dedicated to the pursuit of inner peace through intellectual violence
Friday, March 6, 2009
Mr. Torrance, I see you can hardly have taken care of the business we discussed.
Working in an airport is the funniest thing. Everyone there is in transit and looks at a movie crew with the sort of bemused detachment that befits the harried traveler. By this I mean, what better to distract one from the unpleasantness of modern American air travel than a bunch of clowns with lights and cameras and action? We must look like monkeys, recently escaped mendicants, or possibly petty street thugs with nothing to do except muck it all up for everyone else. The people that work at the airport here in Seattle acted like we might be trying to smuggle uranium aboard an outbound flight. We're shooting in a bathroom for fuck's sake! Clearly none of us are of the caliber or in possession of the requisite contacts to even begin to dream about maybe one day doing something that crazy and lucrative. I push the green button and spin the white wheel and someday someone sees the results of this and maybe someone gets and award and maybe not but someone else definitely says, "Fucking boring commercials!"
Ah, at least it's beer-thirty and maybe I'll see something interesting. At the very least I made my shekels, saw some of Seattle, and stayed in a nice hotel. Not bad, not bad at all.