Throbbing black truck
Hollywood Wiretap‘s Liza Foreman has written that the Cannes Film Festival parties and the promotions were sometimes better than the parties, and lists a certain ” black truck advertising Burn energy drink booming music up and down the Croisette” as one of the go-getters.
Let me explain something — the people behind this special promotion were and still probably are agents of Satan. That utterly detestable black truck with its rancid disco-beat music pounding and throbbing like a jackhammer didn’t just give everyone a headache — it exuded a vibe so ugly and repulsive it had to be felt to be believed.
I ran into it right after seeing The 11th Hour last weekend, and I feel ashamed that I didn’t have the nerve to go over and spit a mouthful of beer at the guys driving it and the ersatz Lindsay Lohan babes dancing on the flatbed.
I think even in France they get upset if you spit on the dancing women. It’s good to hear the parties are sometimes better than the parties though.
Maybe I’m becoming a (fellow) cranky old man, but I’m with Jeffrey 100% on this. I had to move from a main thoroughfare in a border neighborhood into one that’s unequivocally skid row just to be able to hear myself think — after not one, but two upscale-asshole drinking establishements opened on my block.
I may have to step over a few dozing zombies on my way in and out, but I’ll take junkies and late-stage alcoholics over such amateurs as off-duty Financial District drone and tourists-gone-wild. The local wetbrains may howl at the moon now and then, but they don’t pump their fists and scream “Wooooo!” or spew shrill, shreiking laughter just below my window. It boils down to this: given the choice, I’d rather feel pity than flat-out revulsion toward my fellow man.