Can’t You Hear Me Knockin’?

The first thing I saw when I stepped out of the office tonight was a two hundred pound man jogging through Times Square in nothing but panties, a camisole, and a pair of Nikes.

‘Eh,’ I thought. ‘That’s just about par for the course.’

I was torqued about work from the moment my sneakers first hit the pavement this morning. It was a little thing, really, but I vented to Abbi for six miles: up Central Park West, through Morningside Heights, and back down Riverside Park.

Once I got in, that which torqued was resoved (mostly) soon enough. The day moved along nicely. I began getting some traction. I began moving forward. Then Kurt burst into my office and said, “I saw the worst movie ever last night!” Then we begin emailing each other rediculous news articles (like “George Clooney Will Speak To UN Security Council Thursday About Darfur”) and pithy remarks (like, “I’m sure he’ll be most successful in persuading the monstrous Islamic regime in Khartoum to be nicer from now on. Look how well the Europeans’ three years of talks with Iran worked out.”). Crazy. And cool.

‘Par for the course,’ I thought.

Meanwhile, Wes and I are IMing about The Heavyweights. And Chris and I are emailing about Buckeye. And I’m working. Hard. Really.

Around 3:45, my boss popped his head into my office and said, “You ready?” And we headed to AMC 25 for an advance screening of “Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.”

On the way to the theater, I pass Travis Barker on the street. Waiting for the light at 42d Street, “Real World: Season One” and “Grind” phenom Eric Neis pulls up on a pink beach bike.

I can’t make this shit up, people.

So there I am sitting between the VP of my department, and the SVP of the entire Network of Fun, in amovie theater full of college students in the middle of the afternoon. Sacha Baron Cohen comes on screen, and the place erupts. The film’s premise in thin, but priceless: Kazakh television reporter visits America, watches “Baywatch,” falls in love with Pamlea Anderson, treks cross country to marry her, hilarity ensues. Actually, hilarity ensues from the first frame, and doesn’t relent until the lights come up. That said, it’s the worse kind of hilarity: anti-Semitic, racist, sexist, and scatological. Oddly, though (and in contrast to The Network of Fun’s forthcoming cinematic foray into potty humor), there’s something redemptive about it. Instead of just embarassing people and bashing them over the head with rotten fruit (or, in addition to), Borat holds a mirror to America culture. The portrait isn’t flattering, but it is real. Nonetheless, twenty minutes in (twenty-five minutes after the number three executive at The Network of Fun asked me what I though about aformentioned forthcoming cinematic foray into potty humor), I thought to myself, ‘I just wasn’t made for these times.’

Par for the course.

Back at the office, the rumor mill is spinning. Six months ago, The Network of Fun’s Chief Digital Office resigned. Six weeks ago, the VP of Digital resigned. Six days ago, the CEO and founder of The Network of Fun was ousted. Today, a fellow EP of Digital resigned.

I think you know what I thought.

So then I find myself on the phone with a gaggle of ad sales types quoting Bill Gates and explaining the value of online editorial in relation on-air advertising. Worse, I’m doing a bang-up job of it.

And then I find that my suggestion to cover the outing of Lonelygirl15 has come to pass; we’re interviewing her in the morning.

Which brings us back to the hairy guy in running shoes.

The ground below me — below us — is shifting all the time. Now more than ever, the view changes every second. I have no idea what’ll happen next. I may not have been made for these times, but they sure are interesting. And sometimes kinda’ energizing.

Heck, walking up 80th Street just now with The Rolling Stones full-blast in my headphones, I think I may have detected a just a smidge of swagger in my step.

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