Moody’s Baby Blues 6/13/11
It’s no secret amongst those who could give a flying fuck about my taste in art and recreation - I have an affinity for ragging on hipsters, and Californication. For a fledgling angel in the city, two proverbial birds flew into the range of a true-aimed stone today.
I arrived on set early today. Commendable for anyone conducting themselves professionally. However, punctuality with the intention of bum rushing the breakfast spread and inducing a caloric coma before work is laughable at best.
What next, shall we stuff this fat ass into some sexy jeans? Why not? I waddled to wardrobe, the oatmeal on top of the eggs and hashbrowns climbing up the walls of my esophagus. “Beep beep,” said the horn of a late model 7 Series Beamer. For you folks who don’t sprecen sie Deutsch, “beep beep” means “kindly relocate that tub of sodium and fat to the side please”.
I did, and the car pulled into the last spot behind the star wagons. Beneath the campers, my vision afforded me one glance at a baby blue pair of Chuck Taylors and the skinniest pair of jeans south of Silverlake stepping out . I readied myself to pounce. Suddenly, scurrying footsteps behind me and a mousey salutation as he revealed that movie star mug.
“Good morning, Mr. Duchovny,” she said.
He replied, “Call me David.”
I said to no one, “I love your work but I hate your pants.”
