What I Had for Lunch Today: Bad Movie Food
Alma and I wore matching barbecue-chef-style aprons decorated with rainbows, peace signs, flowers, and so forth, as well as "Ask for Peace" painted in big letters. The warbrobe lady called us "Housewives for peace." Others carried guitars, beat African-style drums, or waved signs. Lots of headbands, long scarves, long skirts. It was groovy, man. We stood on the corner of Main and Pleasant Streets in Noho, chanting "No more war!" as Mel Gibson drove past with a movie camera affixed to the driver's seat, right behind his shoulder, panning our little group.
Sometimes the food on the set is amazing. This was not. Although we arrived promptly for our 5:30 call time, the scrambled eggs and hash browns were barely warm by the time we were told to grab some breakfast, and the coffee had run out. Nobody knew where craft services had been moved, and breaks between takes were too brief for me to hunt down a hot, caffeinated beverage. The temperature did rise from 41 degrees to 60 by the time we broke for lunch, but that did nothing to prevent the withdrawal headache I was getting.
Lunch was a sorry affair of dried-out chicken breasts and pot roast. For vegetarians, bland rice, bland potatoes, bland pasta salad, pedestrian corn and salad, and dry yellow cake topped with a wash of red dye #40. Watery fruit punch; no coffee. It was a wrap for the protestors, so I dashed through wardrobe and checkout, and while Alma and Rebecca loitered, I hightailed it to the Haymarket for a cup of tea. My only out-of-pocket expense for the day, but I wasn't protesting.