Production starts today in the form of equipment pickups, extras scrambling and prop hunting. Follow me, if you wish at twitter.com/Da7e
02.16Welcome Home, Dexter
He’s back and it’s scaring me.
When I was fundraising for Leader’s Challenge back in High School, the whole shtick was dressing up in a tux and acting as a product of the program: the best manners, a slick talker, a rich dick.
Rachel was with me one time playing her eye candy and told me she didn’t like Tuxedo Dave. She said it was like a different person.
I applied my porn name to him and he has become Dexter Columbine.
Dexter Columbine
He’s about the bottom line
He’ll step on backs and make his cracks
But the fissure’s always mine.
I realized that my work-all-day, get-shit-done attitude is quickly making my life business oriented, which would be fine if I hadn’t abandoned a lot of my personal traits. Dexter can only come out to play for about 12 hours, then the shell of Dave gets tired and needs to sleep, drink and smoke himself comatose.
It’s sad, and one day I hope to find a happy medium between me and this mask I don in the mornings. The thing is that Dave is bad at a lot of things that Dexter is really good at. Dexter just needs to stop coming home from work with me.
Is it weird to have labeled an aspect of your personality? Of course. But, being described as “weird” has never bothered me as long as people aren’t genuinely put-off by the weirdness.
And that’s starting to happen.
I vaguely remember Rachel taking this a week ago.
Regardless of what it says, this is also the most current picture of my sleaze-face facial hair.
It’s grown quite attached to me, and me to it.
08.15Dru Sold Me Out
I was swimming in the ocean with Dru, and because he is a huge burly man in comparison to my slim frame, I was breathing hard. I’d never been much a swimmer anyway, going swimming in my youth usually involved just wading at the local Rec Center. We walked onto the shore, Dru and I, and I was panting for about thirty seconds before I looked over and realized that he too was winded.
I was a little proud I could keep up.
“Nice swim,” he said in what I’ve come to describe as the patented, disarmingly nice, Dru southern twang.
“Yeah,” I heaved back.
Dru picked up his backpack on the beach and we started walking towards home. I had barely begun to catch my breath before he said: “I know this real good swimming spot on the bayou.” I knew this was a question, but I answered with a question as well. It was something like: “Oh yeah?” Which for today’s purposes was a question.
“Yeah, it’s pretty tough on your upper body, but I think you’re up for it.” I knew I couldn’t turn down such an offer. Especially after our brisk ocean swim. The ocean had come close to exhausting me, and if I tried the bayou and my body gave out, the day would end with Dru swimming my broken body to shore. The little physical cred I had just earned would be decimated and I would be a scrawny weakling once again. But still, I accepted.
After about ten minutes of walking, we were in a place I had never been before. Off to my left was a swamp with alligators, frogs, the green floating moss or mold or whatever that makes the water look like it has a blanket on. Dru and I were walking on a boardwalk that had it’s supports anchored in the swamp somehow. It was mad out of wood and had an entire log - bark and all - as a railing. To the right of us were several shops, homes and screen-door houses all with the most stereotypical Louisiana-back-woods-hicks that you could possibly imagine hanging out of them.
And everyone knew Dru.
“Hey Dru! Good ter see yeh!”
“Who be that fresh meat yous walkin’ wit?”
“Dru God, lookin’ purdy crunk today” (This one confused me, because I believe the “crunk” slang comes from farther north than Louisiana, but maybe they had picked up the word from hanging out with Dru.)
I didn’t see and chewing tobacco, or barrels with XXX marked on them corked with corn-cob, but they were implied.
“Uh Dru…how much longer to the swimming spot?”
“Just a little bit. Then we have to swim out to this island and the place is right on the other side.”
“Oh, Ok.”
We proceed to walk past a restaurant with floor to ceiling windows. It’s a little out of place and obviously the classiest place in town. There are a good 20-30 tables, about 10 of them filled with older, Northern-looking couples. There’s a front door that leads to the dining areas, and through the windows I can also see a back door leading to an almost identical swamp. The back door is open, which must have violated some sort of health code.
Dru took a right and went down some steps to another boardwalk looking over the same expansive swamp. What caught my eye on this boardwalk was the four or five Southern-belles who were obviously prostitutes. They each wore a dress of one color and a makeup scheme of a contrasting color and two of them had their hair pulled back with ribbons.
If they weren’t dressed so garishly, they would have been attractive.
Attractive Bayou Hookers.
They all knew Dru and greeted him in their sou