Me and pizza.

The end:

I am here. Starting a blog. Feeling a bit like typing a journal, yet with a dash of cry for help.

The beginning:

I’ve been making pizza. I don’t know what it is. I can’t remember if it started with a Food Network special or trying something similar to (but not quite) Chicago-style pizza. This was about a year ago.

Maybe I should go back further.

I went to school for film. I wanted (and would be lying if I said I still didn’t want) to write and direct movies. I worked on sets, got to travel a bit, and met interesting people. Didn’t make much money. I had lived in California for about 3.5 years and did a budget for the rest of the year. I decided that I could stay in LA, watch my bank account plummet to zero, and sell everything I owned for a bus ticket back to Kansas or I could bow out gracefully, shake Hollywood’s hand, and demand a rematch at a later date.

If I’m still writing these things in the future, I might pause to tell you of the event that kept me from leaving for almost 5 days after I had the U-Haul packed and ready to go. Oh, and let’s not forget the 32 hour epic adventure that was pulling a trailer with a Mustang.

Another time. For now, I’m moved back home, dealing with all that entails, and I can’t stop thinking about deep dish pizza. It’s not hunger, in fact I’m quite stuffed.

Help!

Hoping these will become more coherent as I go along,

Caleb

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