The other side of the odds

Working at the record store today, I finally broke down and bought it. The cover of Make Love! (the Bruce Campbell Way) was always visible at the counter. I was like a deer in headlights. After some reflection, I've become a bit melancholic.

See, here's the basic story of B. Campbell: As a young 'un, he meets a group of people with similar interests (including some guy named Sam Raimi). They did a lot of crazy, creative stuff like make movies and host a radio show. Eventually, after many years of struggle, fun, and B movies, Sam directs such crazy, creative stuff as Spider-Man and A Simple Plan. Bruce is the consumate B-movie actor. He's so consumate, he's practically A-list.

Or how about the guys from the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society (who I'm studying for el thesis)? Sean and Andrew are theatre and game geeks. They create a live-action game that meshes theatre and the Call of Cthulhu role-playing game. Sean runs a theatre in L.A., Andrew acts, voices, writes, directs, and designs; now they've just finished the amazing filmic adaptation of Call of Cthulhu.

But one thinks to one's self, "though such stories may seem amazing, there are thousands of groups of friends with crazy creative skills; odds are, some of them are going to hit it."

Which leads to the melancholy. Odds are, some of them won't. For example, a young kid named Justin meets a kid named Tony. Their group of friends grows, and it's a crazy, creative group. Justin and Tony spend two years hosting a radio comedy show. Justin, Tony, Jeff, and Scott create the brilliantly non-brilliance that was Pennsylvania Jones. Tony and Tim make more films, earning a smattering of notoriety. Justin and Jeff run games.

And what results of this group? Scott has all but disappeared. Jeff is married and works with computers all the live-long day in Boston. Last I knew, Tim is doing important technical stuff in the Armed Forces. Tony's in Pittsburgh, one of the top managers of a small rental corporation. He's still an avid amateur photographer with the eye of a true auteur. And here I sit, with late class work piling up as I work towards a Masters' degree. Research, not creative.

Sure, we still struggle to be more. Jeff and I wrote a play, which has been performed. Tony and Tim attempted work on a number of filmic ventures. I write columns and scripts, I act and direct. Heck, I've even won a couple minor awards. Maybe I'm feeling burnt out at an early stage; the two success stories I cited aren't tales of quick & easy paths to glory.

The fact remains, though... I do feel burnt out. I miss Samizdat Radio. I miss FourMarx Productions, Out of the Ground Productions, Tony & Tim films. I miss the role-playing games. I miss the crazy, creative brainstorm sessions for whatever was next. Most of all, I miss the dynamic of the group. Gods, we really had something.

Instead of performing and writing and creating, I'm in an assistantship that requires skill in areas where I'm weak. I don't perform. Otherwise I'd never finish my classes. I still write like a fiend, and sometimes I surprise myself. And I'll soon be engaged to an artistic woman who would fit perfectly with such a group.

All these parts... and the odds are that they'll never add up to a whole ever again. Not in a nostalgic, "oh, why can't it be" matter; logistically, it's worse odds than a racing tip from Chico Marx.

So, yeah, I suppose I should get back to working on my thesis proposal. It goes to degense in a couple weeks. Woot.