Corey Trench's Blog: My Growing Life

My Most Epic Musical Failure (How The BoDeans Taught Me The Birds & The Bees)
September 12, 2013, 6:13 am
Filed under: Life | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It must of been 6th grade, when I just started to listening to my dad’s albums (or cassettes which he had plenty of) that I decided I wanted to be a rock star. Music struck me as such a powerful thing. It moved me in such a way that nothing else could, aside from girls of course (mysterious creatures that seem to like you or maybe they don’t). I wanted to posses the ability to rock, much like the bands my dad liked: Foreigner, Van Halen, Nirvana, and The Who. All this was way before I picked up a pair of drumsticks and sang for my current band Articles. It was a simpler time when I was just discovering music. All I knew was that it made me happy.

Coincided with my musical discoveries, I also had a natural leaning toward movies. My tastes at the time were like any typical kid my age, I wanted to see pratfalls and goofiness. Enter the film, Heavyweights, which my mom had rented from Blockbuster (oh, when VHS and rental fees were king) on one Summer night. The movie was your typical kid friendly Porky’s or Meatballs. Awkward kids go to camp and go on adventures, which is nothing compared to real life Summer camp, where all it was was consulers trying in vain to come up with SOMETHING for you to do.


It wasn’t so much the movie itself that I found memorable, but a particular song that played in the beginning credits. It literally sounded like a Summer breeze hitting my hears. There was something about the upbeat tempo and catchy melody that seemed to match perfectly with following the main character bouncing along the residential sidewalks, being let of school for Summer vacation, and dumping lemonade on himself (all the 90s kids remember that I’m talking about) It was just really, really good! I became instantly obsessed with finding out the name of the song. It became my goal to figure what it was. I would rewind the movie (remember VHS tape) over and over, just to hear it again! My mom managed to figure out that all the song credits for movies appear in the end credits, so we skipped to them in order to find the song. We paused the tape and then wrote down the name of the artist and song title. It was “Closer To Free” by The BoDeans.

The next step was buying the album, which was readily available at our local music store. It was really exciting, holding my first CD in my hands. Even more exciting was the ability to hear my song (yes, it was MY song at that time) over and over again. I almost didn’t want to hear the rest of the songs. I just wanted to hear the catchy guitar part and loud, yelping scream of the lead singer before launching into the rocking, tubular tune. Finally, my musical quest had ended.

But it wasn’t until weeks later that I tired of “Closer To Free” and actually started to listen to the rest of the album. I actually found them to be quite stellar! Maybe not as catchy, but it didn’t matter. It was the feel and upbeat quality of the songs that was symbolic of my musical tastes at the time.

While it seemed like every song was good, there was one in particular that I found quite interesting. It was a slow jam that had a really driving acoustic guitar. The song was the title track of the album, “Go Slow Down”. I thought it was a pretty cool ditty, and would often find myself playing that song over and over again, much like “Closer To Free”. I liked it so much that I actually wanted to bring it into my 6th grade class for a “show and tell”. I told my mom my plan and she scolded me instantly. “Corey, DO NOT play that song for the class. It is VERY inappropriate”.13 years old and very confused, I are replied with, “But there aren’t any swear words. What’s the problem?”

I thought my mother was crazy. Obviously, she just just wasn’t into rock and roll. I had tried to sneak the CD out of the house a couple of times, but my mom would catch me and tell me that I was not allowed to play that song for people. It was an endeavor I quickly gave up on as I went on to discover other music that I liked. I decided to leave The BoDeans on the CD rack to collect dust.

It wasn’t until MANY years later that I came back to the album and heard “Go Slow Down” again, just to live out some childhood nostalgia, that I came to the nightmarish, embarrassing realization of why my mom was so opposed to the song. It was a dead give away from the opening lyrics:

“Yes, she loves me
Yes, indeed
Yes, she loves me
On my knees

First she comes, then we go
We go slow
Yeah, we go slow down

She once whispered in my ear
“Let’s not wait, let’s do it here.”

First she comes, then we go
We go slow
Yeah, we go slow down”

My eyes widened and my mouth dropped. 13 year old me was blissfully unaware and bobbing my head to a song about SEX (I know, such a unheard of topic in rock and roll)?!? I thought the song was about a couple of friends riding into town and having a good time. Well, a good time was had, I’ll say! I had to smile and laugh not only at myself, but my poor mom, who couldn’t bring herself to tell me what the song was about, considering the subject matter and how young I was.

I had confronted my mother about this recently and she laughed, having forgotten about it. If anything, the whole experience had taught me how much perspective changes over the course of your life. You start to see things you never saw as a child and that with experience, comes a whole lot of knowledge (for better and worse).

What was that story about the snake and the apple? Oh… oh… no… the man and woman were naked in that one!!!! Better call mom again.


Do You Drive?
February 26, 2012, 10:59 am
Filed under: Film, Life | Tags: , , , , , , ,

If there’s one thing I know about movies, it’s that no one can account for taste. Some people just prefer certain films to others. I have yet to meet anyone who can tell me without a hint of irony that they simply loved Dude, Where’s My Car and the works of Federico Fellini in the same breath. I know people who like the former and I know people who go more toward the latter. So what makes one better than the other? Does the sheer absurdity and stupidity of Dude forgiven because it’s meant to be that way? Does the fact that Fellini’s 8 1/2 showcases his sense of cinematic surrealism in favor of telling a cogent story make it better because of his flair for style? What is this rubric that we give films to judge whether they are “good” or not? Well, in my opinion, it really depends on who you’re talking to.

I had a lengthy discussion with a fellow filmmaker about whether Drive was a good film. He felt the lack of certain story elements and character development really hurt the film’s effectiveness, and thus, considered it to be a bad film. I felt that the overall stylization of the film carried it along and gave me a real sense of satisfaction. The performances, art direction, sound design, cinematography, and score all felt like they were serving the style of the film. It’s a 70’s throwback with levels of grittiness and beauty. I love seeing the juxtaposition of beautiful people doing horrible, unspeakable things. I hadn’t seen anything like that since American Psycho.

I considered Drive one of the best films of last year. This statement received a major balking from my peers, everything ranging from, “But it was awful!” to “I have to question whether you’re a good filmmaker after saying that”. You get a bunch of passionate filmmakers together debating a film, it starts to get emotional. How can it not? Films ARE emotional! But, again, what makes them good?

When we go see a film, we’re really going for an experience. You sit in a darkened room with a bunch of strangers in the hopes that you’ll feel a sense of emotion from light and sound coming off the screen. Drive gave me a highly stylized and emotional experience. It was visceral, not intellectual. I wasn’t asking myself what Ryan Gosling’s motivation was because it was very simple: he’s in love with a girl and wants to save her. You know what this sounds like? A fairy tale. This is something the director has gone on record for wanting to achieve with this film. Okay, so let’s break down a fairy tale in terms of story. “Little Red Hiding Hood”. We get a lumber jack towards the middle of act 3. We don’t get any explanation of who he is or his backstory. He just comes in and saves the girl. Even “Red Hiding Hood” herself doesn’t have much in the sense of character development and motivation. She wants to see her grandmother. There we go, a story with archetypal characters. So does that make it bad? I guess you could say “The Great Gatsby” is superior to “Little Red” in certain elements of story. But it seems funny to say “Red” is bad based on that template. You could actually break down that story in such a way to where you could make it an argument for feminism. Most people would say, “Huh? How can you see that? It’s just a children’s story”. Yes, a children’s story that’s lasted for centuries. If it were bad, no one would remember it. “Little Red” is interesting because it’s grim and terrifying (Elements that contemporary audiences want to experience when they see a horror film. They want to be scared!) It gives the reader that emotional experience. “Will it turn out all right in the end?” It does. Spoilers.

So if Drive is a fairy tale with archetypal heroes and villains, is that enough to make the argument that the film is good? We still feel a sense of distance from the main character due to his lack of backstory, but, in my opinion, that only made him more interesting. He gives us the unexpected through his actions. It seems like his persona is as unrelenting as the film’s style. The director definitely didn’t wimp out on this one. He was going to make this film this way. Given to another director, they would just made it a regular action movie that looks like other action movies. Some would of called passé. Drive just isn’t. So, again, I would go back to the elements of craft that he employed throughout the film that gave the audience a ride, one that went backwards and forwards, and then spilled them out onto the floor. I was soaring with the characters when they were having a picnic to the tune of College’s “A Real Hero” and I was horrified when characters started getting killed off, and then felt a sense of release at the very end.

Whether or not I could convince you that Drive is a good film is really up to you. What do you really look for in a film? I like a good story, but sometimes I want more than just that. I want something I’m not expecting on a visual and aural level. I value a experience that will my blood going and stir something inside of me, reminding me that I still have my primal instincts intact. I want a film that takes risks with its audience, such as giving us a main character who rarely speaks.

“I just drive,” says the Driver.

A Fortunate Son — A Film By Father & Son

Please visit our IndieGoGo page:

“You better run, Corey.” Those were the words my father said as I began to run for my life, absolutely terrified of what may be behind me. It was wrong of us to come back to this place. Fun Farm wasn’t exactly what the name implied.

Sometimes the transition from childhood to adulthood can be blurry and ambiguous. But my father could name the time and place where it happened to him. He told me the story as if it was ancient history, but in his eyes, I could see he was reliving it as if it were yesterday.

Fun Farm, Goochland, Virginia, July 20th, 1969. “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” My father was 15 years old, huddled with his family around their maroon colored, box-looking TV set, witnessing the United States’ historic moon landing. My grandfather commented on how amazing the whole thing was before he went to the barn to check a lighting fixture that had gone out, as angry clouds rapidly assembled overhead. Moments later, my father and his mother were lying on the barn’s floor, trying to resuscitate my grandfather. My uncle Ed sped up Fun Farm’s long dirt road, on his bike, looking for help. Despite the valiant efforts of rescue personnel, my grandfather died instantly and a young family’s future remained uncertain. My father was now the man of the house.

My parent’s house, Williamsburg, Virginia, December 2010. While visiting my family over the holidays, I had decided that we should revisit my father’s old home. “Why don’t we go back to Goochland and make a documentary film out of it? See what happens?” We had talked about making a film together for a long time. My father, semi-retired and looking for direction in his life, saw the opportunity to live out his fantasy of being a filmmaker. I saw the opportunity to explore some of our family history, including the circumstances of grandfather’s death, and give my father some closure. My father, Goochland’s lost son, was returning home. He told me he had not visited in over 40 years.

We were very excited on the car ride to Goochland, bonding as father and son. However, things began to get difficult once we started to search for Fun Farm. Goochland was a small town, but it turned out to be difficult to navigate with its thick forests. Fortunately, my father remembered the name of the real estate agent who was involved in renting the place to the family. She was 90 years old, Goochland County’s first real estate agent. She was very kind and was able to point us in the right direction. She also gave us a warning that getting on the property would not be easy because the new owner was very reclusive and very mysterious. It was an ominous beginning to our journey.

As we approached Fun Farm, I began to feel tense. The car bounced up and down as we drove down the dirt road. We finally stopped at an old, rusty gate that lay in front of a long, winding path. My father pointed out that the Fun Farm sign that he fondly remembered from his childhood wasn’t there anymore. He peered down the path. I could see in his squinting eyes that he wasn’t comfortable. He was staring down the same path that would lead to nothing but pain and misery. It became obvious that it was up to me to head down the path myself, deep into the woods of confusion and loss. He turned the car around in the other direction just in case I had to run from whatever lay beyond the gate. We decided to stay in contact using our cell phones.

I walked down the long path, alone, clutching my camera against my side. I thought about how ironic it was that I was going down the same path my father walked many times before, the same path that would transport me into his past. My steps were swift, but cautious. I began to get an eerie feeling, like I was being watched.

What happened next would prove to be the most terrifying experience of my life. I heard dogs barking in the background, the wind picking up behind me, and loud shouts from the forest. My father could hear the fear in my voice and told me to run. I did not look back.

Here is the proposal. We request $1,500 to revisit “Fun Farm,” the barn in Goochland, and tell the story of a father and son revisiting the past. The requested funds will help pay for my flight from LA to Richmond, VA; our stay in Goochland; entry fees for 10 – 15 film festivals; and the distribution of DVDs to the contributors.

We thank you for your contribution and putting your faith in this father-son collaboration.

Action Comics #900: Why Superman Still Matters
April 30, 2011, 4:02 pm
Filed under: Life

Next weekend, we will see a caped figure with the power of a god save the human race from certain destruction at the hands of evil. Why does this all sound so familiar? 

It is commonplace in today’s Hollywood cinema for our superheros to be larger than life. They can do amazing things. They can be seen as a foil to our mortal selves. They are a spectacle.

However, there was a time when just the mere idea of a brightly colored, costumed “super” being with abilities “far beyond those of mortal men” was just plain silly.

The 1930s. America was in the midst of a economic downturn (how’s that for timely?) and people were looking for anything to escape the harsh reality of their impoverished lives. Comic books were just one form entertainment that was accessible enough to those wanting to be somewhere else for a little while. The stories were about men who were adventurers, detectives, and war heroes–everyday, normal men.

Enter Joe Shuster and Jerry Segal, two Jewish Americans who dreamed up a character that was anything but normal. He was born on the distant planet of Krypton, a world inhabited by a advanced society with superior technology, and the last of his kind. Jor-El, his father, aware of the planet’s impending doom, created a rocket ship to carry him to Earth. There he would have powers that would make him faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

He would be a “super” man.

Joe and Jerry gave their character unbelievable power. He would be able to lift cars and bullets would bounce off his chest, which had a yellow and red “S” on it. At the time, this was simply unheard of.

Just imagine, if you will, a scene where a caped man is lifting a car over his head with distressed criminals running around in a panic. This was the cover of Action Comics #1. It became the best selling comic ever and would usher in the age of the superhero.

Now, 899 issues later, we have Action Comics #900. It is evident that the character has gone through many changes over the years (the most controversial being Superman renouncing his US citizenship) but the core principals of what made him great to begin with are still there. He is a figure with great power, but is still one of us. He is an example of what mankind is capable of, having the ability to inspire and go beyond what we think is possible.

It is no wonder why Superman continues to be a part of our culture. It can be wittnesed whenever we open a comic book or watch the latest superhero flick on the silver screen.

Now, we believe a man can fly.

My Math Teacher, The Rock Star

I sucked at Math in high school. It was by far my most boring and frustrating subject. I always felt that my Math teachers were just making stuff up as they went along. Things like the Quadratic formula sounded more like something out of Star Trek to me. Instead of paying attention to numeric drivel, I was much more content day dreaming about being a rock star. I had just joined a band that and got to sing and play drums (I was stuck with the former because the other guys were scared to sing). We weren’t the most popular group in school, but we had fun. My parents, however, were much more interested in the C’s that I was getting in the unsexy world of numbers. I wondered if Kurt Cobain’s parents forced him to do his homework before he could practice with Nirvana. Like it or not, my shortcomings in “Mathletics” placed me in remedial Math. This was also known by my esteemed colleagues as “dumb Math”. To make matters worse, none of my friends were in my classes because they could do trigonometry in their sleep. I was in a room full of people and never felt more alone. I didn’t say a single word in class and I’m pretty sure most of the kids thought I was mute. It seemed like I was doomed to spend the rest of my days in Mathematical purgatory. And then I met Mr. G.

"Shall we implement the Quadratic formula, Captain?"

Mr. G was my Math teacher my Junior year. He was new and very young. He had thick black hair and a well-trimmed goatee. I’m sure his facial hair was just a ploy to cover up his youthful looks. The man was the epitome of cool. In class, he would talk to us in a very casual manner. He even let us call him Mr. G (I could give his full name, but he preferred it this way). What teacher would allow that? He would also crack jokes. Our class was like stand up comedy hour. I had never met another high school teacher like him. I almost forgot I was taking Math.

Despite Mr. G’s casual vibe, I was still very uncomfortable speaking in class. I was a really nerdy kid and thought it would be best for me to stand clear and not get in his way. I hadn’t talked to him aside from occasionally raising my hand to answer a question. However, all of that would change the day he brought in something to show the class. When he passed it around the room, my eyes widened and jaw dropped. It was a picture of him playing guitar in a band.

Wait a second, my Math teacher plays guitar…in a band?!

Ladies and Gentlemen, my Math teacher.

Just when I thought the man couldn’t get any cooler, he did. And for the first time in my life, I had something in common with a Math teacher: rock and roll. After class, I went up to Mr. G and told him I played in a band too. The conversation quickly turned to music. He was a classic rock guy who loved Pink Flyod, Zeppelin, and The Who. He said he performed “I Wanna Rock N’ Roll All Night” by Kiss at a another school where he used to teach. We were on a roll. Then he dropped a bombshell on me and asked if he could come see my band. I tensed up. I couldn’t believe it. A teacher who wanted to see my band? I didn’t think teachers went to rock shows. I imagined them quietly grading papers at home while listening to Jimmy Buffet or Kenny G. I told him we had a gig next weekend. He said he’d be there.

The band was set to play a show at a place called “Happy Endings” (No, it wasn’t a masseuse place). The night of the show, I scanned the crowd for Mr. G. When I couldn’t find him, I was disappointed, but somewhat relieved. What if he thought my band sucked? I put it out of my mind when we hit the stage. That night, we covered “Here Comes The Rain” by CCR. I had trouble singing the high notes and sounded like a cat stuck in an accordion. Despite that, we finished strong with “Big Bottom” by Spinal Tap. The crowd really loved it and gave us a big applause.

After the show, I saw a familiar figure wearing a leather jacket. It took me a second, but then I recognized him right away. It was Mr. G! He told me that he saw the show. I thanked him for coming out and we talked for a bit. I smiled at the thought of him teaching class in his leather jacket. The Fonz knew his Algebra.

Check your answers. Ehhhh!

On Monday, we took our seats in Mr. G’s class. I knew that the other night would be our little secret, one that I would cherish forever. Then a funny thing happened. He told the whole class! Everyone turned around and looked at me. They were just as surprised as I was. For all they knew, I probably just sat quietly in the corner of my own room on the weekends. My mind raced. I thought, “What is this guy doing? Putting his coolness in jeopardy by associating with me?” One of the kids asked what Mr. G thought of my band. He said we were awesome! The cool guy stamp of approval. Another kid asked me when we were performing next. I was on cloud 9. I had finally understood what Mr. G was doing. I was now one of the cool kids in his class.

Mr. G had given me a chance to live the fantasy of being a rock star. And whether he knew it or not, he taught me that it was okay to be yourself, especially around teachers. They’re people too, you know.

On the last day of school, I got to return the favor by seeing him perform. I can’t remember what songs he played, but he looked cool. Really cool.

A True Christmas Miracle
December 9, 2010, 8:31 am
Filed under: Life

I ruined Christmas. Yes. Our most cherished holiday and I desecrated it. I should back up for a minute and say that Christmas is MY holiday. Yes, I own it! I have ever since I was a little kid. Ask my parents. They’re the ones who call me Mr. Christmas. No tree was safe from my decorating frenzy. I would use every ornament to cover the tree. My wooden toy train would surround the base of the trunk and an army of nutcrackers would stand guard (Our cats would make it their personal mission to knock everything over). So, you may be wondering: how could Mr. Christmas ruin Christmas?

It all began with a lie. “Santa Claus isn’t real,” said my “good friend” Brian on the bus. I couldn’t believe I had heard these words uttered from another kid’s mouth. It was blasphemous.  How could this heretic be spreading lies about Santa? Of course he was real! My parents told me so. And everything your parents say is true. After all, why would they lie to you? This whole existential Claus crisis had rocked my kid brain. I had to get the truth.

Who is this man subjectively telling me to drink Coke?!

“Dad, Santa’s real, isn’t he?” The dinner table got extremely quiet. My Father had reassured me he was. “But the kids at school said he isn’t.” Ah yes, the very words no parent wants to hear, “But the kids at school said–.” Now, faced with the delicate task of potentially ruining my childhood, my parents decided to let me in on “the secret”.

I remember how they led me into another room. This was a true clandestine operation. I wondered if the President got this kind of treatment when his top officials told him government secrets. My heart was pounding out of control. My Father then broke the news about Santa. The unbearable truth. I remember asking about other mystical figures such as the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. Surely, they couldn’t of been a part of this whole cover up conspiracy. And alas, they were. Before it was over my Father admonished me, “Don’t tell your brothers.” This was classified information.

Mr. President, it's time we had a little talk...

What had transpired after that came out of my unbridled selfishness. If Christmas was ruined for me, then the others should know the cold, harsh reality as well. I had told my brothers, even the youngest, that Santa was a sham. I remember them not even being heart broken. It was my parents who were truly upset. I had ruined Christmas for everyone because I could not live with the pain of knowing the truth. It would have been over then. What point would there be in a tree, the stockings, or the cookies and milk that would remain untouched?

Then it dawned on me. Even if Santa weren’t real, Mr. Christmas certainly was. It was that feeling I got every year around Christmas. It was feeling of joy and anticipation of a holiday that’s more about family and unity than anything else. We can celebrate those who exist in our lives, ones who care for and love us.

My family and I have celebrated many, many good years after Santa Gate. And I look forward to this year when Mr. Christmas visits us again.

No Car? No Problem!

I was daydreaming again.  This time it was about walking through the snowy fields in my backyard in Syracuse, NY.  It took me a minute, but I came back to reality and looked out the window at 7500 ft elevation and saw the urban sprawl that was Los Angeles.  We were about to touch down at the Burbank Airport.  In my mind, I remember thinking, “It’s so big. How am I going to get around without a car?”

City of Los Angeles

"Alright, so I just go to that big cluster of buildings and turn left?"


In the summer of 2008, I participated in Ithaca College’s Los Angeles Program. They set us up with housing and all the amenities, offices for our school needs, and a vast network with many internship opportunities.  It seemed all tailor-made to assist in very aspect of living in Los Angeles, except one thing: if you didn’t have a car, you’d either have to bum a ride or take the bus.  I was stuck with the latter.

It’s not that the public transit system in Los Angeles is bad (though some people will tell you otherwise). But if you have to be somewhere and want to be there ASAP, you’re in trouble.  The buses have long routes and like any other motor vehicle on the road, get stuck in traffic. Despite all the shortcomings, I still managed to get to my internship in West Hollywood on time and make it work.  

Things were a little different when I decided to move permanently to LA in January 2009.

I came back with the same mentality, “I’ll just make it work… somehow.”  I already had my apartment and I knew some people in the immediate area who were gracious enough to give me a ride to the grocery store and places like that.  It all seemed to work out, but one fact still remained: I needed a job.

Now, this is an interesting problem to have:  You come out to LA and don’t have a car AND need a job. The math doesn’t quite work out.  In most cases in the industry, you start out as a production assistant. Production assistants make many runs, which involve driving.  So, LA + CAR = JOB (you can check my Math on that).  You take CAR out of the equation and life’s harder, if you expect to work.  What a predicament!

But here’s something we didn’t add to the equation: IC ALUM.  Like I stated earlier, Ithaca has a large network of alumni who live and work in Los Angeles and they have been through the Los Angeles Program themselves.  ICLA invites these alums to speak to the students at events to give them advice on how to get into the industry.

Ithaca College

My Alma Mater


I went to one of these events and met an editor of a very popular show.  He graduated from Ithaca in 1992. Because I was interested in post-production, he was the guy needed to meet and talk to.  I remember walking up to him and telling him that I was a IC alum and looking to work in Post Production.  He said that he knew a couple of places that could be hiring, gave me his email address, and asked me to send him a resume. That night, I sent him an email and didn’t hear back from him until two weeks later.

It was a Wednesday.  I recall being at my computer and looking through my email and seeing a message from the editor.  He told me I might be getting a call from a IC Alum, who was working as an associate producer for a new show on NBC.  I might have just finished the last line of the email when the phone rang.  It was the post-supervisor of the show, asking if I was available for an interview.  I told him that I was. He said, “How about this afternoon?” I told him I’d be there.  After I hung up the phone, it dawned on me, “How am I going to get there?”

I entered a zone called: The Crisis Management Zone (I’m sure Rod Serling would be proud).  I went through all the possibilities.  Well, I guess I could WALK there, but it would take me several hours and give me sore feet.  I could TAKE THE BUS–that would be a disaster. What could I do? I got on my computer and looked up different cab companies in my area.  Yes, I took A CAB to my first real job interview.

Los Angeles Yellow Cab

My chariot awaits!


The cab driver picks me up from my apartment and drops me off at the studio lot.  I tip him five dollars because I’m happy to even be there.  I wander around the lot and ask a guard where I need to go and he points out the building to me.  I walk inside and realize I’m in a professional sound mixing facility.  I see posters on the wall of some very well-known shows that were mixed there.  It all looks very impressive. The post supervisor walks out to meet me and says that they’re currently mixing a show right now, but he’ll be right with me.  Is this a dream?  I’m not even sure at this point.

After a couple of minutes, the associate producer and post supervisor sit me down for an interview.  It goes very well.  I seem to be answering all the questions the right way. Then they drop the bombshell on me, “So, you have California car insurance, right?” I tense up, but only for a second.  I can’t have California car insurance because I don’t even have a car to insure.  I tell them, I don’t have it yet.  Then they ask, “Well, you have a car, right?”

There are points in your life when you’ll sit and wonder, “What would have happened if you had done things differently?  Taken a different direction?”  I could answer the question one of two ways. I could tell the truth. Mom would like that. Then, the interview would be over – the opportunity would leave as fast as it had come to me, seemingly out of nowhere.  Or, I could lie. 

“Yes, I have a car,” I said.  If I had been given a polygraph test, it would have spiked through the roof.

Polygraph Test

A dramatic interpretation of my interview.


We shook hands and they told me they would get back to me by the end of the day.  Sure enough, later that night, I got a call.  They told me I had the job. INCREDIBLE.

I had pulled a rabbit out of a hat.  But I had also bounced it into the frying pan and it was about to hit the fire.  “How am I going to make THIS work?” I wondered.  It was another form of crisis management that I had to go through.  Luckily, I had an idea: I could just rent a car for a couple of weeks.

I did just that while my Dad helped me research cars.  I ended up buying a 2007 Toyota Corrolla and everything worked out with my job (which lasted three months, but that’s another story).

So, after all that, would I recommend going this route?  No.  But I did it.  I made it work because I had to. The experience, though, is a testament to the value of taking risks. You have to take chances if you want to make it in the business.  Sometimes, you just never know what it will bring you. For me, it got me my first car.

2007 Toyota Corolla

No floor mat or accelerator problems here