I'll get you, my pretties... later
Today's nemeses was a phalanx of production assistants, extras, and some befuddled asshole trying to put a Ferrari in reverse - clearly must-see tv in the making, at least for the mentally retarded. It didn't have to be so unpleasant; in fact, it started promisingly enough, with the first muscular p.a. who blocked the sidewalk serving as, Sister Nancy Beth would hope, an appetizer, offering a glimpse of more beefcake in tight shirts to come. "Aren't you in gay porn?" I wanted to ask him. Well, that fantasy was quickly dispelled, as I was nearly clipped by the Ferrari. I was tempted to run up to some cops and ask them, "Did you see that?" I then had the horrible realization that this gang of fat pigs hoarding around the curbside craft services table and gorging themselves on Atkins-hostile foodstuffs was nothing more than a group of costumed extras, blocking my way as well as countless others', and completely oblivious to what happened or what an impediment to foot traffic they presented tothe rest of the city. The temptation to call the police disappeared once I saw LAPD had already stationed someone on scene -- the same fat, mustachioed old guy sitting on his motorcycle who's at all of these clusterfucks.
After I had walked half a block away, I heard a very large crash. I vainly hoped the Ferrari might have squashed a few of the production rats, but it was probably just the construction crew that's been refurbishing the old Aloha restaurant on Grand.