You meet a lot of people in my business. Reprobates, scholars, rock stars. But the encounters are forced or fleeting; there's never time to know the soul behind the soundbite. After awhile, you kind of lose track. That's when the countenances blur; the victors and the vanquished all meld into one creepy set of features that haunt the one inch screen hovering over your mind's eye. Pretty soon, you cease to care as the faces keep coming at an infuriating clip. Before you now it, your stumbling through some ungodly portal, trying your best to wrestle control of the next high-def expressions to demand your own splintered attention... Then you realize you're not having a mental breakdown at all. You're touring a haunted house -- and a chintzy one at that! So you back away slowly, crack a bad joke about black lights and flashbacks, all while drawing attention away fromyour little freak-out back there at the mask montage. Hey, happens to the best of us...
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