Bunch o’ stuff.
Let’s talk about me.
No, I’m not from Spain. I’m six feet and four inches of blue-eyed white boy from Chilpancingo, Guerrero, Mexico, so I speak the language.
My little Mexican “friends” called me Bolillo.
“Como estas, Bolillo?”
“Mama la verga, Bolillo.”
A bolillo is a Mexican loaf of white bread.
I’ve invested everything in my creative dreams, but almost everything I’ve earned was in the restaurant business. So maybe everything I’ve spent was on alcohol. Yep, it was booze. And booze-related boozery.
Like most people still alive, I’ve been eating the whole time. That’s where restaurants come in. They have food. Never went to school for food, or for anything else. School’s dumb. My education was in 90 jobs the first 5 years, and about 10 jobs in the last two decades.
I hated doing that work instead of making movies, or standup, or sex, but I needed money. To hate restaurant work less, I got good at it. Too good. Gained a reputation for leaving places better than I found them, but people hiring focused on the ‘leaving’ part.
That’s basically a kind of consulting where I actually do all the work, and manage a restaurant at the same time. So I tried actual consulting, but that’s finding and fighting with ailing businesses who can’t afford to pay you. Friend, do you think they love the idea of profit-sharing?
I write all the time. Hell, I even wrote (am writing) this. I write about a million different things I’ve done, and want to do, outside of writing, but I mainly just write. When I’m doing those other things, I think about writing.
Those other things include painting, drawing, standup, basketball, driving fast (ish), and I’m definitely, damn sure, one day, for real gonna make movies.
Pretty much just writing though.
My brain thinks humor belongs in every waking moment, regardless of the gravity. My apologies to the people at funerals I’ve attended. And to those who thanked me, you’re welcome.
I’ll never apologize to employers who purported “every goddamn thing isn’t a joke,” as staff and guests are bent over cackling in tears. If you give me a disposable razor and tell me to dry-shave a 5 o’clock shadow, but I stick both hands in the honey mustard dressing and smear it all over my face, that’s objectively hilarious. Look at these people, Carl, I’ve scientifically proven it.
In high school, I drew hundreds of ink-pen tattoos on pretty girls. They complained of irritation and swelling, but I assured them it was due to their boyfriends sharing each others’ jock straps. Sadly, none of these girls ever touched my Pepe.
Still drawing. And painting. Mostly oils, and now learning acrylics. I do photography, film stuff, record, and there’s been a huge audio-visual jump since starting the podcast in 2018.
I have a tattoo on my arm of a microphone, a film strip, a paint brush, and a pen. It looks just how you’re picturing it, but, you know, cool. These items represent standup comedy, filmmaking, painting, and writing.
The image in the film strip is a ’59 Convertible Caddy. It represents how much I like boats.
I made a dope tee back in the day, when I was doing standup pretty heavy, selling it after shows, and some people are still wearing that ratty old fucker today. Been developing many ideas for shirts ever since, and I finally launched it again with Happy Floats.
If you’re wondering why shirts instead of making films, or doing standup full time, look around. Every sector of the entertainment industry would require me to do murdery type things. I’m an impatient, flippant, principled asshole. I speak to authority, or those who fancy themselves to be in positions of said authority, with splendiferous indifference and venom — and nudity sometimes.
I’m like a white-glove union inspector, and a walking lawsuit. I do love me some humans, I head butts with the ones in HR.
So I gotta make it independently, publishing books, the podcast, touching up old scripts, maybe shooting a short, painting, and selling shirts. Probably mostly writing though.