June is history, Independence Day has come and gone and it's about to get wicked HOT. Longtime blog visitors will tell you these ain't my finest hours, as I'll no doubt be heaping scorn on the elements well into September. What can I tell ya? Despite being a Southeastern biped covered in fur, I have the core temperature of a tuxedo penguin. Thus I suffer mightily when the summer sun begins to slur, when the mercury shoots past ninety by breakfast time, when a photog's underwear gains mass and volume before that first frantic phone call of the day hurls them into the humid void. Soooo, to reinforce just how much I detest the heat, I give the Top 5 ways I'd rather spend my lack of summer vacation...I'd like to try my hand at Consultancy. You know, rock a black turtleneck and blazer combo, jet out of town on some poor legacy broadcaster's dime, hole up in a swanky hotel conference room and tell a captive audience of desperate executives how their livelihoods will be saved only if they destroy all video cameras weighing over five pounds and hire that pimply kid in the film fest t-shirt... I don't see how anyone could possibly break a sweat doing that...
Or perhaps I'll be an Ice Cream Man. Sure, I'm probably not pervy enough to be considered, but if I had the keys to one of those white box vans, I'd lock the door and crawl in the biggest freezer. First though, I'd unplug that damn polka music, for if there's one thing I don't need when I'm hibernating on ice is some snot-nosed crumb-snatcher demanding I pony up a couple of Klondike bars all because he found a wrinkled five spot in the family sofa! You know, come to think of it, I'm probably not cut out to peddle Push-ups..
I could always score a job as a Bailiff. No, two-tone brown polyester ain't exactly the look I'm going for, but have you seen how much rest those guys get in the heat of the afternoon? I once watched one dude sleep through opening arguments only to snap awake and yell at some skate punk for smackin' his gum! All I'd have to do is get a flat-top haircut, master the laser pointer and develop a deep seeded hatred of men wearing hats inside. I already despise cell phones! What? I'd have to tackle the occasional jump-suited jackal? Man, I'm a lover, not a fighter...
Maybe Marriage Counselor is the way to go. Granted, I've never stepped foot in any kind of post-wedding therapy, but I have been hitched for damn near twenty years. Throw in teh fact that I have two teenage daughters and I should be qualified to help husbands everywhere. I could teach them my favorites like "Yes, Dear!", "Of course you're right!" and the ever popular "I'd like to go to my room and think about what I said!"... Yes, with genuine lines like that, there's no telling what good I could do, whether I was in private practice or trying to ply my wisdom on the evening new-- Wait! THAT'S IT!
I'll be a Newscast Producer! From what the ones I know tell me, it's a pretty tough gig, but I dunno... I like to write, don't mind watching Ellen and am more than willing to scour YouTube for something to amuse my cubical mates. Then, later in the day, I could pound out a rundown, weave my stories together with spoken word cliches and douse the whole thing in promos, anchor blather and overwrought weather updates! Not only that, I could help shape young news minds, read tea leaves - I mean overnight ratings each morning and work hand in soft supple hand with returning news crew----
On second thought, I'll be lying under the live trucks should anyone need news story shot....
(Thanks to Erin Winking for the use of his photo.)
2 comments:
Or you could convince someone that you really, really need to cover a breaker in L.A. It's not so hot here. Just weird...
Dood, today we finally got a break with some rain across the whole viewing area. I managed three whole days of seriously short-soaking sweat, comforted only by the happy-hour at Sonic and the $1 drinks at McD's. Unfortunately the heat addled my brain enough to double-punch on two important video ops.
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