2001-08-05 - 11:09 a.m.

For an hour I�ve been hanging out ready to go, half-watching the Cubs game, when his mother calls to delay us further.

Mom! I�ve been thinking of you�Yeah, I got this letter from you and you sounded so miserable, and I woke up in the middle of the night, I had this dream about you.

No, I�m worried about you, Mom� Yes I am� How are you gonna rent a farm, Mom? Nobody rents a farm, mom. No. No. There�s no farms in Chicago.

Are you feeling all right, mom? It�s gotta be the dogs, mom. What are you doing with nine dogs? You never used to be a dog person. No, Mom. Nobody has nine dogs. You can have one dog, two dogs. Nine dogs is too much.

I wish you would move back up here, Mom. To be closer to your family. No, Mom. There�s no farms in Chicago. I�m worried about your health, Mom. It�s not healthy for you to be living all the way down in Georgia with nine dogs.

I imagine the woman down there going half-crazy, baking in the Georgia sun, sitting up close to the air conditioner, rationing out her dog food, dogs everywhere, and her in the middle sputtering, wondering just what she�ll do and wishing she could do more. He worries about her her because she�s his mother and she�s drifting off in her own world, untethered.

But no sense in worrying yourself to death. Marius gets off the phone and turns himself to the task at hand. It�s a new day, and today we will be young again. We will recapture our optimism and our youthful spirit. We will have fun with this life. We will remember � we have interesting jobs, interesting lives!

Today, Marius says, Frankie will come along and give us that spark. He remembers the last time he and Frankie went out to sell videos. It was at a Metallica concert, years ago, and they did so well because Frankie had this infectious energy, these wide eyes. He could make the customers believe � that they just had to go check out what was going on over there, some guy�s selling some crazy videos and you just have to check it out. He made Marius believe � that they were having a great time, they will sell more videos than ever. He made it fun again; he made it fresh.

After 12 years of running around selling and making no money, of telling people what an interesting job you have, you start to burn out. You go out to the show, and you can�t find a spot to set up your videos, or some kid eats up your time asking you 50 questions about your Dave Matthews video when he doesn�t have broke anyway, and you just want to get the hell out of there and get a drink.

Frankie makes me feel young again, Marius says as he sifts through his video labels. And you can see why. The moment he comes in he�s hopping, wild eyes and all, full of ideas and schemes because everything�s new to him, it�s fresh and anything�s possible.

We fill his van with videos and CDs and go rolling out toward the edge of Chicagoland, past the city and into the far suburbs where the gas stations brush up against miles of farmland, where the machine has yet to fill in all the cracks. We will exploit these unconquered spaces, sell it videos and CDs. I�m a passenger today, sitting on a cooler and just listening to Frankie and Marius rehash the old days, and come up with new tactics for taking on the world.

Frankie�s full of optimism because he�s going out on his own for the first time. For years, he�s played bass for other people�s rock bands, traveling as far as Tennessee to latch on to other people�s dreams. Now he�s put his foot down and decided to follow his own dream; he�s put together his own band, written his own songs and produced his own CD. For years he�s watched bands come and go, make mistakes that he was powerless to stop. Now he will learn from all those mistakes and make it happen.

All it takes is a little salesmanship, a little elbow grease, he explains as he plows along in his gas-guzzling van. There are thousands of good bands out there, they�re all good, only they don�t make it because they don�t get out there and make it happen. They sit around and wait for something to happen. You�ve got to pump yourself up, get yourself on Q101, sell yourself. All these people who work 9 to 5 jobs waiting for something to happen, they�re crazy. If you�ve got a dream and you don�t get out there and get started, then where are you gonna be in a year or two?

Frankie�s ready to sell himself. His studio is filled with envelopes to send out to record labels. His van is filled with CDs to give away. And his head is filled with crazy ideas.

He�s just churning out the ideas now, for himself and Marius. Gotta keep �em coming while you�re in the driver�s seat and your mind�s hot. You�ve got to get on the Internet, he tells Marius. You need a VCR and TV, they�re just a few hundred bucks, and set up a video preview station at all your stops. You need to stop giving away the big video list. You�ve got to stop calling it a flier and start calling it a catalog. A flier is something you throw away; a catalog has value, it�s something you want to keep. You�ve got to make it into a club, make it so that if you join the club you get a video and a catalog, and you�ve got to make up stickers, they�re worth something and they�re free advertising, and you�ve got to put together a quarterly newsletter that tells people what new vids you�ve got.

He runs in to a drug store to pick up a few things. Marius sighs and gazes out the window.

�Frankie�s got a lot of energy, heh? A few years ago, no, a year ago, that was me. I had just as much energy, twice the energy Frankie has.�

�Now you�re burnt out?�

�Yeah, now I�m burnt out. It�s just getting old. I�m 31 years old. I have to start saving money.�

An Asian guy walks past our car carrying a plastic bag. We can see it�s full of videos and CDs.

�I don�t want to end up like that guy, selling videos in parking lots,� he says. �I can�t end up like that guy.�

A year ago life seemed so easy, he was in control, master of his Chicago domain, on TV, going to any shows he wanted, bouncing from place to place and making scratch easy. No need to get worked up about little things like saving, like rent or parking tickets, cause he�s always been able to finesse his way out of a tight spot.

But you can�t live on the edge forever; one day in April he went one day too many without paying rent and found all his belongings strewn out on the street and no place to live. He racked up one too many parking tickets while taking Chicago by storm and suddenly he didn�t own the town any more. He had no home and no car and had to live off the charity of others, had to hope someone would take him and Melvin in for a week, two weeks, hope someone would take him to his next gig. Suddenly he was 31 years old with no money saved up, so much excitement and nothing to show for it. So many girls in his past and nobody to call his own. So many people who knew his name, but they were all a blur, and a dull thickness in his throat telling him that something went wrong, there had been something off in his calculations all along; what do you do when you�ve lived for the moment when the moment is gone? When you�ve finally conquered this city that always seemed so unconquerable, this world-sized city that seemed so infinite with potential, and it suddenly seems so provincial and dull, so empty? When you�ve called in all your favors and all the goodwill dries up, when all your friends look at you with a �No, not him again?� look, cause they know you�re going to ask them for money again, or a place to stay, or to please buy your videos because you don�t have enough scratch to make it through the week? When you look out on your life and realize that your interesting job isn�t so interesting anymore, that you�re not a rock star, you�re an aging door-to-door salesman who can�t make the grade any more?

But no, none of those thoughts, because Frankie�s back. Push those doubts out of your head. Anywhere you go there�s a sale to be made, there�s a little piece of the world to enlighten to your music.

We stop for gas. August motions to the guy at the next pump.

�Hey, man. You into live concert videos?� He climbs into the truck, buys a Pantera video. Ring up one for Marius.

We stop at a music store with Frankie�s CDs and posters. Give the owner a CD. Put up a poster in the window. �Thanks, man.� Ring the proverbial bell.

This is fun, Frankie says. This is a blast. Somebody will see that poster and go to the web site. Somebody will remember the name and check out the band when they get gets a gig. Never mind that there are fifty other posters on the windows.

You just have to have a good attitude, have fun with where you�re going. You�ve got to have confidence that everything will work out fine, but you�ve also just got to enjoy the ride. You have to have fun getting there. Because when you get there, where are you? You�re nowhere.

To Frankie, this is all a game. Making his CD, starting up his web site, going around and looking for new listeners to his CD, it�s just a game. He�s created his own record label, payed a fee to make it a corporation, and turns the money he spends into expenses. Printing costs for his posters, mailing costs to send the CD to other labels, gas money for driving around today to promote his CD � it�s all expenses for his corporation. Sure, he�s spent hundreds, maybe thousands by now on the venture, but it�s all just fun and games and making his dreams come true.

We try to get into the Blink-182 concert parking lot to give his CD out to unsuspecting kids, but security won�t let us. So we set up shop inside a nearby McDonald�s, spread out the CDs and the video list to the kids slurping down their Cokes before the big show. Somebody�s got to have money. But there are no takers today. All we can do is pass out a few fliers � no, it�s catalogs, not fliers � and hand out a CD to a car full of teenage girls.

�That�s about the best thing I can do, is to get that CD into that car full of girls,� Frankie says. �They�ll all play the CD in the car, and out of the five of them, maybe one will keep it and like it.� You�ve got to think of it that way, believe that you�re making some heaadway, and have fun doing it.

We drive by a tattoo shop on the way to the next concert.

�Stop right there,� Marius announces. He hops out, catalog in hand, and rushes into the tattoo shop. A few minutes later he�s back to grab a video � he�s made another sale. We all go in, Frankie gives the man a CD, and we�re on the road again.

As we drive, Marius plays the role of the optimist.

�That guy, he�ll watch his Cradle of Filth video, he�ll love it, and he�ll call up and order three more,� he says. �And he�ll put in your CD and he�ll say, That�s cool, man, this is good stuff.�

You�ve got to have fun; you�ve got to at least tell yourself you�re having fun, and maybe then you�ll believe it.

We finally reach our destination � the outdoor metal festival. They�ve been pumping it up for weeks, handing out fliers outside the Metro, but it looks like there are more band members than paying customers parked out on this slab of concrete in the southern suburb of Aurora. Not a lot of money to be made. But the visitors wander over to our booth and we sell to them, we chat with the band members and watch the show.

Hours later, we�re back in the van, trying to hit one more stop before we call it a night. Frankie wants to catch the kids coming out of the Blink-182 show, only we can�t figure out how to get there; we end up on dark, empty roads that take us miles out of the way, with farms in every direction. We�ve been together for ten hours. Marius has burned a hole in the passenger seat with his cigarette ash, so now there�s no smoking in the van. He�s getting cranky.

�You were supposed to turn back there, man,� Marius says, looking up from the map.

�What are you doing, man? I need you to help me. I need you to be my navigator and get us there. Now pay attention.�

�Let�s just get there and shut up, okay?� Marius says.

�Hey, don�t ride me, man,� Frankie says. �You made up a new rule when you burned that hole in the seat. I�m doing you a favor, man. You shouldn�t be smoking those things.�

�Okay. Okay. Would you just shut up about the cigarettes, man?�

�Hey, don�t ride me, man. You brought it on yourself.�

We finally find the McDonald�s outside the concert hall, only it�s closed. We end up at a nearby gas where all the kids are lined up to buy snacks. Marius shows his catalog around, only these 14-year-olds don�t want any Sabbath videos. Frankie takes out his boombox and plays his CD to a couple kids who are winding down in the grass. He gives them a CD.

And then we pile back in and ride silently back. Frankie considers the day a victory; he got his CD out there a bit, even sold one at the show; he had fun and hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He�s just starting up this mountain and he can�t expect to be at the top yet, he needs to take it in stride. He can sense though it�s a tall mountain, he is ready; he has the right attitude and it just takes willpower to get to the top.

Marius tries to tell himself the same thing but he knows it�s not true; it�s not the beginning of a world of possibilities for him, he�s got to start making more money, he�s got to get back on his feet, he doesn�t have the time to waste. He can feel young again as long as he�s repeating the mantra, but then things get quiet in the van and he knows he�s not.

But tomorrow he will make money and everything will be okay again. Tomorrow will be better.

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