The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist. And like that... he is gone.

If you think the title is too cliche tough shit, it's my last entry and I'll do as I please. Yep, last ever entry until I start a different blog. Hmm, stay tuned and you'll find out all about it, if it in fact it comes into being. If you're a fan of Savannah she'll know before I do when I do the new blog.

I flew into LAX yesterday morning at 12:30 and since this is Los Angeles I didn't get to my home until 3pm. Where does the time go? Lost in traffic and wrong turns and shortcuts that turn into longcuts I suppose. It didn't really matter anyway as I had to got straight to Panavision and prep a camera for a music video shooting overnight tonight. It's funny, I was so happy to be on the prep floor with a bunch of other people who I hadn't seen in two months. It was nice to have that familiar feeling of belonging again. The gear even felt nice in my hands, that's how happy I was to be home.

Speaking of home, it's a mess. I forgot to tell my pal that I was coming home so she didn't get a chance to straighten up. Oh well, it'll all get sorted eventually and all will be well-balanced and happy again. I'm just happy to be in my bed, in my room that really is bigger than the Ikea yurt, with my girl and my dog all cuddled up and peaceful. Yeah, so I'm up too early and need to stock the fridge and buy toilet paper and clean up a ton of dog hair and get Ghost groomed and then go to work but hey, I'm home!

You've all been way too kind to me and my creative shortcomings. Hey everybody, thanks for reading!

I am just a figment of your imagination.

Ah, lovely dinner with Ma and Grandma and now I'm back at the house and feeling full and warm and tired. So nice to be back, to be out of The Suck. No worries, really, just going to fade out and wake up for a plane ride and then it's off to prep a camera. Yeah, back to work right off the bat because I'm a whore and they're paying in cold, hard cash. Booyakasha, gimmie danger. I'm so very tired right now that I can't even tell if the Greek place we went to was as good as I think it was. I may have been so shocked at having good food that it now tastes like four star food. Who cares. It made me happy to sit and have a nice meal with my family and not be freezing. I miss the guys, though. It was fun running around like total losers and then going out on the town like total kings. It will be nice to get home and see the Pearl and Tortuga again. I hope they haven't forgotten me, I want my spot at the bar back I tells ya.

Hmm, time to fade to black.

Six bucks and my right nut says we're not landing in Chicago.

Sorry about not posting on Sunday but the day was as much of a wash as Saturday. I basically woke up at the ass crack of dawn and spent the rest of the day on various planes and trains and automobiles. I did manage to finally have a good pizza at my favorite joint, Vinni Van GoGo's. Such a nice change from crappy Swedish pizza! I'm not even really home and I'm already feeling this insane sense of relief that I'm not in Stockholm anymore. It's hot here and it's only 8:30am! Imagine what it will be like at noon! Mom is here, dog is here, and I think the rest of the day will be spent eating and dealing with billing for the last two weeks of the movie. Nice.

Speaking of the movie: Friday, the last day of the movie, was ridiculous. They scheduled a million shots utilizing three cameras and short ends. A short end is what you call the remainder of a roll of film. Usually, a roll of film for a 35mm movie camera is enough for four minutes of shooting but sometimes we don't use the whole four minutes. What's left is a short end and is usually a minute or two of film. We generated so fucking many short ends on this movie that it kind of became a running joke. Yeah, real funny until the bean counters finally figure out what the whole department already knew: lots of short ends represent lots of lost money unless you shoot 'em. So we did, with three cameras all day and it sucked. We brought in an extra guy and he sucked. All in all, the last day should have been mellow and kind of fun but ended up being a complete nightmare. And then they hit me with the crane. Yeah, right after the martini (last shot of the day) the 1st AD and the director's assistant knocked Henrik, the DP, into the pool even though he was holding the crane. He falls in, the crane hits me in the shoulder and the face and pins my bad leg against the other camera. Good times. Busted lip, sore shoulder, and that's a wrap on Hassan!

At least the party was an all night rager! I think the photos from Saturday's post just sort of explain themselves so there you go. Oh, I dropped my camera at the party so no more photos. Wah!

If I saw myself dressed like that, I'd have to kick my own ass.

My head hurts. Stop reading so loudly!

And what, to flog a horse, that if not dead is at this point in mortal danger of expiring, does this little square represent?

Went out with J, came back to the Ikea Yurt with possessions in pocket, and am, as of last post, a little tipsy. Just saw something on TV that gave my inebriated brain pause. T'were a line, a quote, a bit of verbiage from a forgettable bit of Americana that led me to the realization that yes, the lil' bit o' dialogue that I heard was apropos: When your friends don't ask you for help, that's the bottom of the barrel. I've been feeling that my friends, my old friends, don't like me anymore cuz I'm an adulterous jackass. Yeah, they've all, on their own over the years, told me that the X is a bit much BUT I talk to all of them so very much less these days that it makes me wonder. Do they still respect me? Or are they, in that way that made you cry when your parents said it, DISAPPOINTED in me? Maybe. Maybe not. Most likely I'm too damn sensitive, but it still hurts. BULLSHIT! You're a mixed race, semi-suburban punk just like me! Yeah, but it still hurts. Why did I just quote "Repo Man"? See, that's my problem, I can't even have an actual emotional experience of my own life, however meditated by both booze and the Intranet, without getting some dumb movie or TV show involved in the whole affair. Am I emotionally stunted, retarded, crazy, or just plain no-good? Am I salvageable? Two months of relative solitude in Stockholm have led me to the same conclusion as sitting around with Ghost in my place in LA: I don't know. I just don't know and maybe I'll never know and I don't know if I should know or care to know or know know know know know know no no no no no. Fuck it, I'm done and I think I need a lot of help or I don't and I'm just fucked.

Never watch TV when you're alone and in a stupid country and you showed up full of self-doubt and self-loathing. In short, don't leave home for answers because they probably won't come to you and you'll just be left with a hefty fucking air line ticket.

Interesting. I've been stabbed, and I've been hanged, and I've been burned. Even broken on the rack once, but I've never been shot before.

I know this blog has gotten completely boring since I stopped constantly bitching but goddammit! I just don't care! I gots one more day of work, two nights of alcohol abuse and I'm on a plane back to Savannah. I know it ain't LA but fuck, it ain't here and that makes it A-O-FUCKIN-K in my book! Holy shit, even the Swedes are ready to run for the hills on this one. Check this out, my buddy Jonathan, the grip with three guys worth of shit and he's on his own, is starting another Swedish film on Monday (I leave on Sunday) but the powers that be decided to add a Sunday shoot to the schedule. They asked me to show up and help out but I lied and said my flight was "yo, so crazy early, sorry bro," and that seemed to work. Poor J, he's a good guy and way too dedicated to this movie. I keep telling him to quit the next movie and this one at the same time. Won't do it, better man than me. I just want to get the hell out of here and see a doctor and hopefully save what's left of my leg.

J and I went to Garlic and Shots tonight and made quite a scene. Day before last, might as well go out like drunk champs! The bar staff thought we were the most hilarious dicks they'd ever seen and the other patrons actually cheered when we left. Always leave an impression, that's what I say! Especially at a bar you'll never come back to since it's in frozen-ass Stockholm. Nah, I'll probably be back at some time if only to see what this frozen small town is really like when the sun comes out. Will there be hot, slutty six foot tall blondes around every corner? Will I care either way? Will Björn still be a lightweight? Only time and an expensive plane ticket will ever tell!

To all the mullets who have bothered reading this blog I say this: I love you each and every one and your blogs are much better than this one. Thanks for reading thus far, it might get better as tomorrow is the wrap party and my camera is going to be firing constantly. Stay tuned or get on with your much cooler lives.

Oh yeah, the food still bites but I can now bend my knee enough to sit down for at least two minutes without feeling lame. Good luck on the transatlantic flight, right! I'm doomed.

Chase 'em away! Chase 'em away! I'm afraid! Need your aid! Pink elephants on parade!

Hip hip hooray! Hip hip  hooray! Only two more days left but we're still finding ways to make the suck as sucky as can sucking suck. Yeah, welcome to the suck. Today we managed to get a crane stuck in the rafters, stretch one fucking scene into overtime, and generally frustrate the entire cast. I'm not sure how it happens but dammit if we ain't good at doin' it! My god I can't wait to get home.

I was asked what is the first thing I'm going to do when I get home. I answered, and was mocked for saying so, "I'm going to sit on my couch and have a beer with my dog." I don't see what's so bad about that answer, I mean seriously, what the fuck else am I going to do? I'll be tired, hurt, and completely discombobulated by having been gone for two months so why not let the dog get used to home and let my ass get used to my comfy couch. I'm also going to unpack of course and probably get some good Mexican food down the block. Ah, home, home, home, I can't wait to be at home. I'm also going to go to the beach as soon as possible and do absolutely nothing except sit in the sun and get a tan. Joy.

Stitches come out in a week and two weeks after that it's back to surfing and skating and hopefully walking without my leg hurting. Oh, I'll never dance the jitterbug again, Daphne, but we'll have a swell life, you'll see. Swell!

Sir, your behavior is not funny. Your attitude is wasting the bureau's valuable time.

These shots are from the second location from today, a half destroyed manufacturing plant. That's Björn on the left, some dipshit in the middle and Jacob, the video guy, on the right. I'm sitting all crazy because my knee doesn't really bend yet. We're thinking of starting a band after the movie wraps, at least we have an album cover already. The rest is just random stuff that I liked. I think the box of empty cans is just kinda cool. I can just see some conscientious graff kids carefully collecting all of their spent cans and dumping them outside thus keeping Sweden pretty.

The leg is still swollen but it's slowly getting better. Can't quite bend it all the way but at least the stitches are staying put and it ain't swollen with nasty bacterial critters. As long as I can get around I guess I'll be alright, just not as effective as usual. Work was a bitch because I'm feeling guilty about not being able to help the boys. I know I should get over it but there's nothing worse for me than feeling useless, especially at work. On that note, I'm going to pay some on-line bills and get the hell out of here.

OH, SHIT! I almost forgot that two of the actors got into a scuffle today! Our lead is a borderline type personality, like most actors only more so, and he threw a fit today. We were shooting a big group scene and one of the actors thought the lead forgot his line so he pushed him a little to get him to speak. Innocent enough, right? Not so. The lead responded by punching him in the gut while the camera was rolling. Camera cuts, lead bails around the corner, the sound of smashing glass is heard. Next thing you know, everyone lights up and finds someplace comfy to sit as the director and the actor who got punched go around the corner. All in all, we wasted around five minutes while the "talent" bro'd out. We shot for another hour and noticeably absent were both of the meat puppets involved in the fracas. It's just like Hollywood!

Since when do people die from being wet?

Nice and hot today, 45° is amazing here. Hobbled around, couldn't lift anything because of the leg, ate the worst sausage I've ever had (it was Swedish), shot in another pool area, and was feeling fine until we went outside. Par for the course, we waited until it was cold and raining before we went outside. Good times as always here on the little movie that's trying to kill me. It rained, it poured, people cried, we shot a movie. Wrap.

Home and time for some invoicing and tomorrow we're at it again in a whole new corner of suburban Stockholm. God help me but I'm going to miss the crew and Stockholm. As much as I bitch it is an interesting place. Just not when it's cold.

I'm not dying yet. I have to kill quite a few men first.

I'm so going cuckoo-fucking-bonkers with cabin fever. The Ikea yurt is actually contracting around me which is odd as I didn't think it could get smaller. I'm so bored. I was actually amused by a commercial on TV for "Planet Of The Apes" because they used the Beastie Boy's "Brass Monkey" for the commercial soundtrack. I guess that is kind of funny.

It's back to work tomorrow for me and I'm not too excited because of the leg. I've been putting on a brave bullshit front with the production peeps that keep calling me. I'm a little worried but the only thing to do is get back to work and tell people to chill and give me the time I need. That's what they should have done anyway, if they had I probably wouldn't be fucked up right now. The good thing, the exciting thing, the thing that is going to help me get up and eat my corn flakes and go to work, is that tomorrow is the beginning of the last week on this damn job. I can almost smell my couch and taste a cold beer at the Lodge and feel the sand beneath my bare feet and the sun in my face. I do so want to get the hell out of here and worship at the feet of sweet, sweet Cali.

Nine days and counting down, people. Prepare for the return, you know Bible-style, maybe some sacrificial goats or something. A parade of slaves and booty? Maybe keep it simple, meet me for a drink and some pizza at the Lodge.

You don't go to work every day. You go to a bar every day.

Ah, to all my friends!

Truer words were never soberly spoken! Went out with the guys tonight because everyone felt guilty that they almost killed me and Björn, nah, not really, but yeah, totally. The boss came out with his girl and Jonathan and Björn and I started it all but I think Björn and I didn't pay much tonight because some people felt sorry for our injuries. Fuck it! I'll take a sympathy beer or fuck any day. Or a sympathy job, cig, pat on the bac, or whatever. Free is free, people, and I work freelance so you never know. 

The night was funny, not fun, because I picked a "jazz" bar in Gamla Stan and it turned out to be the jazz bar version of "Night of the Living Dead." Moldy oldy jackasses filled up the bar and the supposed Cajun-Zydeco-kick ass band turned out to be four dipshits from Detroit who probably got laughed out of every good music venue in Rock City. Oh my god, I personally think that the only reason that the Swedish version of AARP came out in force for these jackasses is because the bass player/lead singer is black. Yeah, black guy=good jazz. No. Not at all. Most black Americans today can't play good jazz to save their fucking lives. Hip hop? R&B? Maybe. Maybe, and I write that with an emphasis that you really can't convey with the written word. Unless you can actually write, which I can't.

We left and ended up in yet another overpriced club listening to crap tunes. I was about to bail or kill myself, whichever would keep me from dealing with stairs again, when the DJ suddenly came to his senses and dropped an hour of early 90s hip hop gold. LONS, Tribe, DeLa, Black Sheep, on and on till I thought he might be black or at least an oldie like me and from New York. We finally left when the Swedes punked out and dragged my dumb ass away. I had full hoodie pulled low acting like I knew how to dance and frontin' like I was from New York. It's funny what an old-ass LA punker can get away with in Sweden.

Home now, safe and broken, and it's time for snackin'. If you've read this far you're a trooper and I hope I didn't bore you. Ma, Moose, Bean, and Maya- presents bought, don't fucking ask me again.

There's a sub stop called "Nacka" here. Make of that what you will, LA niggz.

When you lead your revolution, whitey better be standing still because you don't run worth a damn no more.

I think I did this correctly . This made me spit water on the table and bang my swollen knee into the couch. Oh, I was laughing the whole time as well. This is a guy I know from when I worked in skateboarding. His name is Chris Pastras and he and Jason Lee (of "My Name Is Earl" fame) run the best company ever: Stereo Skateboards. This is a bumper for a video mag called "411." Ah, I love skateboarding and everything related to it. In addition, this kind of reminds me of my cousin Chris when he would do his angry black man routine. Or was he making fun of my dad?

In other news, getting a tattoo in Sweden is a total pain in the ass. No one works on the weekends but they also close shop at 6pm and apparently every shop you'd want to go into is booked until the middle of the summer. What the fuck? Who books a tattoo appointment four months in advance? It's not like every goddamn inkslinger in Stockholm is that fucking famous! I think it's just another overly organized bit of Swedish life, like you couldn't possibly decide to just duck into a tattoo parlor and get a tattoo on a whim. Noooooo! You have to plan it, you have to think about it, you have to make into a big damn deal. What a load of shit. Anyway, I'm just going to have to get my Stockholm Adventure tattoo in LA. Wah!

I'm not too worried about it, really. I wouldn't worry about it. Don't worry about it. I'm not worried at all.

Not too shabby, eh? I need to clean it up but I think it's healing OK, at least it ain't infected. 

All I can think of right now is skateboarding. I've been reading about it, watching videos, and generally just thinking about how much I want to get back to riding a skateboard every day. I let it go for awhile but getting banged up served to remind me that I'm not an old man yet. Yeah, sure, I'll never be as good as I was, which wasn't hot shit anyway, but I can still manage some ledges, gaps, ditches, mini-ramps, and pools. I dunno, getting hurt always makes you remember that you're alive and I'm feeling insanely alive right now. It's like I've been shown, through pain and blood, that I don't have to have the fear. The fear of getting hurt, the fear of failing, the fear of anything. Maybe this is one more step on the road back to rediscovering my happiness. The happy I used to experience when I was skating a lot and the creative juices were really flowing. I'm not sure how I lost my way but I did and a big-ass camera rig and quite a bit of pain are helping me find it again.

Get hurt, get up, and laugh it off while you cry.

My life is a dark room. One big dark room.

I have insomnia. The clock is telling me that it is 1am, Friday morning. I feel that this information has absolutely no baring on my current existence.

Or maybe my leg hurts and so I just can't sleep. That wouldn't explain why I just watched ancient reruns of Scrubs and The Simpsons and briefly watched The Siege. I tell ya, I'm losing it slowly but surely here in the Ikea yurt. I recently discovered you can "rent" movies from I-Tunes and subsequently lost my wallet. Wherever the idea of misplacing my wallet came from, especially on the heels of finding another way to waste my money, I very happy it came about. The sane part of my mind must be having a hell of a time dealing with the rest of me.

I tried CNN but it's the same three stories for a week at a time and it's making me feel even odder. I feel as if I'm stuck in the sad-sack remake of Groundhog Day but nothing cool happens or is revealed to the main character, you know, yours truly.

I do believe my leg is on fire and my brain is melting out of my ears. I picked a horrible time to quit drinking.

Is there a doctor in the fish?

So I limped down to the corner pizza joint for the famed kebabpizzor and whaddyaknow, it kinda sucks. I mean, gyro meat on a pizza with cheese and onions and peppers, sure. But lettuce and the ubiquitous puke colored sauce that the Swedes seem to put on everything? C'mon, leave well enough alone! At least I got one of my new favorites: Norrsland's Guld. Cheap and tasty 5.7% beer and their commercials are really funny. OK, back to sitting on my ass. Sorry this isn't funnier but I have a hole in my leg and my knee is the size of a softball. I'm even more boring when I'm hurt.

It's possible. The point is getting away with it. And speaking as a professional, that's a very important consideration.

Hey, check it out! Gross photos of my fucked up leg! I think the photo of Johan about to puke is really funny. I also really like the lighting, damn I'm good. Just another day at the fucking office.

By way of explanation: OK, I slept in because of our night shoot and by God, it was great getting a full night's sleep. That was the last good part of my day. Well, that and the hour of yoga. Anyway, we built a cable camera rig over the pool and, fuck it, to cut a long story short the damn thing broke, bruised my knee and took a good chunk out of my thigh. It hurt like hell and Björn bruised his shoulder. The camera and short Optimo are shot to hell and there you go. It's amazing that it didn't shear my kneecap off or crush Björn's oddly small head. The whole thing weighs 180lbs. and fell about a meter before I vainly attempted to catch it with my leg. That's what fucking happens when you make people rush and you don't get all the people and time the project needs. What can I say, Stockholm is trying to kill me but it ain't gonna happen. At least I get a day off now and it's PAID! Short post tonight people, my leg hurts and I'm going to drink a lot of vodka and watch CNN. 

At the time of his death, if he were on Jupiter, Elvis would've weighed six-hundred and forty-eight pounds.

Never let it be said that I don't respect the working man. Addendum: Never let it be said that I didn't completely and utterly want to disembowel the work crew drilling into concrete outside my door at 6:30 in the fucking AM. Yes, it's true, the industrious contractor fixing the building which contains the Ikea yurt decided to get his crew in bright and early. Too bad I had just at that moment finally fallen asleep. Nothing beats a night shoot except when the rest of the world around you decides to be as loud as humanely possible. Actually, they were louder as they were aided by a couple of heavy duty power tools. As a result of my six hour sleep deprivation experiment I spent the entire day (night?) in a haze of confusion and frustration. My only hope is to try to play catch up tonight (today?) as we don't need to be at work until 6pm. I did help Jonathan do some rigging for a cable cam so I feel like I've kind of accomplished something. Oh, I also lost feeling in my fingers for a little while as we once again waited until it was seriously snowing and cold outside before we went out to shoot. Oh yeah, did I mention that it's fucking snowing again. Again! All that talk of nice April weather was bullshit. It's going to be cold and miserable the whole time I'm here, no joke. Good times, people, good times. I really can't wait until I can go home and have a beer while sitting on my couch with the sunlight streaming in and my dog chilling in the captain's chair. Maybe we'll listen to some Monk or watch a surf video. Or maybe we'll just sit there and be glad we're home. Ah, the oven just shouted at me, I do believe it is dinner time for the tired, filthy, frozen, geek from LA.

In much cooler news, so much cooler, my dog is now a year old. Yay, my dog is that much closer to not being a total jack-ass! Everyone call my dog and wish him a happy birthday and remind him about dog years and see if he cries.

If I weren't a pirate I'd cry.

I'm short and it feels great! Only twelve more days left on my exciting tour of Stockholm and its various suburbs. Only twelve more days of constantly being sick and cold. Even sweeter, only nine more days on this crazy production. I'm sure I'll miss being on this movie when it's all said and done, you know, you just get used to getting screwed with the same crew for days on end. You're happy it's over but you're secretly sad that you won't be hanging around with the people you've been with for seven weeks. So odd, the process of making a movie. It's one of the dumbest things you can spend your precious time doing but also one of the most remarkable. Or maybe it's so dumb and hard and useless that you get pulverized into finding enjoyment in the smallest little things. Like last week, the sun broke through the coastal fog and I was instantly overjoyed that the Swedish coast looked so much like the Central Coast of California but even more pristine. I started picking up everyone else's damn butts and the gaffer, Pontus, came up and shook my hand and told me that was one of the best things he'd seen in awhile. We had a nice little conversation about the Surfrider Foundation, the environmental concerns of Swedes, and the general state of the world's oceans. Cool, huh? I mean, that's real conversation between relative strangers and isn't that the point of traveling anywhere? Or maybe I'm delirious and trying too hard to find a point to all of this, to make it all seem worthwhile and better than the reality of it: we're just making a fucking movie. Today started out with a bunch of fucking gremlin action as Jonathan had to assemble a crane by himself. A crane! This is normally a job for about two or three grips and he did it with a PA. Of course it wasn't ready on time and everything sort of spiraled down the drain from there. I had to flex at the DP after he started getting all pushy and loud and he later apologized. I didn't. The funny thing is, I just didn't really care anymore. I know I'm good at my job and I know I don't need to sweat this job. Get it done, stay cool, and stay above it all. That and count the days down until it's time to bail.

Health! The 'open sesame' to the sucker's purse!

I don't care how many Swedes want to question my manhood because I practice yoga. It's still the best way to start your day! Yeah, sure, somehow I'm coughing again but I feel fine and stretching for a bit makes me happy. You know what else makes me happy? The knowledge that in two weeks I will be out of this giant refrigerator! Back home to where it's around 76°F and I can go for a surf. I like Stockholm and the Swedish countryside is gorgeous and full of game but I can't deal with this weather. It's so damn cold and wet and miserable and worse, when it's nice for a day you can see the potential only to have it change that afternoon. I will definitely come back here one day. . . in the middle of summer and not for work. Anyway, we're working nights this whole week and I just couldn't manage to sleep any longer. I guess it's fine, call time is 6pm at the pool in Solna and we're scheduled to shoot until 3am. Cool. I think I'm going to try to go skate the pool again before going to work. Have fun everyone who lives someplace warm or at least dry.

You ain't got to lie, Craig, you ain't got to lie.

Today was fun. I woke up with a cough and my voice sounds horrible but I felt fine so I went and skated a little pool. It was great. I totally suck at skateboarding now which is to be expected as I'm an old man now. There was a guy there who was older than me and had a fancy case with three huge old boards inside. Full pads, brain pan, the whole nine and he could barely drop in but goddamn if he didn't try. He also kept switching his boards out which was just so funny to me. I don't know, it was so pretentious but then he really sucked. I know I'm terrible at skateboarding now but I think that's just in relation to what I used to be able to do and how good kids are today. But this guy, c'mon! I really wanted to talk to him but he seemed a little crazy but hey, at least he's still skating. Most of the guys I skated with quit at least ten years ago and I only go a few times a month. It's a shame what they done to that boy. Oh, in case anyone is ever thinking of skating in Stockholm get yourself some nice, soft wheels. The roads and sidewalks mostly suck around Stockholm. I bought some overpriced Spitfires that are a swell green color and cruise over the many cracks, pebbles, and horrible asphalt. The price sucked but at least I can now bomb some hills and cruise around like a dork.

I was supposed to skate with Crille but we couldn't quite hook it up but did manage to get some tea. His wife Mahlen showed up with daughters Java and Mica, the latest addition. Perfect baby: quite and small. It was a nice little family visit but unfortunately the Forsberg clan had to head out early so I decided to wander the streets of Stockholm with a skateboard.

Stockholm is kinda cool when it's not snowing or raining and seeing it on a skateboard while listening to Primus was incredibly fun. I think I just enjoyed cruising around on a skateboard again and playing in traffic. I ended up in the downtown area and found some spots here and there and threw my bulk up onto some ledges and over some gaps. I probably looked like an idiot but I did have some fun and no one kicked me out of any spots. Lazy Sunday, perhaps?

I ducked into a little bar/restaurant in Gamla Stan and had a pint while watching the other tourists wander around. Sundays here are kind of dull, it seems most things are closed or open for a hot five minutes. Björn was telling me that most Swedes don't understand the American fascination with Sunday as they just view as the day before they have to go back to work on Monday. Funny, I work freelance so weekends to me are just when you get to hang out with your workin' friends (Ha! I love Primus).

So when I got home I turned on CNN and saw a guy trying to mug a woman running with the Olympic torch in London. I understand the need and righteousness of protesting against the Chinese government's, well, everything but physically attacking someone who has no power over Chinese policy doesn't really win you any friends. Any thoughts? Am I just being a pussy about this? God help me, but I agree with Bode Miller: leave the politics out of the Olympics.

On now to the laundry and maybe a kebabpizzor.

Why would a man leave his apartment three times on a rainy night with a suitcase and come back three times?

  

Forgot about these photos from yesterday. Don't I look heroic? Björn seems to have a low opinion of his countries antiquated coastal defense. The last photo is me at the end of the night. Do I look drunk or is the stench of alcohol so powerful that it comes through the internet?

Always see everything, my brother.

Oh boy. Went out with Bjorn and Johnathan last night and lost my voice. Brutal, these nights out with the boys. I did finally find a good bar called Garlic and Shots. Dumb name but the downstairs bar is a full on punk rock rager shithole. Had a great time and watched some truly strange people bounce off the walls. Of course this all led to rampant alcohol abuse and the smoking of too many cigarettes but that comes with the territory. Bjorn was out of his mind and his friend Marcus showed up to back him up. Very funny goof balls and they made us move the party to Debaser, a club in Slussen. So lame. Typical sprawling club, paid too much money to get in, and the music was absolutely bullshit. Nothing fun or funny happened, we just had some beers. End result was I stayed out too late and have spent the morning loafing.

Work was interesting. We went an hour south of Stockholm to a town called Nykoping and shot at an old military base and on a boat. The photos are pretty self-explanatory and the place was gorgeous. The only problem was that we shot out on the rocks and it was so hard to get the gear out there. This whole week has been one long kick in the crotch and the whole crew was dead tired. Carrying shit out onto those rocks was the last straw for almost everyone. At the end of the first half of the day we needed to convince some locals to use their giant tractor to tow our camera truck and grip truck back up the road. Good times.

The boat was fun but as usual there was a lot of unrehearsed hand held work. Nail biter time for me and just plain annoying. The captain told me a funny joke: Two old Nordlanders (the guys who live up in the empty north of Sweden, think Appalachians) are sitting around drinking when one says to the other, "If I screw your wife are we related?" The other old Nordlander sits quietly pondering the question. After a long pause he looks at his friend and says, "No but we'd be even." I think that's hilarious, but maybe it was all in the delivery.

Goddamn I'm tired. I think today may be a write off and I'll do some fun stuff tomorrow. Right now, even if I hadn't stayed out all night, all I want to do is sleep. We haven't been sleeping much this week so I think I'm going to do some yoga and take a nice, long bath and call it a day. The more I sleep the faster I'll get to April 20th, D-Day! Hmm, I have a stamp on my hand from last night and it looks like the chemical burn in Fight Club. It's a sign.

You know, in a situation like this, there's a high potentiality for the common motherfucker to bitch out.

It's 11pm Thursday night in Stockholm. I'm slowly dying from the amount of crazed work we've been doing all week. I have to go to bed right now and wake up at 5:30am so we can drive for an hour to a decommissioned military base on top of a mountain. We'll have to carry everything uphill and downhill and sidehill and you know, all over. It's going to be brutal and painful and maybe beautiful. Who knows, we'll see what's going on tomorrow.

Today was a beaut: I went the wrong way coming out of the subway and couldn't figure out where the hell I was. I finally admitted defeat and called Bjorn who sent our location guy to pick me up. I did manage to navigate back to the subway station and no one noticed I was late. Stupid American. From there we ran around with the Steadicam until we were all exhausted only to discover that the brunt of the days work was going to be in a Fölks Hus. Yep, we shot a wedding reception all day. Didn't eat for about six hours. No rehearsals, no time, no idea, no way. On the plus side, one of the art department guys is the guitarist in a really good rockabilly band and they played the wedding reception. Too bad they only got to play the same song over and over but goddamn if it weren't good. They had the look down to: Western shirts, rolled jeans, cowboy boots and slick backed hair. The base player had the most amazing looking stand-up bass I've ever seen. Simple, clean lines, gorgeous finish. Made me want to go to the Lodge.

I'm dead. I think it's pasta time and hopefully I'll get to shoot some photos tomorrow. The location is supposed to be cool but I may be too busy getting my ass kicked to notice. Joy to the world, bitches!

This is for Allah. And it's goin' way out there, sucka.

Ha ha! The loneliest loader on the planet! Oh wait, we're in Europe, or rather, I'm in Europe so I should have written "The loneliest clapper/loader on the planet." Ha! "Clapper/loader"! So accurate and so dumb which once again illustrates the point that just because you're the smartest guy in the bar doesn't mean you should open your mouth. What? Don't ask me, this blog entry has been taken over by a mullet. A goddamn mullet! If you're still interested, that's Bjorn looking incredibly funny and lonely. I made him spill exposed film all over the floor but he did protest as, "This looks really bad!"

Today was another wonderful "spring" day in Stockholm. People in heavy coats and hats and mufflers sat outside for about three hours while the sun was out and seemed to be pretending they didn't live in the middle of an iceberg. Personally, I was still cold and was wearing my entire cold weather wardrobe but hey, I'm a pussy from LA so what the hell do I know. At least the Swedes looked happy and were all too willing to buy drinks for a dumb-ass Yank. Too bad I was working. Inside. Next to a pool. So much water and not a moment to swim but at least we had some to drink. Again I write, What?

Just to let all two people who might actually have read this far I must admit this: today was annoying enough that Jonathan and I went and got us a couple of beers after work. Mind you, the beers here are a little bit more, well actually quite a bit more, stronger than the beers back in Lost Angeles. In short, we got a little drunk but it's OK, we went and got hot dogs wrapped in lavash and mashed potatoes. This is what you do in Stockholm, son! We hardcore up in this lovely city that I love and no, we do not have gangs no matter what the cops say. Gangs are not Swedish! We do not have them! Stop asking!

Drinking with an Englishman always seems to result in a bar fight, tonight was no different. If you're curious for the whole story find me at the Lodge when I get back and I'll tell you no lies but I'm too tired to go over the whole thing right now. Suffice it to say, we won, it wasn't my fault (no really, for once I had nothing to do with it), and the two guys were total jerks. I think they were the type of guys who have money and think it makes them invincible but have never been hit in the face in a real bar fight. I dunno, when someone talks that much shit and goes down that easily you really have to wonder. Not that I would know.

ANYWAY, I have an early call and I've probably written too much so I'm going to go sleep. I hope I dream about surfing again, I dreamt I was surfing the other night and woke up so very, very happy. No really, I awoke and popped out of bed and almost, ALMOST, opened the windows so I could sing at my neighbors. Good Lord I need to get outta here and into my beloved Pacific.

Say, friend - you got any more of that good sarsaparilla?

Ah, good morning in Stockholm. As I tried to make breakfast I found out that the laughing stereotypical Mexican on this package of chorizo sausage was laughing for a good reason. This is neither red hot nor chorizo. Near as I can understand, this is another crappy Swedish hot dog with some fake taco spices. The tomato and eggs were good. Oh well, what else is going to happen today? Who knows! It's Stockholm, Jake. Let it go.

On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

Sorry I didn't post last night, we got our asses kicked and when I finally got home the Internet tikki decided I was Greg and wanted its rock back. I didn't have it, of course, but you know tikkis. So unreasonable when they're angry!

To the left are some photos of the Swedish countryside, which we drove into for an hour to get to a private manse that was incredibly cool. The drive actually made me happy, as I let my mind wander off into a very pleasing day dream about hunting with Ghost for pheasant. Ah, ignorance is bliss.

As usual, looks were completely and utterly deceiving and we proceeded to attempt in one day what would have been a week of work anywhere else. Crane, dolly, handheld, multiple track layouts, seventy-five extras, choreographed swimming routines, four different parts of the house to shoot in, and of course, it was cold by the time we got outside. It feels like we're on a music video most of the time, a music video directed by someone with grandiose ideas and a couple of questionable credit cards to finance the whole thing with.

Did I tell you there's usually only one grip on this job? A whole truck worth of shit and one guy. I don't know how Johnathan hasn't killed all of us by now. He got two extra guys today but only because he had to simultaneously build a twenty-five foot crane, push dolly, and set track. I guess production finally figured out he couldn't do it all at once. Many arms of Vishnu my ass! His guys sucked but were very pleasant. I got stuck with one good camera, two Aaton 35s, and some extra help that wanted to be on this movie even less than me. It was awesome. One loader, no seconds, two first ACs, and two operators who couldn't find the run button if you nailed their fingers to them. Did you know the Aaton 35 is the most useless hunk of shit in the world? It's not even heavy enough to be a boat anchor. Try attaching a remote focus receiver, wireless transmitter, and onboard monitor to that camera and actually have it work. Oh, they don't have any accessory cables for the Aaton here in Sweden so I had to power everything of a belt battery. Yeah, the monitor and the remote system were both powered off a belt which made the whole thing that much more Frankenstein looking. I wish I'd had a second to take a photo, it was ridiculous.

My other favorite deal was when we put my camera on a dolly, a good four feet off the ground on the shadiest platform ever built (think rocks, soup cans, and possibly a dead animal), and the DP decided we'd go to the other end of the track and then shoot across me and the dolly at the actors in the opposite direction. We didn't even really use most of the track because the arm was swinging wildly above it and on one take almost took my head off. No joke, I felt a cable hit my hat. What a way to go, skull caved in by a dread locked Swedish crane op in the middle of the night at a perfectly quaint country mansion. You can't even make this shit up.

Oh, and for the grand finale both power cables for my Arricam broke. The DP wanted to wear the belt battery and then kept walking off. Eventually the cable broke. Yeah! Our back up was apparently crushed at some point but no one bothered to tell me. Fuck yeah! After some soldering and cable cutting and swearing I managed to cobble together one semi-working cable out of our two mangled cables. Hell yeah! Good times, producer and director and DP and extras and crew all staring at you while you try to remember the one lesson you got in soldering cables together. I was so happy when the camera didn't explode. Who says a career in film isn't exciting and glamorous?

Anyway, I'm back at the Ikea yurt, no worse for wear, and ready to do it all over again. God help me, it's true.