I have a cold, which sucks, especially when it’s cold out. I couldn’t really breathe through the sinus pressure yesterday, so I decided to just rest. But today I wanted to get back on the bike, so I hopped on Rhoda and rode down to the CBD to complete a car-related errand and then to the Marigny for coffee and reading-for-pleasure. It was cold today, but the sun was warm and I pedaled quickly, shedding layers. Thank goodness for bike baskets. Anyway, I got off the bike on Frenchman Street to watch yet another movie shoot. I always think I’m going to see movie stars at these things. And I have–Forrest Whittaker across from my old place on Laurel Street, Jason Statham sitting on a Ducati over at Annunciation Park–but mostly there are a lot of folks setting up, like these guys. They’re doing the lighting for a scene shooting inside the coffee shop. Yeah, there’s a lot of set up for a single scene. And a lot of extras, dressed like New Orleanians in HD. I watched this one extra get his hair tousled just-so by a guy circling him, like he was a thing. I want to get discovered as an extra. I mean, isn’t any movie scene better with a cyclist spinning through the background? And my bike is Total New Orleans Realness! It’s a strange desire, to act like you are someone else’s backdrop when you simply are that every day–check us out, all occupying public space in private ways . Following yet another flat tire (is the cold screwing with my tubes? this is crazy!), I ended the night racing myself up and down the glassy asphalt on Louisiana, star of my own music video. In my head.