Rusted Sun Films: Rusted Sun Films (WEST) Update No.1

Okay kids, I've got the latest tales of cross-country moving insanity, a few photos to share with our lovely devoted, and a fair list of other random bits and pieces that haven't quite made it onto shelves or labeled area of criteria. Lets grab a seat around the beach bonfire, perhaps an adult beverage, the makings of a smore, and I'll tell you a tale of a weary man named Bevan, the long and painful trip through the ass end of Texas, and the little Penske van that could.
As I was packing all of my necessary worldly belongings into boxes (while hocking the rest for a few measly dollars), I somehow managed to contract a head cold. It might have had something to do with going out for "a few" drinks with James Satcher. Being a responsible and somewhat experienced weekday drinker, I didn't fill my gullet to the point of spilling over, I merely smoked too much, wasn't eating right, was not getting sleep, and had been strung out to 175lbs mess of a man. Stress had gotten the better of me. Enter the kung-fu ass kicking power of a head cold.
My mother came down from the hills of Klamath Falls, Oregon to see her new grandchild (Lukas Cash Bell), my brother and new mother, and help take some of the toll off of moving and driving across country. While wrapping up the odds and ends of my vast Memphis experiences, mom threw the last few things in boxes, and the cold continued to work further into my system. Moving with a cold sucks and when loading a moving truck you find out who really is your friend. I know, a lot of people had to work... it's a general statement. When people set aside time to move your personal crap from one place to another, that's friendship, brother. Thank you Thomas Eldred. You may have indeed saved my life again.
Long story short, through the wind and rain of a oddly shaped Friday afternoon storm front, we loaded the truck, repaired a window, cleaned, left a big ass pile of garbage on the back patio, and moved to the next location of furniture, boxes, and very cautiously wrapped bedroom furniture. Yes, Christine's apartment had been neatly packed in storage unit in Bartlett, TN. Another long story short, we packed up the various items with thanks to Arnold Edwards, Dayna Hinkle, Melissa Moon, Thomas, and Mom.
I spent one last evening in Bartlett with Anthony and Anita, stealing a few cigarettes, drinking Miller Light, and chatting the evening away. To hell with the cold. This was truly my last night in town and I could think of no better way to spend it than slugging down beers in a garage. For some reason, it just made sense.
In the morning I jumped in the truck with the dog and started a short drive in a very long truck to meet my brother Brady and pick up my mother. On the way there, a tire attached to the "car-tow" trailer separated and started flinging steel belted radial across the Bill Morris Parkway. People honked and pointed... yeah, I get it... problem. At least it was while I was still in Memphis and close enough to the meeting point. A minor setback... but within an hour it was fixed and I had my nose pointed west... into Arkansas. God, what was I thinking? Well, if you thought that Arkansas had long stretches of nothingness, scary little road side truck stops, and a mentality that shoes are an item from another planet... like something that would make a Family Circle comic seem like the most interesting shining diamond of the mind... then you have never seen West Texas.

See that? Imagine that picturesque nothingness for some where around 3 days of driving. Hell, that photo has a mountain in it. Okay, take the mountain away and then drive. Everytime I see vast spans of land like Texas, the nothingness of west Texas, Arizona, Utah, and Southern California I never worry about those people crammed into 300 square foot studio apartments in New York, Miami, and even beloved San Francisco. I mean, these people could grab a tent and a refrigerator box and never have to worry about being bothered ever again. We won't run out of space. We just have to import the water. Actually, if Korea or China or Vietnam or whoever the next big communist power is ever decides to attack, we can hide in west Texas. I swear, they will never look there. Wonder why we've been in Afghanistan and Iraq for so long? Take a look at the southwest. People that choose to live in areas like that will not ever die... no matter how much shit you throw at them. The ghosts of gas stations and road side diners litter the highway. There is sun bleached wood and abandoned outposts scattered for miles. It's a post-apocalyptic zombie movie and Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome come to life... and all you have to do is travel I-10.

That might explain why Buddha, one of the most attention demanding dogs known to man, is passed out cold in the seat. He was bored to tears and did the smart thing... slept through the whole damn trip. Lucky him.
Now, there was a section where I had to stop by the Connolly Clan household and ask the General for permission to live with/marry his daughter. It went over amazingly well. It was a pleasant trip and a welcomed break from driving the yellow monstrosity. Towing a car behind a 26ft. long truck is draining, nerve wracking, and impossible to turn around (or parallel park for that matter).
So, once we get past Los Angles and a quick stop in Pasadena, we're back on the magical highway headed to Northern California. Oh, there's a whole bunch of nothing in Northern California too... until you get somewhere around Palo Alto and the continual stream of suburban sprawl, highways, freeways (or whatever the f#{k they're called out here), the California Highway Patrol, traffic updates, an IKEA, and a whole other mess of things that flew by the truck through the rain. Yes, it was raining when I arrived.
There is also a wonderful thing about g-mail maps. Unless you have a visual reference, the last bit of the directions are always just a bit confusing... especially when you're in a 26ft. long moving truck, towing a car... it gets old quickly. So, I get lost in the hills of San Bruno and Pacifica... wet, steep ass hills... and the truck weighs more than God. A little worried, a little scary, but I got there nonetheless.
We unpacked the truck, and spent the next three days digging towards the floor. Christine has done a fantastic job picking out the place and even painting the walls in fabulous girly colors. At least it's not pink... but I can live with it. I'm also learning to live with sharing space for things. It's easy when all of the space is yours or not yours. When you have to share, closets become very, very important. As a consolation prize I was given the garage to do with as I please. I've already set up my drum kit and look forward to having the Pacifica Police Department called on me for noise violations.

The house is in some sort of assemblage. I've just purchased a new computer for the actual working section of RUSTED SUN FILMS (WEST). It's not going to be easy or financially pleasant... but it is a necessity. Next will be things like a microphone, lights, and most importantly-- a camera. I can't exactly make an indie film without a camera now can I?
Work actually came looking for me (calling me on myh 4th day in town and asking if I could come in that week) and I actually had my first day of "new job jitters" on Friday. I was hoping to have some time off to rest from all of this self-induced madness... but it's better to have work than not have it. Tha bills gots to bees paid, yo.
So, I'll leave you with a few photos of the new digs and I'll return a little later to keep everyone updated on movie goings, west coast misadventures, music, and this whirlwind life in general. Love and miss you all... unless you're in the bay area... then you should call and stop by or invite me out. I've been here 9 days and have ventured into the city only twice... and once was for work... but the work story will have to wait for another day. Let's just say, I was thrown to the wolves. Thank God for 10 years of experience busting my ass in Memphis. I hear actually working out here is like retirement though...

One last little tid bit of information. Christine and I are official. We're engaged to be married. There are also fun little details about the event but we've got to keep a few things for ourselves. I'm sure that after the two bottles of wine, Christine called quite a few people and gave them the good news. Yeah, I might be on a leash but at least I've got a nice warm bed to sleep in, a few good meals, and expensive rent... yeah, that last one isn't my favorite thing in the world either, however, the woman is good to me, the wine is cheap, and I'm pretty damn comfortable with myself and my surroundings. It's the start of a very strange adventure. Check back in a few days for more west coast and Memphis insanity. I leave you with the photos.

This wonderful little sequence is the living room. I call it "Christine Red."