"Sunshine.
Nevertheless, after my snowy daydreams drifted, my mind rapidly moved on to the fears of coming home after being away for so long. No matter how many times I return, I still worry excessively about the unavoidable disorientation of culture shock. The second I'm off the plane, my mind starts to boggle from instant changes that most would consider imprudent, like the sudden disappearance of my ever-so-present celebrity status and the overwhelming vision of cultural and racial diversity — just to name a few. In short, I pretty much feel like a foreigner in my own country.
No signs of rain.
Blue skies.
It's your weatherman."
— Robert Kelly, 2004
Snowy Winters. Rainy Springs. Humid Summers. Short Falls. And always down right unpredictable. This is one way to describe a typical seasonal weather pattern in my Washington, D.C. hometown. And ironically, due to its near horizontal location within the northern hemisphere, D.C. has quite a comparable climate to Bulgaria — making it one of the rare similarities between the two regions.
However, some might insist that, after adding on shorter Winters with far less snowfall, and breezy Summers with low humidity, the weather pattern in Bulgaria can be altogether different than D.C. In fact, after hanging out in the Bulgarski for nearly three years now, and with close consideration to my four-season-loving-east-coast-heart, on most occasions I find the climate to be quite predictable and dreamy — easily trumping my hometown by a long shot.
Speaking of home, this past December, after Sarah finally convinced me to take a quick time-out from from my vivacious European lifestyle, I returned to the United States for a short spell and had the most magical reunion with family, close friends, Takoma Park, my Bad Boy and even The Capital Of The World.
But after winning a role to play the part of a meteorologist in an upcoming Syfy thriller — which nearly halted my homecoming — I learned rather quickly that, no matter how successful I was with transforming myself into a television weatherman, not a tiny speck of meteorological knowledge rubbed off on me. In fact, I came no where near predicting what would be waiting for me when I returned to Sofia. Check this out . . .
IT WAS EARLY DECEMBER OF 2011 when I realized I could be in for the busiest month of the year. Like last school season, the students and staff were promptly gearing up for the big annual Christmas program at the American English Academy. The K-12 school, located in the Druzhba section of Sofia, is one of three U.S. based educational establishments in Bulgaria, where, for the past few months, I've been strenuously teaching and tutoring a full-time schedule of old and new courses, including advanced art, journalism, vocabulary, spelling, world history & cultures and the serendipitous hip-hop dancing — the one that got me the gig.
Unlike last year's Christmas concert, where the students performed individual numbers to various seasonal pop songs, this year the school chose to put on a Christmas-based musical which was near and dear to my heart — the Dr. Suess masterpiece How The Grinch Stole Christmas. Omitting an original re-written script based on the former, and opting for the Ron Howard 2000 film remake, the musical, which featured elaborate costumes, stage decor, and (clears throat) a jaw-dropping choreographed opening number performed by my dance students, was a huge success.
But my busy days in December didn't stop there. After winning two first time simi-comedic film roles, my free-time had become fewer and far between. The first score had me reading for the part of the air-headed fighter pilot March Hare in the ill-fated Marc Windon directed black comedy As Wonderland Goes By. The second was for the role of the uptight weatherman Bob in Jet Stream, an upcoming Syfy produced movie starring David Chokachi (Baywatch, Witchblade) and veteran English actor Steven Hartley (Married With Children, The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles).
Having grown up ad- miring tele- vision anchors, such as the highly ac- claimed Bryant Gumbel and Matt Lauer, gorgeous D.C. locals like Barbara Harrison and Alison Starling, and the world's most lovable meteorologist Mr. Al Roker, I was more than anxious to play the part of Bob, the newly-hired replacement for the film's ousted main character. However, my eager anticipation would be prologue for nearly a month.
In fact, after several false starts, it wasn't until a week before Christmas Eve and two days before my planned flight home, that I got the call to shoot Bob's scenes. And though it only took a day to shoot — due to numerous costume changes and sudden rewrites and alternate takes in the script, it felt like the longest one day shoot I'd ever worked in my newly acquired film career.
Learning beforehand I'd be working with director Jeffrey Scott Lando, whom I'd previously worked with on Super Tanker — any previous nervous feelings I had about performing my first semi-comedic role were put to rest. However, just as I walked through the SyFy studio doors, I was quickly informed that I'd be working with actor-turned-director Don Michael Paul (The Island, Who's Your Caddy?) for the news room scenes. I was disappointed not working with Jeff, but quite anxious to work with Don for the first time — especially being a fan of his previous film work.
"Sunny days —
everybody loves them.
Tell me, baby,
can you stand the rain?
Storms will come,
this we know for sure.
Can you stand the rain?"
— James Harris III
& Terry Lewis, 1988
Don and I hit it off right away. And I can honestly say that this dude was one of the best directors I'd worked with. Being a fellow actor, he could visually demonstrate what he wanted out of me. However, there was one extremely small problem he presented that weighed heavy on my mind. After so many years observing great television and film actors perform scenes wearing nothing but a skimpy swimsuit or bikini, or even a pair of underwear or lingerie, I'd often wondered if it was challenging or difficult for them to do it in front of an entire cast and crew. Well, my time had unfortunately come around.
Bob the weatherman was required to wear nothing but a Speedo.
And even though I knew the dreaded little piece of red spandex would enhance the overall humor of the scene — which involved the newly-hired Bob trying his best to impress viewers on his first day — when it came down to actually walking onto a busy film studio wearing one, I'd become quite reluctant of the whole idea. And I'll give you three good reasons why. . .
1. It was a Speedo.
2. After my birthday knee injury last August, which put a sudden halt to my running game, I'd become shamefully out of shape.
And 3. It was a Speedo for crying out loud!! What more do I need to say!?!
Nevertheless, after a merciful sympathizing AD tossed me a robe to cover myself up in between takes, I sucked in my gut and and took the plunge. To cut a long story short, in the end Don loved my performance and the Speedo was a big hit. But, if you happen upon this scene in Jet Stream — go easy on the love handles.
TWO DAYS AFTER THE SHOOT, a light fluffy picturesque snow fell upon Sofia. And the very next morning, after moderately packing my largest piece of luggage, I found myself carefully tiptoeing across an icy doggy dunged sidewalk to a cab heading in the direction of Sofia National Airport. After being away for nearly a year, my homecoming day had finally rolled around.
While trying to relax on the ten plus hour trip, which included several transfers, listening to Little Silver — my trusty iPod, and flipping through the latest issue of MOJO Magazine — that I blissfully scooped up from a Heathrow vendor, I couldn't help but think how wonderful it was to reside in the Balkans where it doesn't get heavily blasted with humongous amounts of the white stuff.
Besides the usual annoying factor of getting stranded inside for days and the fear of dangerous drivers sliding through the slush causing accidents, due to a serious lack of or push for shoveling streets and sidewalks, a big bad blizzard would be the last thing the Bulgarski needs. It would simply take forever and day before seeing the pavement, again.
Most ex-pats will agree that, after a day or two adjusting to the changes, the reversal process slowly starts to take place. Then before you know it, your back to feeling like a native, again. And a few of my favorite remedies that usually help speed up the process are visiting family, close friends, familiar places, and riding the baddest Boy on the planet.
Speaking of riding, due to D.C.'s unpredictable weather, December was simply Spring-like — making it all the more vital to get my Boy out of storage and start our long awaited reunion. But before our vital make-up session was underway, I remembered another important mission that needed tending to.
Upon originally arriving in Sofia for the long haul, I neglected to take various desert island discs, such as Coffy, Straw Dogs, Let's Do It Again, Jean Rollin's Les Deux Orphelines Vampires and The Monkees — the band's late 60s television series that recently came in handy after learning of the untimely passing of my main man Davy Jones. So, after a couple of hours carefully unhinging and inserting the discs into the pockets of an empty leather case, I had just one more vital item to go before I started my ride off into the sunset.
Unfortunately, that item, a Native American styled buckskin jacket, proved to be a difficult find. Eventually, after a desperate search, rummaging through various t-shirts, sweaters, and shoes — I anxiously pulled the elusive buckskin from what appeared to be the very bottom of the box when it revealed a shiny pair of Timberland combat boots. Impermeable to water, I'd fondly remembered how I would wear them during drenchers and a torrential snowstorms — keeping my feet dryer than an Arizona desert.
"It would be great to take them along." So I thought. "A good pair of combats would be quite expensive in Sofia."
But after reasoning that once I stuffed a jacket, case of discs, and other future shopping goodies inside my large moderately packed luggage, there would be little to no room left for a pair of sized-ten boots. Besides, with the meagerly snowfall in Bulgaria as of late, they'd just sit in the closet collecting dust. Alas, after packing up the vital items, I slung Bad Boy over my shoulder, locked the storage room tight, and left the useless pair of footwear back inside at the very bottom of the box.
"Come on Joe,
you've got 32 to go.
Don't you know
it's not just the Eskimo?
Let me hear your
50 words for snow."
— Kate Bush, 2011
After my magical homecoming and another ten-plus flight back across the Atlantic, I returned safely to Sofia. Unfortunately, my now extremely packed luggage didn't pass the weight test and cost me a pretty penny to get it on board. Due to that busy December and a joint decision to celebrate the holidays separately with our families, and the hopeful prospects of finding greater gifts in the States, Sarah and I celebrated our Christmas and New Years' holiday together in early January.
So, with the condo and tree still decorated with ornaments, we got up bright and early and opened our gifts. During the late evening, as we continued our celebration with dinner and drinks, another light fluffy picturesque snow fell upon Sofia, enhancing that ol' Christmas spirit perfectly. Unfortunately, since we were due back at work early the next morning, the celebration was cut short in efforts to get a good nights' sleep.
Sometime during the middle of night, after drowsily draining an entertainer, I groggily glanced out the tiny window sitting slightly above the bathroom sink and curiously observed how the light fluffy picturesque snow that fell upon Sofia had dramatically transformed into a heavy and unsightly storm.
The next morning, to everyones dismay, the miraculous news of Bulgaria and all of Eastern Europe —including Italy, had been pummeled by a record-breaking cold snap and the heaviest snowfall in recent memory. Some territories, such as Kosovo, Romania, Albania, Macedonia and even the dreamy predictable weathered Bulgaria, reported snow as deep as 15 feet. It was all too reminiscent of D.C.'s mega snow storms of '79 and '82, and the more recent one in 2007.
Sadly, in the coming days, hundreds of people, many of them without homes, died in the frigid temperatures and tens of thousands had been snowed in. It would take weeks before the torrential weather would come to a halt.
Fortunately, with the minimal exception of struggling to get Xena back and forth to school and some difficulty trotting through knee deep slush and ice, me and Sarah and our good friends and acquaintances didn't experience any real casualties.
But you can bet your best pair of diamond earrings, I was missing them combat boots.
Be seeing you.
O
