There is a major motion picture shooting in and around Copley Square, where I work. (We’re still calling this “work,” right? Okay, good.) From what I hear, the movie stars Kate Hudson and some dude named Dane. It’s about a beautiful but quirky girl who does some stuff then gets the guy.

I haven’t mentioned it before because doing so would be contra my efforts to appear cooler than I am. At all times. (Fortunately for me, it is not terribly difficult to appear cooler than zero cool.) I generally attempt this feat by feigning disinterest in everything around me, when—in actuality—the mere sight of Sno-Balls in a man’s pocket is enthralling to me.

Anyway, I have been doing my best nonchalant thing every morning on my way to work, as the movie crew makes itself comfortable in my environs. I mean, I look in the general direction of the hubbub. I don’t want to seem like one of those people who’s too cool to acknowledge the damned thing. I just don’t gawk or lollygag.

This morning, though, the craft services hive was set up on Boylston near my bus stop. Holy mother of god! They were grilling up tuna steaks the size of baseball gloves … like 8,000 of them. Even at 9ish o’clock, they smelled amazing. I could not hide my fascination.

I began wondering why I didn’t put more effort into becoming a movie star. I mean, first, the trailers (with bump-outs). Now, sporting equipment–sized seafood? Then I remembered … I’m very shy in crowds. I don’t know much about filmmaking, but crowds somehow seem integral to the process. Also, I have this unnatural love of food. I don’t know what’s up with me, but my body wants it every day. It’s weird. Doesn’t lend itself to my ass being blown up on a giant screen. Then there’s that whole “I can’t act” thing.

WhatEVer.

We get free mugs here at my work. Really bitchin mugs. With decals. I shit you not.