Searched my journals for something on this day and found
this:
In 1989 I worked nights as a security guard while I was in
college. Easy job - walk the building once an hour, study the rest of the time.
There was another guard named Warner, who took the job a lot more seriously
than the job took itself.
At shift change, he’d describe his fantasy of
accomplishment: a giant pyramid, with a hot tub at the top, built inside his
home. It had to be high enough that, “I could see 360 degrees around myself,”
so nobody could ever sneak up on him.
He would fantasize that he’d be soaking there with his wife,
surrounded by an arsenal of guns, waiting for the day someone tried to climb up
after him.
The fantasy always escalated. Every night I came in to
relieve him, there’d be a new version - more detail, more invaders.
Eventually it always returned to the same ending: movement
in the periphery, Warner stepping out of the hot tub, his wife tying a towel
around his waist to cover his privates (for the movie cameras, I assume) and continually
handing him fresh ammunition, and him just standing there blasting away,
determined to defend his hot tub pyramid lifestyle.
He genuinely thought it would make a great screenplay and
wanted me to ask around about it. I remember thinking: “wtf?”
I wrote this down in 2005 because I love human stupidity and didn’t want to forget about this.
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| Werner's fantasy love-spa. |
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| Werner's action sequence. |
Thirty-seven years later, A.I. successfully rendered the pictures I’d always had in my head.
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