As I ride the humble Daelim motorcycle through the streets of Phnom Penh at night, perhaps on my way to Zeppelin Rock and Roll cafe, I catch glimpses of some shuddering moments I left behind: travelling all the way from New Mexico to New York for two job interviews, one with my Alma Mater (NYU–a mediochre use of bucks and time)the other asa potential DGA Trainee.

The first, I went and interviewed buyt never even heard back from them, never even received a “thanks for coming”, this again from my own Alma Mater…

The other, well I made it to the next round of the very selective process, bu tthey kept asking me, based on my resume:

“You like to make films, do you think you’d be happy in this program where you’d just be supporting a production?”

YES–I thought and said, dying for a break, a gig in my field after starving for so long out West trying to push the picture forward.

I remember the anonymous, mean highways of America…one time, Rich and aI slid off the road in his Plymouth Sattelite just after a short rain, there was a hairpin turn on the road and we blew it. Thus we skidded through a farmer’s fence and into his muddy cowfield.

We stood at the side of the road for a long time, trying to get one of our fellow “Leave No One Behind!” patriotic Americans to stop their minivan so as to at least help us call a tow truck, etc…no dice. They all swooshed by with their Big Gulps in hand and stared at us, dough faced, out their windows.

Finally a big pickup stopped. It was full of Mexican farmworkers. They immediately uncoiled a big chain from the back of the pickup and with one sprightly yank, plucked us out of the mire.

I remember these thoughts and more as I look back on my times in the USA…

Stayed up all last night loading the second half of the footage for Susan Hero. Will now haul ass and leave a monkish existence getting it finally cut together.

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