...well...

So, I've decided to keep churning out posts with an eye for quantity rather than quality. To what end I'm not sure. Maybe I'm hoping that some gorgeous, bored, playgirl multi-millionaire with her own publishing house and three PhD's will stumble onto it by accident and be blown away. Or something.

Anyway, a thought crossed my mind the other day. In most situations, the presence of insects doesn't make people happy, or make the situation better or more appealing. Except one. I don't know if anyone can relate to this, but the only place I'm happy to find bugs is on an airplane...and maybe in a bait shop. But seriously, airplanes are so sterile and everything is so cold, and artificial, and inorganic. Plus the whole situation is so surreal, and not in like a Lazer-floyd Salvadore Dali kind of way. Somehow being magically supported in midair in a giant uncomfortable room hurtling through space toward, say, the Bahamas, just makes you feel bored and cramped and cut off from reality, just up in some blue-white limbo partially dead for three to twelve hours until you touch down. And to compound this numb, clinical ambience, everyone is, like, freshly showered, and wearing business suits and cologne, and the food is all pre-packaged in neat little servings, shrink-wrapped, vacuum-sealed and dyed boring. So to see, like, a gnat buzzing around is somehow really reassuring for me. Does anyone else get that, or what?

I had a shitty day at work today. I had a lot of trouble with our thirty-five milimeter print of some crappy movie called Young at Heart, which is a (to me) really offensive documentary about some program where they drag all these quirky old people from various nursing homes and suchlike onstage, give them Ironic Shades, and have them sing covers of Sex Pistols and Kanye West songs. I was pissed because our copy of the movie was shite, and so I had to bend over backwards to make sure this dogshit movie played properly for all the uncle-tom old people dipping into their pensions to watch other old people shuck and jive for the Man.

Anyhoo, while I was puking my guts out in the stifling heat of the projection booth wondering whether or not to alert the Gray Panthers, a series of truly hillarious entities appeared at the theatre for the first act of a farce that is continuing as we speak. Some bizzarre human being representing an organization called CRISPE (an acronym which involves the words "child", "parent", "education" and "response" I think) pulled up in a big pink CRISPE bus, with some woman in tow. They were renting out a theatre for a special screening of some documentary about how the child support system is "ripping families asunder" or something and, as is usually the case with these theatre-renters, the dude was really self-important and asked my General Manager to let him know when the movie sold out. As if.

But what's worse, the dude asked for a red carpet (which we actually supplied) and hired private bodyguards to stand outside wearing sunglasses and black suits and look intimidating. I guess this guy was just kicking out such Mad Truth that he was afraid for his safety. Like maybe the CIA was going to try to silence him or something. Trouble was, neither of these dudes looked very intimidating. One looked like an aging yuppie at a wedding, and the other looked like what would happen if there was a "Federal Agent" in the Village People. Sadly it was time for me to clock out before things really started to get hillarious, and so I walked out past Starsky and Hutch standing outside the theatre and glowering at the Uncle-Tom Seniors and neither they nor the wretched little twat in charge of this idiocy seemed to realize how ridiculous it all was.

I really think I need to quit this job.