I went a little crazy, couple nites ago.  I’d only been in N. Carolina for nine hours but I hadn’t really slept for two days…so I was both burned out and wired, after a day’s filming.  I was pushing myself; I’d performed the night before, then flew thru the night, changed planes and was driven from the airport to the set.  So I began the day tired.

It’s 8 hours later, I’m wrapped.  Great experience! I gotta eat, sleep, get up and get back to my theater.  It’s 6:30 PM local time…I have to calm down in order to fall asleep.

We’ve got a thirty mile drive towards the airport and my hotel; I’ve a 7AM flight out in the morning…so I figure we should look for a store along the way that sells alcohol.  This is Durham and Chapel Hill, Duke and UNC, I know these college kids are drinking!  Well, it’s Sunday evening.  And N. Carolina doesn’t allow the sale of hard liquor from their state stores on Sundays.  I surrender, hoping for a mini-bar in my room.  It’s a high-end Sheraton…but it turned out to be miles from the airport. I’d have to get up at 4:30 to catch the 5AM shuttle for a 7 AM flight.  Seriously?  And the room has no mini-bar?  And I’m not allowed to smoke?  And I’ll have to take a shuttle to a restaurant?

I wasn’t comfortable. Given, it wasn’t my money but still…waste offends me.  I enjoy luxury and I know my hosts wanted me treated well but if all I’m gonna do is shower and sleep for 6 hours, that doesn’t compute in Tucker’s World.  I passed.  Stephanie, my Sancho Panza, my ‘assistant’ was patiently driving me about to find something closer and more economical for just a few hours of sleep.  We searched in vain.  Small town airports are very different; they lack the concentration of options present at large city airports.  OK.  What now?  I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m irritated and I seem to be digging in my heels.   I have my second wind.  I am indignant.  I feel challenged.

I think most people would regard me as eccentric.  But I do have a code of conduct, of ethical behavior.  I put myself thru all of this because I’d said I would.  In THE PLEDGE, Sean Penn’s film, Jack Nicholson, when asked why he continued to pursue a case, even after retiring, responded.  “Because I said I would.  I gave my word…and you’re old enough to remember when that meant something.”  I love the simplicity of that, its purity.  In my view, value trumps convenience.  I wouldn’t allow circumstances to take advantage of me, if I could prevent it…and I’m not gonna let circumstances take advantage of people involved with my life.

Sleep in the woods?  I’d done more than a few nites, training exercises at Ft. Bragg.  Bad idea. Possible illegal.  OK.  I’ll rent a car, stretch out in a hatchback, never leave the lot, wake up and walk into the terminal.  Yeah, I was a little out of control but see, I was taking each rejection with wry pleasure.  Stephanie was surprisingly nonjudgmental.  She drove me and followed me into and out of car rental offices as I searched for the perfect vehicle.  This SUV will cost me WHAT?  $78??  And it doesn’t even have a shower.

OK.  I’ll sleep in the terminal.  Been there, done that.  And they should still have an open bar or two, it’s just 7:45.  And then fate intervenes.  Mike, a very good-humored salesman at Avis asks, “Why don’t you stay at the Microtel?  It’s nearby, they’re reasonable and they have a shuttle.”  He pulled out his smart phone, called them and handed the phone to me.

Long story short, Stephanie dropped me off – probably 100 miles traveled during the day, trying to accommodate my needs for BBQ and cigarettes and post production alcohol.  Microtel was cool, I could smoke, available beer and food nearby, free breakfast and a shuttle in the morning.  Sleep til 5 AM.

$56.  BAM

That felt good.  That was reward enough for my unwillingness to settle.  Course a woman would never put up with that shit…which probably explains why I’m single.  Course if I’d been traveling with a woman, we’d have stayed at The Sheraton:)

22 May 2012


I met a woman at a sci-fi convention in Vegas in ‘96. I’d driven from LA on a whim. This was a fan celebration of the first (and only) season of Space: Above & Beyond, on FOX. Fandom was new to me; over time I found sci-fi fans to be invariably intelligent and considerate…well, most of them:)

In a crowded room filled with enthusiastic people, meeting in person for the first time (they’d become friends by chatting about our show on IRC and the internet) I felt drawn to a single woman, sitting apart. As if I were …bewitched. We spoke. From the Midwest, she visited me here and I visited her there. We fell in love. I invited her to move out here with me and create a life together.

She agreed. And I bought her a condo…across the path from my own. She deserved her own door to close, if that was what she needed. The market was down, my own home underwater …but I’d already bought a two bedroom here for my cousin, a drama professor at CSUN. So I bought my fiancé a one-bedroom. Unit 23.

It was spacious and surprisingly affirming space, thanks to the architectural taste of the designers, had planes and levels and a huge enclosed outdoor patio. It was a one-bedroom. The joke in the valley at that time was, “What’s the difference between gonorrhea and a one bedroom condo?” “You can get rid of the clap!” It was cheap, $25K and I signed the papers.

At some point, our marriage impending I learned that my true love desired to live in a “large house” To me, that meant liquidating and consolidating my assets – selling off properties; I had no stomach for being a landlord to strangers. So I sold Unit #23 to a woman leaving the military. I liked that, liked that I was helping a fellow veteran become home owner. And I made a tidy profit in the bargain, tripling my money

It was a also a good investment for her. The market continued to rise and when she finally chose to sell, she more than tripled her own money! Yet throughout her life in this home, to the very end, she remained vindictive, hostile, resentful. She made public accusations about me, as condo president that were probably libelous…but they were clearly the product of someone unstable and delusional. Eventually she sold her home and left.

The new owner became a landlord. Unit 23 is now his investment. Guess who his renters are, today? The couple with whom I’ve recently had differences.

Three different tenants. Three different women. All three at some point became hostile, emotional and vindictive towards me.

There are three common elements here: Unit 23…women…and me.

Now here’s where it gets deep. And this may be beyond your ken or belief systems to sit comfortably. That’s cool. Seriously.

For those willing to venture on, around that time in ’96 I was engaged in spiritual studies. I’d been befriended by gifted adepts who knew what my life was like, knew that I attracted attention, that I had always attracted attention. From my work, yes, and from the way I moved thru life. But also (and more importantly) attention from other realities, other planes. I was being taught how to shield myself from intrusion Even before I had asked my fiancé to join me out here, I’d received warnings from my teachers…that she was the host of a very powerful, malevolent entity.

Did I mention that I was in love…and for the first time in many years? It was a total surprise; I knew how unlikely I was to ever again experience that singular sensation.

If you’ve know it, being in love, then you know how unique that is. Not necessarily efficient or productive…but compelling. It’s surprising what we’ll do to allow that special state of being to continue to be. I abandoned the studies with my teachers…I chose my fiancé.

She lived there for about a year before talk about “a big house” began. When I put Unit 23 up for sale, we lived together in my home. After some months, issues arose. This was many years before I began medication. Long story short, we separate, she rents another apartment, we effort and eventually founder in 2000. I dodged a bullet. And I still love her:)

But there was a night that I lay down beside her…and I saw The Entity. I was chilled. I immediately slipped out of bed, walked downstairs and spent that night on the couch. I’ve never forgotten that vision.

I saged Unit 23 when it was first ready for occupancy. I know nothing about its prior owner. But I do know that my fiancé once lived there. And that the woman who next occupied the unit changed over the years. I remember a hostile exchange between us in a condo laundry room about laundry being touched. She later appeared outside my door, knocking, needing to apologize and I embraced her, grateful for her courage and candor. But she was irrevocably altered. And now there’s a new couple living in Unit 23…with whom I’ve experienced hostility.

1. My fiancé left something behind in Unit 23…call it a mojo:)
2. Unit 23 had a mojo before it even came into my life.
3. There is no mojo. This is all just…coincidence:)
4. The mojo in Unit 23 affected my fiancé, my buyer and the present tenants.

What do you think?

There will be more to this miniseries:) I’m gonna write a letter to this guy, now that I know where he lives. Dunno what I’m gonna say…but I suspect, at some point, we’ll sit down over beers and talk about our ‘event’…and if there’s a window of opportunity, I’ll ask him whether their relationship has changed since they’ve lived there. And perhaps, offer him some sage. I still have a bunch from my visit to Botswana.

28 April, 2012