Right place, right time.
You know something? This is the last place that I thought I would be. The original plan was to spend the duration of the past week in my trailer in a non-descript town and actually do some work for a change. I bought the trailer when I was doing promo for Sahara. Fortunately, the people that I keep in my inner circle are honest enough to tell me when I'm going a little too Hollywood, when my ego is getting out of hand. I spent so much time in preparation for that film. It was the first one that I've produced, so I was much more involved in it than anything else I've done. In addition, I never really considered myself in peak physical condition until after I started toning up for that film. I'm not kidding. I hired a nutritionist, laid off the beer and the smoking, drank creatine shakes, and spent every waking moment with my weight trainer.
It's fucked. I think I lost probably five or six pounds, if any, but this extra weight that I had been carrying around my middle shifted around, turned into muscle, and I had this well-ridged stomach that I wanted to show off to everyone with eyes. After filming, my manager asked if I was going to stop looking in the mirror long enough to remember that the world didn't revolve around me and my abs, so I was like, yes, I need to go back to my roots; I need to remember who I am.
The Airstream is something that I bought on my own accord. I already had a ranch, Loco Pelotes, back in Texas. I only dropped half a million for it, got two acres of beautiful, beautiful land, and an emu that had been stuck there since the late eighties. The problem with a farm life is that, when devoid of anyone else save yourself, it's a lonely place to be. It's about an hour away from anything important. There's a gas station and a little convenience store, but you have to drive sixty miles to see a proper grocery store. The house that I have on the land is fairly big and fairly old. I know that it's just the house settling, but when it creaks in the middle of the night, you don't want to be alone inside. For a while, I was convinced it was haunted, so I slept outside in the barn until I had a priest bless it, and even then, it made noises that houses should not, so I bought this trailer and I found that I much preferred it to the house and the barn both. Maybe that's unconventional and probably could be easily remedied with a steady influx of people, but I'm too private for my own good and never much liked people coming in and making themselves at home.
Anyway, I decided the best possible way to get over this Jesus complex I had obtained was to get back to my roots, stay away from cushy hotel rooms and people that exist solely to respond to your beck and call, they'll tell you. I had the trailer wrapped in a Sahara billboard and embarked on this shameless tour of the US. I met people, I cooked in all these RV parks, generally had myself a good time. Anyway, one of these towns was amazing, really, if only because every resident was high on crystal meth. And I swear to God, every time I go on set in these little nowhere towns, I think about this one guy that was tweaked out of his fucking mind and how he knocked on my door to announce to me the discovery he had made. Miraculous, really. He knocks and he told me to kiss his feet. Naturally, I looked at him like he was a few fries short of a happy meal and he told me, he said, "I am God and the Devil at the same time." Then, this fellow went on to say that there are two things that any man needs in this world and that's the loving of a good woman and crystal meth. True story.
I was looking at doing a week of almost nothing in this little town. I hate having to go in and make nice with people, because you know that there's at least one freak, whether it's like Crystal Meth Dude or everybody's part of a super secret devil-worshiping cult and they need a nice, Texan virgin to sacrifice. So I get this call from the last person I expected, really, particularly considering the outcome of the last few conversations we had had before, and all I could hear was, "I'm really sick," and I thought yes, this can be my way out. And personally, I was excited about the company, too.
When it comes to cooking, I can fend for myself, believe it or not. I'm actually good enough that my work has, in fact, been showcased on more than one occasion. I've cooked beer chicken on Rosie O'Donnell. I've rubbed meat on the E! channel. I bet you're sorry that you've missed that. Anyway, outside of grilling, my expertise is limited, but I did the chicken noodle thing, anyway. I've never really been the nurturer. I don't know how to do that. My mother was never really the doting sort. She didn't have to work because my dad made it so, but K-Mac was never the sort of mom that would have snacks on the table for when I got home from school. When I was learning to walk, she would let me take a tumble and act like it was nothing. I guess she thought that if she didn't make a big deal out of it, then I wouldn't really either, and it did work. In almost every circumstance, I prescribe to this same attitude that my mother had. It's funny, because I had this inexplicable inclination to do it, and I didn't know I had that I had it in me. But, it's like I always say about myself, when it's worth it, everything about me will drastically change.
There was a point somewhere. Oh, yes. I'm not supposed to be here. When your priorities change, you never notice it during transition. It isn't until after everything has shifted that you step back and realize that what you once thought was important doesn't actually matter much to you anymore. I never thought that I would be as okay with that as I am right now. Thank you for everything. I can't really summarize things beyond that. All I know is that occasionally, when I'm not clever enough to find the words, I think of someone wise. This is not one of those times, but. Oh, bother: "It's amazing how much better you can communicate when you get rid of all those damn words!" he said.
So true, that.
It's fucked. I think I lost probably five or six pounds, if any, but this extra weight that I had been carrying around my middle shifted around, turned into muscle, and I had this well-ridged stomach that I wanted to show off to everyone with eyes. After filming, my manager asked if I was going to stop looking in the mirror long enough to remember that the world didn't revolve around me and my abs, so I was like, yes, I need to go back to my roots; I need to remember who I am.
The Airstream is something that I bought on my own accord. I already had a ranch, Loco Pelotes, back in Texas. I only dropped half a million for it, got two acres of beautiful, beautiful land, and an emu that had been stuck there since the late eighties. The problem with a farm life is that, when devoid of anyone else save yourself, it's a lonely place to be. It's about an hour away from anything important. There's a gas station and a little convenience store, but you have to drive sixty miles to see a proper grocery store. The house that I have on the land is fairly big and fairly old. I know that it's just the house settling, but when it creaks in the middle of the night, you don't want to be alone inside. For a while, I was convinced it was haunted, so I slept outside in the barn until I had a priest bless it, and even then, it made noises that houses should not, so I bought this trailer and I found that I much preferred it to the house and the barn both. Maybe that's unconventional and probably could be easily remedied with a steady influx of people, but I'm too private for my own good and never much liked people coming in and making themselves at home.
Anyway, I decided the best possible way to get over this Jesus complex I had obtained was to get back to my roots, stay away from cushy hotel rooms and people that exist solely to respond to your beck and call, they'll tell you. I had the trailer wrapped in a Sahara billboard and embarked on this shameless tour of the US. I met people, I cooked in all these RV parks, generally had myself a good time. Anyway, one of these towns was amazing, really, if only because every resident was high on crystal meth. And I swear to God, every time I go on set in these little nowhere towns, I think about this one guy that was tweaked out of his fucking mind and how he knocked on my door to announce to me the discovery he had made. Miraculous, really. He knocks and he told me to kiss his feet. Naturally, I looked at him like he was a few fries short of a happy meal and he told me, he said, "I am God and the Devil at the same time." Then, this fellow went on to say that there are two things that any man needs in this world and that's the loving of a good woman and crystal meth. True story.
I was looking at doing a week of almost nothing in this little town. I hate having to go in and make nice with people, because you know that there's at least one freak, whether it's like Crystal Meth Dude or everybody's part of a super secret devil-worshiping cult and they need a nice, Texan virgin to sacrifice. So I get this call from the last person I expected, really, particularly considering the outcome of the last few conversations we had had before, and all I could hear was, "I'm really sick," and I thought yes, this can be my way out. And personally, I was excited about the company, too.
When it comes to cooking, I can fend for myself, believe it or not. I'm actually good enough that my work has, in fact, been showcased on more than one occasion. I've cooked beer chicken on Rosie O'Donnell. I've rubbed meat on the E! channel. I bet you're sorry that you've missed that. Anyway, outside of grilling, my expertise is limited, but I did the chicken noodle thing, anyway. I've never really been the nurturer. I don't know how to do that. My mother was never really the doting sort. She didn't have to work because my dad made it so, but K-Mac was never the sort of mom that would have snacks on the table for when I got home from school. When I was learning to walk, she would let me take a tumble and act like it was nothing. I guess she thought that if she didn't make a big deal out of it, then I wouldn't really either, and it did work. In almost every circumstance, I prescribe to this same attitude that my mother had. It's funny, because I had this inexplicable inclination to do it, and I didn't know I had that I had it in me. But, it's like I always say about myself, when it's worth it, everything about me will drastically change.
There was a point somewhere. Oh, yes. I'm not supposed to be here. When your priorities change, you never notice it during transition. It isn't until after everything has shifted that you step back and realize that what you once thought was important doesn't actually matter much to you anymore. I never thought that I would be as okay with that as I am right now. Thank you for everything. I can't really summarize things beyond that. All I know is that occasionally, when I'm not clever enough to find the words, I think of someone wise. This is not one of those times, but. Oh, bother: "It's amazing how much better you can communicate when you get rid of all those damn words!" he said.
So true, that.