varying specialties and interests, some of them you might know from their own blogs, others might be new to you. Take a look around, see who's who, and what's what. Over the next few days everyone should chime in and say "hi" so keep checking back, it's going to be fun.

Posted by sean at 11:20 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

I started "Nickerblog" in October of 2003 because of Wil Wheaton.  His writing made me want to write.  He also wrote for Blogging.la.  Through Wil, I met Sean.  I didn't so much MEET Sean, as beg him to let me write for Blogging.la.  In June 2004, I submitted a request to become a contributor.  Sean replied back:

On Jun 17, 2004, at 7:01 AM, Sean Bonner wrote:

Shane-
Thanks for getting in touch. We're not actually taking submissions for
LA right now (got on the list by mistake) as it's pretty full up, but
I'll hold you name and when we do need some new people you will be top
of the list, cool?

-s

I really wanted to be a part of Los Angeles' collective blogging voice, but they were full up.  It happens.  By October of 2004 though, I had whined my way into the stable of writers and contributors.  It was an honor.  I was among Internet royalty, in my eyes.  I wrote some of my favorite posts at Blogging.la.  One in particular, "Bullets Over Sunset," still snaps me back to that time in my life.  Being a part of Blogging.la meant a lot to me, and it also opened up an amazing network of local bloggers that I would never have otherwise known.  I met people while writing for Sean and Jason that I still know online and IRL.  It was a special place, that was a kind of home for those of us contributing.  I'm sure it still is for the current contributors.

Somehow, Sean and Jason's global network of crowd-sourced blogging has yet to be snapped up by a corporate entity.  It's such a vast network of local media, grassroots bloggers, that I can't understand why a major brand like Yahoo or AOL hasn't grabbed it.  Despite that, the two have continued to branch out the Metblogs brand into places seemingly impossible: Pakistan, Dubai, Singapore.

It's an amazing accomplishment, and it's an important accomplishment.  I don't want it to end.

What began as Blogging.la is too important to too many people to simply vanish from existence.  I want to help keep it alive in any way that I can, because it matters to me.  Sean and Jason built something great, and I for one, would sure like to see it continue.

"INTERNET FRIENDS, ACTIVATE!"

"dicks."

On September 1, 2009, I wrote an entry about the web series that Christian Duguay and I wrote and produced called "dicks."  It's kind of a cool story about the genesis of an idea that became reality, thanks to a neat combination of factors.  In the end, we got to make a web pilot with very little interference, on Microsoft's dime, with complete creative control, featuring Rob Dyrdek and directed by Greg Benson.  My account of the process is here:

http://www.shanenickerson.com/nickerblog/2009/09/dicks.html

Since then, many friends and readers have asked me about the status of our fun little sci-fi comedy about two friends who open up a Supernatural Detective Agency.  I've stayed pretty quiet about it, because the truth is, we've all been waiting to see the fate of our project.  Microsoft has a pretty unique business model for original web series: They pay for a pilot, shop that pilot to advertisers, and then hopefully an interested advertiser pays for the entire budget of the series.  It's a cool model, because though it is ad-sponsored like traditional media, Microsoft minimizes their risk by letting someone else pay for the production.  For the past several months, our show has been "for sale" to advertisers via the Microsoft sales team.  Truthfully, the waiting game has been a non-issue for us, because both Christian and I have remained incredibly busy with our "real" jobs, producing shows for MTV and Comedy Central.  The idea of going into production on our web series right this second makes me want to take a nap.

Of course, I DO want to go into production on this little vanity project, because I know how fun it's going to be, and I think most people will really enjoy it.  This is where I ask all of my friends (you) for a little push towards that end.  Don't panic, it's an easy favor.

On Monday, Microsoft is going to premiere the first episode of "dicks."  It's set to go live in the Zune Video Marketplace on XBOX LIVE and the PC, in the Independent Video/Web Video area of the store (next to The Guild!) in the following places:
 
Switzerland
Belgium
England
Finland
Denmark
New Zealand
Spain
Italy
Norway
Sweden
Netherlands
Australia
Austria
France
Canada
Germany
Ireland
USA

HO.LY.CRAP.  I am floored by this.  When we started this project, the only web series on the Internet that anyone really cared about was The Guild.  Now, all this time later, that's still pretty much the case.  To even live on the same platform as The Guild (Zune/XBOX LIVE) for any amount of time is a real honor.  It looks like we are about to do just that, in almost TWENTY countries!  Floored.

So friends, I ask only this of you:

Please watch it. If you like it, or if you see the potential for it to become something you will eventually like, please spread the word of its existence.  If you hate it, let us know what you'd like to see change.  We're not sensitive.  We're used to Network Notes, so getting InterNet-work Notes won't be so hard.  Links, tweets, blogs, any kind of Internet love we can generate for "dicks" (snicker), will be so very much appreciated.  I rarely ask for favors from my Internet friends, and I won't hold it against you're just not into hooking a brother up.  But for the rest of you awesome people, I'd sure love it if the whole internet would ACTIVATE for our little web series.   This is a project we made for the love of the genre.

It's cool enough that our digital file gets to hang out near The Guild's digital file on the Microsoft servers for a while.  If we could get people watching and actually make more episodes?  Well that would be a dream come true.

*UPDATE: We're live, worldwide!  Here's how to watch it:

1. If you're on a PC, you can grab it here by downloading free Zune software here: http://social.zune.net/tv/network/webVideos

OR

2. If you have an XBOX, you can watch it FREE in the Zune marketplace, right next to The Guild!

XBOX->Zune->Indie Videos->Web Videos

If you're on a MAC, you'll be limited to a one minute preview.  Sorry MAC people, I feel your pain.

Lastly: Thank you so much to everyone for helping us spread the word about our little web series via Twitter, Facebook, blogs, and other social media.  I met Paul Davidson (our Microsoft contact) via blogging back in 2003, so this is truly a project directly borne out of multiple connections made over the years, right here on this Internet.  With your help, the pilot of our web series is already climbing it's way into the rankings right alongside the "real" TV shows on the Zune platform.  THAT...is awesome.  Thanks, all.

collision

On a flight to Kauai, I sipped on a cocktail as the plane jetted peacefully somewhere over the Pacific.  Though technically on a business trip, the Hawaiian destination made it feel more like a vacation for me; a vacation from Los Angeles, if nothing else.  I sat in First Class (thanks to some frequent flyer miles and an upgrade), and as I enjoyed my fourth (or fifth?) bloody mary, the woman sitting next to me was leaning back over her seat, talking to her friend who was seated somewhere behind us.  When she was finished I told her, "I'm happy to switch seats if you'd rather sit with your friend.  I'm not picky about where I sit."   She smiled warmly and thanked me, "Oh that's so sweet of you, but there are three of us, so someone has to be the odd one out.  Thank you though."   I nodded, returned to the straw of my bloody mary, and disappeared into the insular noise of Daft Punk in my headphones.  The woman had a warm radiance about her that was magnetic. I peeked again at her quickly to see if I recognized her from television.  I did not.  If I was a little more new-agey, I'd tell you she seemed to radiate positive energy.  I know that sounds weird, but it's really true.  I let it go, and after a few moments, I closed my eyes and let the drone of the plane put me to sleep.

Hours later, an announcement overhead pierced the synthetic silence of my noise canceling headphones, and a crackling voice informed us that we were making our final descent into Hawaii.  The attractive woman next to me was now talking to her friend, who was standing in the aisle next to us on the way back to his seat.  Both of them looked like people I should probably recognize, though I did not, and my curiosity grew.  Before I could figure out why I should know them, he disappeared back to his seat.  The flight attendants asked us to put our seats back in upright positions, and I took off my headphones and prepared myself for the final descent.

After a moment, I asked her: "Are you here for work?"

Her face lit up, and she said, "Yeah.  We're here for a fitness convention in Kauai.  You?"

I told her about the show I work on, and our plan to film some tow-in surfing with Laird Hamilton.  As we continued talking, I discovered that I was sitting next to Traci Morrow, one of the women in the P90X+ DVD's.  Though not entirely familiar with P90X, I had certainly heard of the fitness program.  I follow a guy named Rudy Jahchan on Twitter, who used to post his progress via tweets, plus, Beachbody runs P90X infomercials all night on most cable channels, and it's hard to navigate the web without seeing banner ads for P90X.  I knew at least three people who were in the middle of the program when I met Traci.  I'd heard positive things, but knew almost nothing about it.

As the plane taxied to the jet way, we continued talking.  Turns out the friend she was talking to mid-flight?  He's the main dude from the P90X videos, mega-trainer Tony Horton.  Traci is a mother of six, who used P90X as a way to get back into shape after having kids.  She was so successful, that Tony (and parent company Beachbody) hired her to be in the P90X+ videos.  She's also a coach.  By the time we deplaned, Tony was waiting for Traci by the gate.  She introduced me to him, and I asked them lots of questions about P90X.  The rest of the crew from our show finally made their way off the plane.  Traci offered to send me some "Tony Horton stuff," and stay in touch with me via e-mail if I ever had more questions.  I thanked her, said goodbye to both of them and told her, "Lucky I sat next to you.  I may just get into shape by accident."  

Later, Traci sent me an email asking for my shipping address.  A week later, several large boxes arrived at my house.  I started opening them, and soon realized that she had sent me the entire P90X program, complete with DVD's, supplements, Shakeology mix, Heart Monitor, Recovery Drinks, P90X bars, pull-up bar, push-up bars, isometric bands, P90X+ DVD's, and more.  I was flabbergasted.  This woman, who I happened to sit next to on a plane, sent me a ton of stuff after a short conversation and chance meeting.  This workout plan, and now the obligation I felt to her for hooking me up, literally fell out of the sky and into my lap.

I decided to commit to 90 days.  I realized that if I couldn't put in the work to start living a healthy lifestyle at this stage of my life (especially when an opportunity like this was handed to me at the perfect time), I would just be giving up and accepting my path towards being a doughy, aging, couch dad.  I don't want to be a couch dad.

I emailed Traci.  I thanked her for her incredibly kind gesture, and I told her how thankful I was to have met her.  I also told her I had two goals as I prepared to begin P90X:

1. Finish all 90 days.

2. Stop drinking for all 90 days.

Big goals, for a guy who likes to party and likes to avoid the gym.  When I was younger, I was fit and healthy and active.  My body and mind have since yearned for that healthy guy I used to be.  I have another child on the way.  I have more work ahead of me than I can manage.  My career is filled with opportunity, as long as I can find the energy and confidence to accept the challenges and take advantage of it.  I was at a place in my life when I needed a major change, even if I hadn't realized it until the packages arrived at my door.

In Kauai, I drank my fill of Mai Tai's and Kona Longboard Ale.  I knew that week would be something of a last hurrah.  I knew I was about to commit to a major lifestyle change.  

When I got home, I cleared out our big living room, bought a workout mat and some Bowflex SelectTech Dumbbells, and prepared mentally for a 90 day commitment.

___________________________________________________________

Today, I'm on day 41, four days before the halfway point.  I haven't missed a day, and I haven't had a drink in all that time.  So far, so good. 

Within one week of beginning P90X, my energy levels increased and my attitude improved.  I missed the social part of drinking beer, wine and scotch, but I savored the healthy feeling I was beginning to have.  Week one hurt.  I wanted to stop.  It was a severe shock to a very dormant system, but it felt GOOD.  Very, very quickly, I lost weight.  My "fat pants" became clown pants, and the jeans I haven't even considered trying on for years, are back in the rotation.  In less than 7 weeks, I've gone from a 36/38 waist to a 33/34.  My shirts fit better, and I can no longer feel that cold, jelly-like blubber roll jiggling over my jeans when I drive over bumps.  I have a clear head, for the first time in years.  There are mornings when I don't want to push play on that DVD, but I have faith that it's the right thing to do.  I've never been much of a believer in fitness scams.  Lots of them have an almost cult-like vibe to me, and the last thing I want to hear is someone trying to sell me on some fad diet or device as if it's some new religion.  For me, P90X is the first home fitness program that's ever worked.  You want to know why?  Because it's hard.  It's at least an hour a day of hard work, six days a week.  Some days are 90 minutes.  It's hard, and it hurts, but it's already changed my life.

I believe that life gives you what you need if you are open to the opportunity and the people around you.  Somehow, I sat next to an inspirational stranger that has, in 41 short days, revolutionized my life.  I'm writing this because it represents a major change for me, and I wanted to share the story of how I've started down a path of "accidentally getting myself into shape."  Traci didn't send me the gear because I worked on Rob's show, or because she wanted me to blog about it or tweet about it or spread the word about my experience.  I believe she genuinely enjoys helping people, and I think she saw in me someone who needed a little shove in the right direction.

Does it mean I'll never drink beer again? Are you crazy?  I love beer too much.  Everything in moderation is a good way to live.  Right now though, it's 90 days of going in the other direction to reverse years of neglecting my health.

I'm very thankful that I met her.  I'm not a P90X shill.  I gain nothing by writing this; no kickbacks or referral fees or anything else.  It happens to be a major turn in my life that I felt compelled to document. 

Here's a link to Traci's site if you want to read more about her, or P90X.

checkpoint: save game?

 

Tomorrow is huge.

I know we don't talk about the awesome stuff that happens in our careers here in "Hollywood."  Not really, at least.  There's an unwritten "play it cool" rule that's widely prevalent in this town.  I guess it's based mostly on self-preservation and squelching premature excitement to avoid disappointment.  I'm aware that keeping it cool is a part of the game.  Act like it's just another day, even if it's such a significant personal milestone, that not acknowledging it actually becomes a disservice to yourself.  That's kind of what we do here.  We tout our victories in "cool kids" ways, with a twitpic, or a shrouded, cryptic tweet, or blog.  Keep it cool.  Don't show your excitement.  For god's sake keep it cool.

Fuck that shit.  Let me tell you a story.

In the fall of 2008, I met a band called Steel Panther.  They're an 80's style glam-metal band that covers classic 80's metal hits, and also writes original songs with that same vibe.  Over the years, I've seen their show several times at various venues on the Sunset Strip.  Their act is hilarious, and as a bonus, they are  kickass musicians.   I finally got to meet them when they came to record the theme song for another show I was helping to launch back in '08: Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory on MTV. 

While we shot them recording, I noticed the natural rapport the guys had together.  Even when the cameras weren't rolling, they were hilarious.  They have fully developed characters (that are grounded in their own personalities), and are excellent improvisers.  On top of that, they're cool guys.  When we finished, I offhandedly told their drummer, Darren (Stix), "You guys need your own show."  He said, "Hook it up.  Talk to some people."

I rode back to the production office with Jeff Tremaine, and I told him, "We should make a show with those guys."  He lit up, and immediately agreed.  The idea of building a show around these guys was exciting, and immediately obvious.  It was a no-brainer.  That night, I called their manager and arranged a meeting between all of us to discuss a comedy series featuring Steel Panther.  I learned that although the band was not tied to any kind of TV deal, they were working on a movie.  Brian Posehn, a brilliant writer, comic and actor, and one of the biggest Steel Panther fans out there, had been working with the band on that project.  They agreed to put the movie on hold, and we brought Brian into the mix to help us develop the series and direct it.  I eventually brought in my longtime friend and the closest thing I have to a writing partner, Christian Duguay, (Co-EP on Fantasy Factory) to help break stories and characters for the show.

After many, MANY months of meetings and writing, we were finally ready to pitch the Steel Panther series.  Between Brian and Jeff and I, we have combined experience in reality, comedy, improv, sketch, and scripted TV, so we created a show that combined all of our areas of expertise.  The show is a comedy, and the place we always hoped it would land was Comedy Central.  After several strong pitches at various networks, we had our shot at Comedy Central.  The pitch went well.  They brought us back to pitch it to even more people.  It went even better the second time.

After a year of building an idea from the ground up, carefully preparing it, developing characters, and understanding the world those characters inhabit, Comedy Central ordered a pilot presentation. 

Fuck yeah!

Everything takes forever in this town, and sometimes even after you get a yes, it somehow turns into a no.  People you sold the idea to are replaced, and the people replacing them wipe the development slate clean to avoid inheriting projects they didn't order...or any of a million other things can go wrong.  Getting something made in this town is a miracle.  But after several more months of deals being finalized, we were finally given the green light to shoot our presentation.

That was about a month ago.  I got right to work once we got the go ahead.  I hired a Line Producer to help me manage the logistics, and the relatively small budget we were given to work within.  I hired as much of my crew from Fantasy Factory as possible to make our three shoot days effortless.  A team that has worked together before will save you countless headaches in the field.  Plus, we have some of the best crew in town on Fantasy Factory, and I was lucky to get them.  We crewed up, rented gear, scouted locations, made schedules, beat down the budget, and figured out exactly what the creative angle was on the scenes we planned to shoot.  Brian Posehn called in some favors, and delivered some amazing actors to fill out the world we've built for the band: Rob Huebel, Daniel Roebuck, Josh Fadem, Ivana Milicevic, and uh, a guy you may have heard of named Bob Odenkirk.  Some of you may also remember that Brian Posehn wrote and appeared on Mr. Show with Bob and David, so I guess he called his friend Bob Odenkirk and asked him to play a part in our Steel Panther presentation.

Bob. Fucking. Odenkirk.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to get all starry eyed and comedy-nerd-fanboy on you guys, but BOB ODENKIRK agreed to play a role in a show I've spent more than a year helping to create and nurture and build.  Not to mention Rob Huebel, an all around funny dude and Twitter ninja.  This is a fucking dream, kids.  I don't care if speaking about it breaks some sort of code, or if I lose my place in the "hollywood keep it cool" club for not acting like it doesn't affect me.  We have a guest cast filled with brilliant performers, and I am floored.  It honestly makes me giddy.

We shot Day One with the band last week in a Pacoima Costco, with real Costco customers all around us, and I felt entirely comfortable and prepared for the day.  It's almost as if everything I've done in my career (and even my youth) has led me to this moment and this project.  It's a combination of all my time spent learning improv and sketch comedy at The Groundlings and ioWest, my many years in production on various reality shows, the experience I've had building and creating shows with Rob Dyrdek on both Rob & Big and Fantasy Factory, and of course, the years I spent listening to Quiet Riot, Def Leppard, Motley Crue, Poison, Slaughter, and Ratt.  Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you that this is a dream project for me.

I could write another whole entry about the amazing team that cosmically fell into my lap for this project, including the amazingly talented Gary Kordan, who made the "Steel Vanther," which started as a joke in a Word document, become glorious reality:

You should see what he did to the inside.  The guy is an artist and a genius. 

But really, tomorrow is the big day.  Tomorrow is the day we'll have all of the actors I mentioned above.  We're shooting at Sunset-Gower Studios, which will serve as a record label office for the purpose of our show.  While scouting the location last week, I felt as happy as I've felt working in this town since I moved here.  It's a milestone for me, not only because of the talent involved and the love I have for this project, but because at least right now, I'm occupying territory that feels like a former goal.  You know that feeling?  When you finally get to somewhere you've been pushing towards for most of your life?

Who knows if this show will go to series?  Honestly, I'm not hinging my happiness on what happens later.  I'm so happy to be making something that I believe in; that I helped create; and that so far, has equaled or surpassed everything I imagined in its conception, that I'll feel good about whatever this leads to.  I feel very lucky right now, and I still can't get my head around the level of talent involved.

So there you go.  A little peek into my world right now.  I won't post this until after we shoot.  You know, superstition and stuff.  Plus, there's still a part of me that wants desperately to adhere to the "too cool to be happy" thing, but I just can't fucking contain myself. 

Tomorrow is awesome.* 

*Actually, it was yesterday... and it was AWESOME. Pictures to come...

our lucky little girl

She's healthy and normal, and she'll be joining us in September.  This little girl may have her own luck, but right now, I feel pretty lucky too.

what do you want to know?

Ask me anything.

Kauai

back to ohio

I'm in a budget hotel somewhere outside of Kettering, Ohio, and the gloomy skies, barren trees, and week-old snow on the ground all remind me of New England.  In fact, this place may as well be my hometown of Londonderry, NH.  There's a Cracker Barrel and a Home Depot across the street, a desolate self-serve car wash next door, and a Tim Horton's just a parking lot away from my room.  This morning, I woke up early to enjoy the 30˚ weather and a brisk walk for a cup of coffee.  I've lived in Los Angeles for almost 15 years, and still my body and mind feel more at home in cold, snowy climates than in sub-tropical.  Crunchy snowbanks and dirty, salty pavement feel familiar to me, despite my long time away.

The last time I was in Ohio, Elisa and I were driving towards California in a U-Haul filled with everything we owned.  It's hard to believe that was 14+ years ago.  Back then, we found a KOA campground just off the freeway, pitched our Target tent, and crashed for the night before continuing our trek west.  We had no idea what was on the other side of the country for us.  It was thrilling.  Actually, it's still thrilling.

 

If I had never left New Hampshire, I doubt I would feel so nostalgic about cold weather and snowy winters.  As I walked through a parking lot in Ohio today, I could almost imagine my life if we had never moved west.  I wonder how different it would be.  I wonder if I'd regret my decision to stay, or if I'd have justified it in a long blog post about why NOT moving to California was the best decision I ever made.  I suppose it's irrelevant. 

I don't miss living in a place with cold winters, but the familiarity is comforting.  Ohio isn't New Hampshire, but at least for this week, it's close enough.

5NICKS

If you haven't read the first part of this story, it's here: The V Word.

It's February 21st, and yes, Elisa and I are currently expecting our third child.  Though unplanned, we are very excited about the news.  It took a few weeks of adjustment, though.  Immediately after I found out, I tried to sit down and write about it.  The section in bold is from early January:

January 2010

Sometimes, a story is so big that the thought of trying to tell it effectively is crippling.  Other times, a story is so current that the thought of telling it too soon is frightening.  This time, the compulsion to sit here and write it is so overpowering, that fear and hesitation be damned.

Yesterday, my wife called me at 11:33am.  I was walking out the door of a commercial audition, dressed in a nice suit and tie.  After many days of rain in Hollywood, the sun was shining and the air was crisp and clean.  I answered the phone, oblivious to the drastic change of direction my life was about to make. 

I slid the unlock bar on my iPhone, and put it to my ear. 

"Hey," I said to my wife, warmly.

"Hi. Where are you?" she said with a tone and cadence that was unsettling. After 16 years together, I immediately recognized it as the tone of: SOMETHING IS WRONG.

"What's up?" I asked her, slightly panicked.  My mind raced through worst case scenarios.

"Where are you,' she asked again, this time with more tears and urgency in her voice.

"I'm just walking out of that audition, WHAT'S WRONG?"

And the dam on the other end broke. I heard her start sobbing and then, as if she were confessing a murder she wailed:

"Dude, I'm pregnant."

I paused in the middle of Hollywood, and her cries became more distant in my ear as the magnitude of her statement coiled back, sucked the air out of the world around me, and slammed into me like a two ton battering ram.  Mostly though, I felt relief.  Based on her tone, I was expecting bad news.

Sobs consumed her on the other end of the line.

"Elisa, this is okay.  This is not something to cry about." I told her.  I believed that, but my grip on my previously perceived future was evaporating around me.  I felt like Christopher Reeve's character in "Somewhere in Time" when he accidentally looks at the penny.  

For a week, we processed the news.  You'd think two adults in their late 30's would have a fairly comfortable understanding of the way reproduction works, especially after successfully reproducing twice, but apparently we are as dumb as two lusty fifteen year olds in the back of a Chevelle. 

"We're idiots" was a phrase oft repeated in the acceptance phase of our reverse grieving.  Can you grieve for a brand new life?  When the news was fresh, I think we both did.  I know that's not cool to talk about, but it's true.  We really did have to come to grips with the notion of adding a third child to our lives after several years of believing we were a stable, two kid, "we're done" family.  It was a major shock.  For my wife, who will have to do all of the work BUILDING the new person, I'm certain the shock was also mixed with dread.  She was very happy to be done with pregnancy.  Some women love being pregnant, some are over it.  My wife?  Over it.

Do we keep it?  It was a question that came up, for sure.  With two healthy kids, and a pretty good system in place that's starting to finally feel familiar and manageable, do we want to go back to square one?  Our two year old is finally old enough to play with his sister and he'll be out of diapers in the next year or so.  We were past the baby phase, and had almost moved into the "kids in school" phase.  An infant again?  Delivery room again?  Worrying about the health and well-being of another baby again?  Panicking about whether s/he's breathing at night?  Starting over?

When the new life inside her was little more than a blastocyst, we tried on the idea of just getting back to normal, as if it never happened.  And although we skirted around the actual term "abortion" (it really is a loaded word, isn't it?), it came up.  I am thankful that it was an option legally available to us, but ultimately, it was never an option we considered very seriously.  We are neither religious, nor god-fearing, but the idea of interrupting human life out of convenience seemed awfully selfish.  Plus, in short random moments of excitement, I was already starting to think of that little packet of cells as our lucky new baby. 

There is a unique faith required of parents during the nine+ months of pregnancy.  It just never quite seems real.  For both of my other children, it never felt entirely real until I got my first look at each of them in the delivery room. At that moment, when the doctor hoists the baby into the world, it all makes sense.  The magnitude of the miracle of reproduction and new life has twice taken my breath away.

One night, while we lay in bed coming to grips with our new, three kid reality, I told Elisa, "Someday, we will look back on right now and wonder how we ever even discussed the option of terminating this pregnancy.  When that baby is born, we'll feel guilty about this conversation."  

"I know.  I could never do it anyway," she said.

"Neither could I," I told her, relieved. "I just keep picturing that baby growing up and graduating from high school, and wondering how we could have ever not known him (or her)."

"I know.  I know that's true.  I just can't believe I have to go through it all again," she said, somewhat defeated.

I may resist organized religion, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in powers and forces at work far greater than myself.  I've always trusted that we are all given just what we need, when we need it.  Another way of looking at it is, you can either embrace the road ahead of you or you can avoid it.  Avoiding it, in my experience, often leads to misery.  For me, embracing the opportunities and surprises that life presents me, always leads to the right place. 

So take that philosophy and throw in the irony of a last minute vasectomy cancellation, and I'd have a very hard time not welcoming this new child into our world.  The fact that I've begun having moments of unexpected giddiness about meeting a new Nickerson in nine months, makes the transition from "shocked and flabbergasted" to "thoroughly excited" much easier.

In fact, it's now been more than a month since we learned the news.  Even writing this now, the fact that we ever considered, no matter how half-heartedly, the idea of not welcoming more love into our lives seems odd.  My wife went to have an ultra sound this week, and the doctor pointed out the strong, flickering heartbeat of a tiny life that would not have existed if things had gone the way we both planned.  My wife told her that it wasn't exactly a planned pregnancy.  Her doctor calmly summed it up with a very simple, and very profound sentence:

"You know, some people believe that babies have their own luck."

And just like that, our decision to welcome our third child into this world seemed less like a decision, and more like a gift.  As our fear and shock continues to transform into gratitude and excitement, we have no doubt that our lives will be enriched and further filled with love than we ever imagined.  It isn't a resigned acceptance of something imminent and life-changing.  It's a humble submission to a series of events we neither planned, nor regret.  It's switching gears from "We're done," to "Oh my god, here we go!"

the V word

My wife and I have a six year old girl and a two year old boy.  We hit the parenting jackpot by having one of each, thus avoiding the dangerous game of, "Should we try just one more time for a boy/girl?"  When asked, we proudly (and smugly?) tell our friends, "Boy and a girl. That's it. We're done."  It took me a couple of years of saying it before I 100% believed it, but in around October of 2009, I volunteered to make it official.  After generating two humans inside of her body and then having them hacked out of her via C-Section, I'd never ask my wife to go back to the operating room to have her tubes tied.  Mostly because if I did, she'd kick me in the face.  So, I (nervously) agreed to a little "outpatient procedure" that most of you have probably heard of.

Shortly after I committed to getting snipped, Jon Armstrong tweeted:

 

YES.  Someone with inside information!

I replied:

 

A couple of hours later, he replied back:

 

Pfft...easy.

I can handle a little "weird gut pain."  Shit, I'll OWN me some gut pain.  Me and gut pain are like peas in a...wait, how long is the gut pain?  It's only a day or two, right?  I'm bad with long term pain.  Pain and I are actually not that cool.

I should tell you, I hate the word vasectomy.   It's a clinical and ugly sounding word. VASECTOMY. Honestly, how obvious and uncreative can you be?

VAS = Vas Deferens

ECTOMY = Excision of.

Gross.

It's also a word that strikes terror into most men.  We can't help it.  Nature tells us that scalpels and our balls should never meet.  We are wired to defend against such encounters.  And although my wife never said it aloud, I imagined that her opinion on the matter probably went something like: "I built two babies and went through 35 hours of labor on the first one and it's outpatient for you and major surgery for me, and I had to nurse two infants for a YEAR and their teeth ARE SHARP and has a tiny little shitting machine ever sucked your nipples until they BLEED? and you know what? IT'S YOUR FUCKING TURN."  Fine.  I agreed to the VASECTOMY.  God, I hate that word.

I made the appointment for early December.  On a hiatus between seasons of my job, the timing was perfect.  It allowed me enough recovery time before the holidays, and it wouldn't affect my work schedule at all.  I mentally prepared myself for the physical and emotional repercussions of the so-called "Outpatient Procedure."  I also promised myself that I'd never be one of those guys who blogged about it. 

Hi.

Anyway, the night before V-day, I got a call from the Urologist.  Dr. Sacks (I'm not joking), was apparently called away on a family matter (golf), and the receptionist told me that I'd have to reschedule my appointment for after the holidays.  After weeks of mentally preparing myself, my date with neutering was postponed.

FUUUUCK. 

But also...

YESSSSSS!

Part of me was disappointed because I'd have to gear myself up for it all over again. 

The other part of me felt like the call from the Governor came at 11:59.

I told them I'd call them back to reschedule after the holidays.  The truth was, I'd probably have to wait until summer since my hiatus ended after the holidays.  I didn't want to go to work with frozen peas down my pants.  It makes for an awkward working environment.

Anyway, let's jump ahead to January 2010, shall we?

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Bhutan, 2004

comes from a place that's far away

I feel too lucky sometimes.  It's a hard feeling to reconcile, because I'm not a very religious person.  I once wrote somewhere, "I enjoy my life so much, but I don't know who to thank."  I think about that sentiment a lot.  Although I am mostly a skeptic and I am very opposed to not a big fan of organized religion, I can't help but believe in some kind of universal power or direction that seems to guide me.  I don't know.  I don't even want to know, honestly.  I'm happy not knowing.  I am, however,  open to wherever the road leads.  My whole life, I've just assumed it's headed towards the right place.

I often catch myself wondering: what else?  What else can I achieve, or get, or succeed at, or gain respect in, or just GAIN.  How can I WIN?  It's a fool's mentality, because there is never a way to satiate that force that keeps us all moving forward in our lives.  The tricky part is allowing ourselves to pause and look around and remember, "Hey, life is pretty goddamn good right now.  How about you just chill and enjoy the amazing things all around you." 

I have two beautiful, healthy kids.  I have a job that I love, and a wife I love more than anything, and a house in a city that I love.  I thoroughly enjoy my career.  I feel very thankful for all of it and I promise you, I'm not gloating or bragging.  I worked a million shitty jobs with no real guarantee that I'd end up on the other side with anything but a bunch of good stories. Why did I move here?  Because I blindly believed in my own ability to succeed.  I had no proof, nor experience to back up that faith.  I just HOPED that I was making the right decision.  I hoped that the path that seemed to lead West... was the right path.

It was something I was forced to question in mid 90's, as I served prime rib to Mel Gibson at an Oscars afterparty (back when Mel Gibson was the toast of the town).  I was a lowly caterer, and I remember being in that room full of successful, glamorous, famous people and thinking to myself, "This is not where I planned to be.  This is not what I moved 3,000 miles across the country for."  I stole Mel Gibson's fork and mailed it to my sister (true story), as proof that I had at least grazed the town I was chasing.  I felt like an utter failure.

When you're slogging your way through the years towards a destination, it feels like rock climbing in the dark.  You keep moving up, grasping at holds and cracks above you, terrified of crashing backwards into the place you are trying to escape.  But time has a way of transforming all of your struggles into a massive nostalgia quilt that's much easier and prettier to look back upon.  Gone are the memories of biting your tongue when an event coordinator at some shitty premiere party tells you to work in scullery(dishwashing) because you forgot a tuxedo jacket and, "all of our servers have to look elegant... and you look like a wedding DJ."  Gone are the days standing for eight to ten hours at the back door of the Regent Beverly Wilshire, holding cars in the fire lane for guests, or opening and holding the door for princes and celebrities, hoping for the rare $20 tip.  Gone are the days of wondering if it was all worth it.

Because right now, it was all worth it.  I am not stupid, nor ignorant enough to believe that a happy life remains happy forever.  I understand how quickly things can change and how fickle the winds of fate are.  But, I'm not a big believer in jinxes either, so I don't write these words worried about the consequences of my willingness to stand up and look around and like what I see. 

I may one day return to passing trays of shrimp wontons at some shitty fancy party.  Who knows?  All I know for sure is that I'm looking around right now and wishing I could live here forever.  These are the days I will look back on and wish to gods (nerd reference) I could return to.  If right now is this good, even as I climb away from it, imagine how amazing right now will be when one day, I look back upon it?

shards

I've been watching Caprica on SyFy.  Because I'm such a huge BSG fan, it's a no-brainer that I'm watching a prequel, which includes the story of the birth of Cylons. Anyway, one of the characters talks about the remnants we leave behind on the web, and all over computer networks and databases throughout our lives.  I've been thinking about that quite a bit lately, and I wonder if technology will eventually allow us to search for image matches within digital content.  For example, using a picture or several pictures of an individual for reference, a googlebot may someday scour YouTube videos, press clippings, news items, tv shows, and everything else it can crawl to find image matches WITHIN those videos.  How amazing would that be?  You'd find images of yourself you never knew existed.  Perhaps you'd discover yourself quoted on a news program you never knew you were a part of, or find a random untagged photo on Flickr, or even discover your face in a crowd shot at a sporting event.  Limitless possibilities. 

Until that technology exists, you'll have to rely on your own knowledge of where you might find your likeness and remnants on the web.  Or, if you're lucky, someone you work with will point you towards some embarrassing extra work you did back in the 90's for a Star Trek CD-ROM called "Starfleet Academy."  I always thought the only part of me visible in that game was my shoes (designed to match Shatner's, since I was his stand-in), but I've recently been alerted to the fact that I am visible in at least one scene. 

 

Here's the link, if you want to see some embarrassing "extra acting" (not to mention some pretty lazy "Shatner Acting.")  YouTube is incredible.  This crazy little stand-in gig made me eligible for my SAG card.  It also afforded me the opportunity to take a tour of the Star Trek wardrobe storage building, which had every single costume from every single episode of every incarnation of Star Trek ever.  This jumpsuit I'm wearing was a vintage Star Trek II era jumpsuit, I believe.  I'm sure if it's not, someone will smack me down in the comments.

That picture up there?  That's what I was doing 12 years ago.  Turns out, the internet likes to maintain a bread crumb trail of all the things we do.  I guess I'm okay with that.

one more from the Fantasy Factory