It's come to my attention that you're not paying attention, Otto.

What can I say? The 1st AD isn't a 1stAD, she's Dustin Hoffman's personal assistant. The director is Hoffman's kid, not an actual director. The producers, yes, multiple producers, are not producers. They're mini-Hoffman's idiot acting buddies. The art department is on Zoloft. The only real criminals here are me, the DP, my second and the bastards of Grip and Electric. The real criminal, the ones who have been doing this awhile, are done. We're sick of it, we're over it, we're fucking stuck here two more days. Seriously, I just ate at fucking Applebee's for the second time this week because they have beer and they're the only joint open in Yucca Valley right now. What the fuck? By the way, tonight was also the second time I've ever eaten at Applebee's in my entire life. I gotta get out of here. To list the litany of idiocy experienced just today would overload Blogger. Just imagine your job and then think of all of the things that could go wrong. That someone could choose with time and space to make an "informed" decision and then imagine all of those things happening in one day. How would your workplace look? How would it feel? What would you do? Me, I went to my happy place: a break somewhere in Mexico with family and friends and head high waves, an endless supply of shrimp tacos and Pacificos, miles away from the nearest knucklehead with "a really terrific project that you just have to be a part of!" Bah! I need to win the Lotto and buy a spread out in the country and never do this again. I'll put a duck pond in and just hunt ducks and whatnot on my ranch and once in awhile drive back into town and wonder how I ever put up with these jackasses.

Peace out, bitches!