Before driving down to the police-state fortress that was the Beverly Hilton and the Golden Globes awards, I spent two and a half hours on my back underneath a friend’s house, crawling around inside a sprawling dark space that was maybe 20″ high and wearing a surgical mask and a hat and tinted shades as me and two other guys put pink insulation strips between the floor beams. There were piles of dirt on top of the cross breams and every time we pushed through the strips soil poured onto my head, face and neck. I felt like Charles Bronson as Danny the tunnel king in The Great Escape.
