A cold night in the forest

It isn't even Thanksgiving and I'm about to launch into a post about Christmas.

I figure, since everyone else has jumped the gun on Xmas and ignored the unwritten rules of decorum, why shouldn't I. That makes me the Jim Acosta of the blogosphere.

Here's my 2018 Christmas Story.

Last week, a friend sent me a link to a spot that's currently running on TV. It's a harmless little holiday spot that hardly merits any attention.



Innocuous, right?

Even a little charming. After all who doesn't like Santa Claus and puppies. But it's not easily dismissed when you consider a spot we did for Acura five years ago.



The two are almost carbon copies of each other. Even the editing and music are similar.

To be completely honest, I'm not all that upset about. I chalk it up to coincidence. Years ago, something like this might have burst a few capillaries, but I'm 44 now and have a certain jaded perspective on this kind of crap.

And this industry.

Also, recently, a reader of Roundseventeen accused me of being braggadocious. I'm certainly not going to get on my high horse over something like this.

No, what sticks in between my teeth like left over ribeye steak, is the fact that we spent an entire frostbitten night in the Angeles Crest Forest to shoot this spot. And the Mercedes people seem to have been able to shoot theirs during the much more manageable hours around sunset.

If you know me at all or if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know how I feel about getting home to watch Jeopardy. And can imagine how an all night shoot at 7800 feet of altitude can turn my crankimeter up to 11.

To wit, at about 3:30 in the morning I was fading fast. The lighting crew was setting up an elaborate shot so I made my way over to one of the production trailers. There, I found a comfy couch as well as a plate of delicious craft service goodies. Within minutes I was fast asleep and might have missed the remainder of the shoot had I not been joined by one of the production assistants, who was also not a night person.

Thirty minutes into my deep REM sleep I was awakened. Not by a sound. But by a smell.

My erstwhile bunkie must have helped himself to some bad slices of salami. And the trip down his alimentary canal must have been quite turbulent. Suffice to say, he turned the tiny Airstream into a tiny Toxic Air Stream.

Trust me, I know my way around methane and this was like nothing I had ever smelt before.

In hindsight, I suspect the emission of gas was more than just an emission of gas.

And I can tell you from experience, there is nothing worse than sharting yourself. Although being asleep in a trailer with a total stranger who has sharted himself runs a very close second.

Bah humbug.