Wednesday, April 26, 2006


Tom Cruise is SUCH a Twat. SUCH a Twat! The man cannot engage in normal conversation. He must 'act' everything but the trouble is that he is an awful actor. When answering questions, it's like he's a robotic television - he'll switch channels from a soap opera character vying for a Daytime Emmy, to an overexcited football fan, to the Most Boring Man on Earth. But while 'acting' during these 'conversations,' he never actually switches out of the plastic 16-year-old Hollywood newbie character he has perfected over the years but never grown out of. Twat. Most celebs tend to work crowds at premieres and awards shows for about 15 minutes, 30 minutes tops. Mr. Cruise stayed out there for THREE FUCKING HOURS. I must now fill out an expense report since I must've spent £82,601,841.00 on my mobile calling my L.A. office to push back my satellite feeds 92,582,746 times. Twat. Does he not know that he single-handedly turned my already-long day into a 15-hour day of work? Twat. And you've got wonder what all this crowd-pleasing is all about - does he really have such low self-confidence that he must feed off all this fandom and ass-kissing in order to feel praised? I am confused. Twat. But the sum of these wonders does make him an interesting freak, someone I cannot help but continue psychoanalyzing. I really wanted to ask him, "So...Tommy...are there any aliens here...right now?!"

It actually felt really good to be back at this type of nutty work - we had a bunch of people in town from Los Angeles, too. See...when people from LA come to New York or London, I forget that they do not realize how the rest of the world works. Just like when 9/11 happened and my LA office would call us in NYC all the time - they treated it like it was a giant Hollywood blockbuster, coming soon to cinemas on Melrose Ave and Sunset Blvd! Every time they asked for footage it was like they wanted to the see next film trailer that had been directed and produced strictly for audience consumption. I fucking hate Los Angeles. Yesterday they were actually surprised and irritated when - shocker! - the temporary rain postponed our rooftop shoot. I quickly explained to them that I was absolutely mortified and appalled by this unexpected weather and that it has never rained in London before yesterday, ever, that this wet phenomenon was a completely new experience for Great Britain. Then we all had a shot of wheatgrass, a keg of Evain, and a colonic. It was magical.

Later, when the makeup chick and the hair guy (everyone else was much older than me, even the people I tell what to do, so these were the only people who wanted to go out after the long shoots) asked to go to a pub, I quickly swallowed five pints of lager while their 'healthy' vodka-cranberries quickly conquered all the oxygen in their brains. When the attractive and surprisingly non-flaming hair guy asked me to go back to his hotel, I couldn't help laughing aloud at myself when I told him I could not accompany him because (a) I have a boyfriend, and (b) I had to awaken early this morning to perform colonic irrigation on myself after doing three hours of yoga. Note: I do not like yoga, and don't even know what colonic irrigation means.

So this is my impression of me at work, running back-n-forth through oncoming traffic from Leicester Square to my satellite feed point near Goodge St., screaming at my LA office via my mobile and to innocent passersby simultaneously: FUCK! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY! PLEASE MOVE! COMING THROUGH! FUCK! SHIT! GODDAMNIT! MARY KATE AND ASHLEY OLSEN! FUCK! FUCKING FUCK! FUCKINGMARYKATEHASLEYHILARYDUFFFUCK! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING MOVE! HELLLEWWWWW! FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK! (whereupon I am suddenly hit by and slide across the hood of a taxi while dashing across Oxford St.) OWWWWW! FUCKING FUCK- ALMOST THERE, ALMOST THERE, ALMOST FUCKING THERE! FUCK!

And then I get to the satellite feed point and think, "For what?" "For fucking what?" "So America can see what a twat Tom Cruise is?" "FUH WHAT?!" Oh my, I still love my job. Today I feel on top of the fucking world again. All I needed was a little bit of broadcast journalism masochism. And now I may focus on my dissertation again. I think.

Masochism is a valuable job skill. - Chuck Palahniuk