How to Rock a Film Festival (and my AFF panel info)
In less than a month I’ll be at the Austin Film Festival, where I will once again attempt to balance seeing friends and schmoozing, which will result in some terrible hits to my liver.
Mother on the Orient Express: Part Seven (The Train)
(I broke the train into two parts. The first part of the train (part six of the story) is here.)
We take the long walk toward dinner. Now we’re a little less sure on our feet. Mom’s getting tired, and I’m a little tired, and it’s darker. We make it to the bar car, which we have to go through to get to our dinner car.
We open the door. It’s different in the dark, more mysterious, more like a lounge, like you’d imagine. The piano abruptly stops and — “Sentimental Journey” begins playing. And Mom’s crying again, but this time she can’t sit because we’re on our way to dinner, so she kind of sits at this stool near the head of the piano, perched like she’s about to launch into song. But she’s crying and smiling and nodding, and I’m rubbing her back and it really must have looked like she was here on a Make A Wish.
Mother on the Orient Express: Part Six (The Train)
So here’s what my mother didn’t know: that months ago I’d asked the Orient Express travel agent if she could help me make even more of Mom’s dreams come true. If you don’t remember, Mom wanted to sit in the bar car of the Orient Express, drinking a pink squirrel while listening to them play “Sentimental Journey.”
“I think we can try to figure that out,” said the agent, understandably hesitantly. Just in case, I emailed her two YouTube links to the song, plus a link to purchase the sheet music, and eBay’ed my own sheet music, which was nestled next to my laptop in my cabin. I emailed the recipe for a Pink Squirrel, which I found on the Mad Men website, of all places (go ahead and read it; it’s gross), and had a print-out of the thing in my notebook. In short: I dorked out.
Mother on the Orient Express: The Update
Look, I went through a redesign and then I was in the dictionary and then I was really busy with multiple pitches and if I finish this script I’ve got due in the next couple of days I’ll have turned in a pilot script, a manuscript and a screenplay all in the past six weeks. So I don’t want to hear it! My fingers have been typing! And I still updated here! What do you people want from me?!
Confessions of a Mighty Summit Convert
Full disclosure: I thought it was going to be stupid.
An Open Letter to Matt Damon’s Character in Contagion, from His Character’s Ex-Wife
[Note: there will be spoilers]
Hey, Mitch.
I heard that skinny blonde bitch you left me for was Patient Zero. Way to fucking go, dude. Nice environment to expose our daughter to. And speaking of Jory, thanks for keeping her during the whole “Mitch is in Quarantine” time. That sounds like a fantastic idea. Why not force her to live in a place where everybody just died of a mysterious, seemingly unstoppable, uncurable illness? Did you even Purell that shit before you had her sleeping in Clark’s old bed? I bet not.
And I don’t want to hear the whole, “But Patty! We were in a forced Quarantine! We couldn’t leave the city!” Because you sure found a way to escape when you were married to me.
Look, I might smoke in the house, but my lungs never killed a child, unlike what happened when that floozy whore you left me for came home from her “business trip” and coughed all over the place.
By the way, she was fucking all of Chicago. You know how I know? Because she killed Chicago. Just wiped it out in one spread of her legs.
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