Parlay... — matt mcaskill

The last time I did this, I was at a crossroads. Well, the roads couldn’t be more crossed, striping the map and overlapping until the page turned pitch black. That reality is horrifying and one I need to face again, but not alone, not this time. A stagnation in my life years ago that lead me to run west, alone with a nonexistent plan and some junk in my trunk (both figuratively and literally). This time I have a co-pilot, so the darkness seems a lot less daunting, time to step forward into it. Look, this won’t be perfect. You’re going to see typos, run-on sentences, insane leaps in logic, failed metaphors, and bloody words. If that’s too much for ya, the door is that way (points to a door). Today I turn forty and it’s hard to not think about what I lost, messed up, missed or tanked. I think what I’m the most upset about is the waste of time, not in life or experiences, but in focus.

When I was a young man, only 19, I had so much gold inside me that I just wanted to harness and give the world. I was an ambitious creative goofball, just hungry to find ways to express myself. I was a shy art school student armed with a super 8mm camera (yea, it was that long ago) and some goofy ideas. The first movie I ever made; “Captain Jack’s treasure” an exercise in my intro to film class on in-camera editing. My first attempt was utter failure, the lens was loose on the camera, so my FIRST film was blurry and unwatchable, I was completely devastated. I applied to my college as a Photography major, just to get my foot in the door to pursue film. This was my first attempt to follow my dream and it was destroyed. I wanted to give up instantly… but I didn’t. I used the setback as fuel and started from square one. This time I would make it PERFECT. I got my script dialed in, my shots organized and called my actors (confused friends from my hometown), and we got back to it. Luckily my teacher gave me a second shot (pun intended). I gave it my all and made a three-minute super 8 movie about a treasure hunt; “Captain Jack’s treasure” pre-dating Pirates of the Caribbean by the way! My “Jack” was named after Jack Skellington’s cameo in the Claymation movie “James and the Giant Peach” anyway!

I presented my second attempt to my intro to film class on the back of a forgiving teacher. When the film ran out and the lights went up, my teacher shook his head and said, “McAskill, I thought this assignment was clear and you fucked it up AGAIN.” This time I was confused and defended myself; “What did I do wrong this time? It was all in focus!” He exclaimed; “I said IN-CAMERA editing, you clearly cut this together.” I held my ground and said, “It’s all in camera editing!” He DEMANDED the reel. I ran back to the projection booth, grabbed the reel and handed it to him (half smugly and half horrified) he unspooled it 6 inches at a time and held it up to the light, searching for cuts, he didn’t find a single one. He spooled it back up and placed it on the table. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, put them back on and looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, McAskill, this is the best in camera editing I’ve ever seen and I’m sorry I questioned you.” This gave me FIRE, my engine would burn hotter than the sun when it came to storytelling, until I got derailed. What knocked an impassioned creative mind off his track? Poker. Shit.

Poker derailed me because it made me feel talented and smart with the reward of money. I lost the plot for a long time pursuing this false idol. Don’t get me wrong, many people are destined for that game and have accomplished poker greatness, but not me. My one talent is storytelling, a treasure I left in the sand with a poorly written map. I was a 19-year-old kid filling my treasure chest with; ideas, scripts, shots, movies, concepts, photography, short stories, novel ideas, cough poetry cough, anything and everything. I was sidelined by the concept of easy money and followed that siren until it drown me. Poker crashed and burned in the least impressive flash of light ever witnessed. I went BACK to the creative pursuit and found myself in grad school for screenwriting in my late thirties. What happened there?! I found Matt McAskill again, I missed him! A storyteller with some great people around him. I fell deeply in love with writing again and it showed in a lot of my work. My first semester I proceeded to embarrass myself with my first writing assignment. The assignment was to write a script about an unforgettable memory we experienced. I decided to put my cards on the table and write about the utter mess that was losing my virginity. I left out no detail and it was NOT flattering. Possibly too bold in hindsight. We read the scripts out loud in class and I got some looks, maybe I went too far? I broke myself down to nothing and faced my critics, a small group of genius writers looking at me like a fraud (in my head). But again, it turned into fuel. I kept at it until we had our first visiting professor. That professor was a multiple Oscar-winning filmmaker who tasked us with a short film challenge. I wrote an excerpt from a feature I had an idea for after reading a book about human cadavers (you read that right). The teacher held one on one meetings with each student to critique the scripts. She looked at me at a slight loss for words and said: “this is a perfect short film.” I blacked out from my own shocked creative pride and walked out of that room 3 inches taller (which I could use). That will be the end of my self-indulgences for now, feels crass and stale since it was so long ago now.

Digging for Pez collections and purpose.

What happened? Shortly after earning my masters, I got a good-paying job in poker, covid hit and the job got more lucrative, and the siren of gambling came back to claim my soul. At first life was great, money was easy and constant. That money funded wedding rings, a car, rent, debt and then I lost the plot again. I thought I was untouchable and developed some bad and corrosive habits until I hit bedrock. Rock bottom came with endless self-hatred, so I sought out help. In that search I started to see myself behind a fog, so I did everything I could to find myself again. Then an epiphany hit me, time to find my treasure I buried all 20 years ago. The intricate wooden vessel full of my ambitious ideas, visions, goals, dreams, story concepts and blind belief just locked away as the wood rots and metal starts to rust. I’ve always sought out my own path, zero plans but armed with a thirst for fun and adventure. I’m a man who needs challenges, quests, a cocktail and a horizon. I never knew what I was exactly until recently, I’m just a god damn pirate. Instead of peg legs and eye patches, I helm my ship with Aloha shirts, Vans checkerboard slips-on shoes, and a Bruins hat. Most pirates swig rum and sing jaunty songs, I’m more of a vodka or whisky scallywag but a nice tiki drink with rum can be spotted in my grip singing old Less Than Jake songs and teaching the crew all the words. MY ship, MY rules.

Time to find the map, I grabbed my shovel and searched for it. This isn’t a blog, a magazine, a website or live journal, it’s a treasure hunt to find myself. Welcome to Matt’s buried treasure, a quest to find that 19-year-old kid who just wanted to tell stories until he was seized by (more-evil) pirates, and I joined their crew, but it took pieces of myself little by little and I almost was stripped to the bone. No more. I caught myself just in time but there is a longgggg way to go. Alas, it’s time to stock my own ship, open the sails and follow the horizon. This is my quest, the hunt for Matt’s lost treasure. I hope it’s a journey worth following, but that honestly doesn’t matter because I’m doing it for me, but the ship has some space, just don’t touch my wheel or map.

This is not a blog (because that word is stupid and sounds like what Muppets call their genitals), This is a captain’s log. Captain Matt helming this wooden behemoth, the ALMIGHTY Angus! The Angus will cut through rough seas with bright orange and black sails, an impeccable wooden bust of Elvira leading the ship to sunsets, moonrises and opening credits. The hull of the ship is complete with captain’s quarters, screening rooms, crew bunks and a stocked tiki bar. The Angus has many tricks tucked away that might be worth tuning in for, let’s just say time travel isn’t off the table. I named the Angus after my great-whatever relative; Angus MacAskill (yes the spelling of my name is different but my great grandfather changed it so my grandmother could get the cursive right, tis true) Angus MacAskill was the Cape Breton Giant, 7’ 9’ with impossible strength. It’s truly unfair I ended up 5’ 8’, alas the tallest 5’ 8’ you’ll ever witness. Angus was a demigod in my linage, a character I idolized because he was strong where I was weak, towering over everyone while I stayed low in my center of gravity. But strength shouldn’t be measured in pounds and inches but in grit, might, and resilience. Forget all that, let’s not be too grandiose. I’m just trying to find my own treasure map back to myself. I miss who I was, the Angus can carry me through those waters.

When you fall to the bottom of your well and slam on the stone and mud floor, disoriented from the fall, you don’t want to look up. The light is far, impossible even. You stay on the floor, and fight with yourself until you’re drained, ready to collapse and pray for a cave in. On your back you stare up, eyes focus on the flicker of light. Suddenly you hear something; a small bird, brilliantly colored singing to just you. Every chirp, each note speaks to you. Your eyes narrow and you can see the top, just barely. You drag yourself off the floor, the walls come into focus and hatch your escape plan. You grip the stone; wet and jagged to the touch, you grip tight with your limited strength and start to ascend. Okay, that’s the last poetic mellow dramatic metaphor for my own suffering and struggle to find myself. Call it a midlife crisis, self-indulgence or… wait, why the fuck am I cutting myself down to head off any possible criticism.? Nope. I’ll do this how I want; exposed, vulnerable, goofy, confusing, whacky, cartoonish and always fun. We will span the seas of 80’s movie reviews, personal daily adventures, love letters to 90’s Halloweens, Travel logs, tiki bar rankings and boundless other fun and weirdness. The captain’s logs will be my own treasure maps to my happiness and I truly hope it inspires or just distracts anyone who follows along to find their own maps to said treasure. I lost mine but I’m going to keep looking and I hope you do too. All aboardddddddd! See you at the next horizon. New captain’s logs every week, not sure which day yet, stay tuned and keep smiling.