In yesterday’s blog, I
go on a rant about the Hollywooders who are infecting the town in which I work. A lot of people think I’m full of shit, that
if the stars approached me, I’d be star-struck the same as everyone else.
Honesty reigns here – I might
not recognize Bradley Cooper if I fell over him. Sorry.
I might be able to pick him out of a line-up … might. As for Jennifer Lawrence, I will forever
picture her as the hood ornament of a Honda Civic since my friend almost mowed
her down prior to a day of filming near our school.
If I ever get a chance to
meet Robert DeNiro, though, I will be compelled to tell him what I believe is
his greatest professional achievement to this day, and that is his narration of
the 9/11 documentary. Nothing he did
before nor has done since nor ever will do stays with me as much as that film,
and his narration is key. Probably not
what an actor of his caliber wants to hear: “Hey, Bob, your voice-over is truly
your finest work.”
But, here’s the real
reason why this movie set is pissing me off.
It’s not because all of the school buses have to hog our parking lot so
filming can happen where the buses usually park. No, that doesn’t bother me since I’m usually
the first teacher to school, so I always get a space, the same space, even. Oh, don’t get sentimental and think I care; I
get to work early because the traffic blows chunks after 7:10 a.m.
No, the real reason I am
pissed off at this nearby Hollywood production is because the filming almost
makes me late to a lacrosse game. Yes, a
lacrosse game. My son plays on a college team, and I have to get to a nearby competing college just up the street from my
work so I can watch him play.
Normally, this commute is
a cakewalk, but today I have some old fart doing 15 mph in a 30 mph speed
zone. This totally pisses me off. So, I decide to take a chance and go directly
to route 28. After all, the film crew is
set up all over North Street, not Park Street.
This should be a no-brainer.
Wrong.
As I approach the upper
end of the road, it is blocked at Winter and Park. If I take the detour, I will be thrown at
least two miles out of my way, and I’ll hit additional lights, making me late
to the lacrosse game, despite my greatest efforts. This not only pisses me off royally, it
actually pushes me over the edge. What the hell good is it to leave work early
only to be re-routed out of my way?
I start banging a u-ey,
executing the most violent and tire-screeching three-point turn in the history
of three-point turns, and I peal out the opposite way back toward from where I
came, leaving the traffic and a stupefied cop behind. Within a mile and a half I have
caught back up to Grandpa, still going 15 mph, but now he’s in a 35 mph speed
zone. Then he turns onto route 125 where
the speed limit is 50 mph.
I take a deep cleansing
breath and chug along behind him for a few miles before I turn left toward the
prep school and side streets that will get me where I need to be when I need to
be there. A few miles and some major
heart palpitations later, I am at my son’s college game (which he smoked big
time, thank you very much). But … oh …
my … god … the fricking hoops I have to jump through just to get here.
Hollywood: Go home.
Really, GO HOME.
When you stand between me
and my children (not my students, but my personal children), you’re going to
have to suffer the consequences. I vote
you off my island; I order you back to California. I wish
you’d never come to our little town that’s all covered in gray and dirty
snow.
I mean, really.
The least thing you can do
is get the hell out of my way. Really, stars or not, you're totally ruining my life. Well ... inconveniencing it, and that's a major crime here in New England, just so you know.
