Aiiiiiii Fusion: The Future of Food!

Why I love Detroit: Last night, whilst killing time amidst the city's crumbling facades, I felt a great need to urinate. Unexpected and urgent, it would've caused a major fiasco in any other major Downtown. However, this being Detroit I was able to stop my car in the middle of the street without even bothering to pull to the side. I stepped out and let it fly. There was no one in sight but I heard a sarcastic whistle, probably coming from a derelict stashed in one of the many deserted train cars.

Why I hate Detroit: There is a 100 degree difference between the weather here and the weather in Los Angeles. Throw in Tacos and the arrival of the Brock Alter era and it's enough to make a young man homesick, even a man who's recently reacquired his swag.

"My Swag is Phenomenal" - Gilbert Arenas

Something about being home lends a comfortable feeling. It ain't Mom's Chili or sleeping next to my mole-riddled Dog, but the sense of having the shit figured out makes talking to strangers or even dancing at a bar all the more easier. I'm prone to over thought, over analysis, and other overindulgence of the intrinsic variety, but in the throws of home they dissapate.

This feeling is good, but what exactly is home?

I spent the past ten days, busting my ass like never before in fervent pursuit of directing commercials for a Sushi restaraunt. If you've seen the Heinz Tomato Ketchup Commercials or just talked to me about them, I've spouted off against the woes of channeling creative energy into another man's pocket. Well color me a hypocrite but I had a fucking ball of it. Before the days of USC, where everything glitters in the sun and you aren't even allowed to park a bike against George Lucas' railings, there was no organization, no goal, just the joy of the pursuit. From 17 on, the ragtag corps would assemble to make a movie, put on a play, or organize a scavenger hunt. The feeling carried over to USC at least during 290, when Paul and I turned the class into our personal cavalcade. Then, as if being groomed to fit a cog, the USC system took over, grinding down our spirits with limits on creativity, producability, and use of firearms. It's easy to rebel, fun even, but even the most rebellious sort (and trust me, I know some rebels) are stuck with the thought: "is it worth it?"

In this regard, I was lucky enough to chance into directing some commercials as my first job after graduation. Here in all their unfettered glory are descriptions.

Earthquake. A couple gets their sushi and an earthquake commences. Vases fall, tables shake but they are unbothered, opting to focus on their Sushi. Because of the quake it keeps falling out of their chopsticks but upon finally getting to eat it they get wide smiles on their faces. Cut to a wide shot of the restaurant. Outside Godzilla battles helicopters over a cardboard version of Lansing. Tagline: "AI Fusion. Authentically Asian"

Sashimi. A man orders "the freshest sashimi you have." The waiter goes to the kitchen but stops to put on galoshes, a raincoat, and a life jacket. He grabs a decorative harpoon from the wall before heading into the kitchen. From there you see waves splashing against the window and flashes of light. You hear a boat going out, the churning of waves, and the sounds associated with catching a fish. Dolly from the kitchen on a silver platter. The man enjoys the Sashimi. Final reveal: the waiter is sopping wet.

These are unadultered silliness, exactly the sort of thing I'd like to do with my life but though I spout worthless phrases of "it's great for a reel" or even "I can start a business with these", I derived no greater pleasure than gathering friends, acting like a fool on set, and turning aforementioned friends into superstars. Note: this grandiose phrase is not untrue. I called upon John Scaramucci to star in one of the commercials. It will be airing nonstop around his college campus during his college's sporting events. With those big brown eyes gleaming, it's only a matter of time for that boy.

I worked 50 out of 60 hours without noticing, laughed my ass off, and made regrettable decisions with caution into the wind. Paul's rubbed off and I'm cracking jokes in a faux gravelly voice. My best guess? That's what home is.