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Thursday, Jan 8, 2009
When you're always blown away by the things that happen to you, you get so you start missing being blown away by the things that happen to you.
Apr 14, 2000 |
Dear Button,
(Everything started out fine.)
A couple Saturdays ago I was at home, doing laundry and baking cookies. By Monday afternoon, I was on a plane headed for London.
"South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut" is being released on video in England, and a new season of the "South Park" series is starting in France, which meant Matt and Trey had to jet over there and do all sorts of press. Two days before departure, Trey calls and invites me. I am not entirely surprised.
(What has happened to me? Have I lost all perspective? What kind of a dick goes on an all-expense-paid, first-class trip to London and Paris and is not fully blown away by it? Yes, I am very grateful. No, I don't think I deserve it. It's just that this life has afforded me so many opportunities, each new one makes the last one less distinct. Just when I think things can't get better, life cranks up a notch. And it seems like it is never going to end. But it has to, right? My favorite -- and the least likely -- termination scenario involves 10 more years of playtime, another five or so for reflection and mental percolation and then two more to write a novel. More likely, there will be a plane crash.)
We fly out on Virgin Upper Class, which actually positions us, on a Boeing 747-400, farther forward than the cockpit. Right up there in the nose. The seats are gigantic, with automatic leg rests and lumbar supports, and there is enough room for a flight attendant to stand between you and the seat in front of you. There are also complimentary toilet kits and champagne. But what pushes it over the edge for me are the purple sleep suits, complete with booties. I stole the entire outfit.
(Actually, what pushes me over the edge is the peek I sneak at the itinerary. It shows the total cost of airfare: $11,181. But this is not what gets me. It's that I am not remotely daunted by this amount of money, despite it being the equivalent of several months of my salary.)
We touch down at Heathrow at 11 a.m. Our bodies think it is 2 a.m. This will be a persistent problem.
No matter. Off to the hotel, One Aldwych, right in the thick of things. Trey and Matt each have a suite. Jennifer and I each have our own room. One Aldwych calls itself a modern luxury hotel, and it delivers. The place is crazy good. There are two fresh plums on a small silver tray sitting on the desk in my room. I set my bags down, take off my shoes. My thumb presses the plum gently onto the knife blade, and I spin the whole thing around, pivoting on the pit. With a twist, half the fruit comes away. I think to myself, if the fruit tastes sweet it will be a good trip.
(What am I doing? Why even consider the chance the trip will be bad? It's an all-expense-paid first-class package to Europe. Why am I pondering a bad outcome?)
As Matt and Trey begin their first afternoon of press, Jennifer and I spend time in One Aldwych's lobby bar, "one of the best hotel bars in the world." I read that in some hotel guide, and it's true. High-ceilinged, classy, well-lighted. Jennifer prudently orders a club soda. By now my body thinks it is 4 a.m. I order a Tanqueray and tonic. A couple of drinks later and we head upstairs to shower in preparation for dinner with some Warner Bros. people.
Right after the meal would be a prudent time to go to bed. Matt and Trey have to do the "Big Breakfast," a live, high-energy morning show, at 7, which means leaving the hotel at 6. Plus, no one has slept in 23 hours. But, as I said, our hotel has "one of the best hotel bars in the world." Three hours later we're standing in that same lobby, showered and dressed, feeling shaky.
George, our driver, is wide awake. Everyone at the "Big Breakfast" is equally zesty. Standing off in a corner, I look out the window. It is still dark out. I check my watch. 7:13. Seems like it should be lighter. I wonder if the windows are tinted for the cameras. I crack the door. Nope, no tint, just another dark and gloomy London morning. Oh well, we've been doing our best work at night anyway.
Our friend Stevan arranges for dinner at Nobu, Robert DeNiro's restaurant in the Metropolitan Hotel. I am feeling ill and consider leaving before the evening starts. Matt offers some advice:
"Stay on the train. You only get hurt getting on and getting off."
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