Against Film Crews

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    The editorial offices of the Rumpus dot net
    The editorial offices of the Rumpus dot net
  • There was a film crew setting up on Valencia & 20th st this morning, 9:30ish. It provoked immediate resentment, does every time. Not sure why. [Notes: Obese Tom Stoppardesque/Wildean artist/novelist/writer envisions a scene for his masterwork on a busy urban corner. He’s such an outsized person, such an outsized personality, that he takes up as much psychic (if not physical) space as  an entire film crew! Notes.] I walked by a woman and a man, both related to the film shoot in some way, engaged in conversation. They didn’t seem like they knew each other — they were meeting by virtue of their association with the film. (Fuck this film, by the way, again, whatever it is — important documentary, cheese commercial, I don’t care. May the production be cursed forever. Why? Why? I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a public service announcement for literacy. I don’t care.) The only reason I mention this is because I heard the woman —young, potentially attractive to someone who doesn’t loathe her to her tiny dead core for being involved in a film shoot on Valencia—say to the man, the seeming stranger, African-American and wearing sunglasses—”I’ve been called out before for having loud sex.” Why was she telling him this? Is this the way aliens from Cinelandia hit on each other? Her interlocutor seemed to approve. He disagreed with those who had called her out for having loud sex. She had blonde hair, white jeans, and a walkie-talkie. After their conversation ended, I saw him open a cooler filled with soda and Gatorade. May the boom dip into every frame. May the cream cheese spoil prematurely. I saw another man ponderously filling a bowl with fruit salad. Right on Valencia. Unacceptable.