I've got a lot to catch up on! So here it is, fast and furious.

- Manderlay was just great. Lars Von Trier once again holds America's feet to the fire, turning the mirror on aspects of our society we'd just as soon ignore/forget. Dogville was a more general indictment of how we as a nation take advantage of each other, while Manderlay focused on race relations specifically. The stark landscape (symbolizing the starkness of the American soul... Sue me. I was an Engish major) was a wonderfully effective tool once again, and Bryce Dallas Howard's turn as Grace rivaled Nicole Kidman's. It was a brave, stirring performance of disturbing, resonant material.

- A second trip to the Kerbey Lane Cafe was splendid. The Cobb sandwich was delightful, and A-Game's quiche strata thingy was great as well. If I were ever to move to Austin, I'd start my home search in cocentric circles with Kerbey Lane at the epicenter.

- A-Game is visitng the Austin Record Convention today, and his occasional returns to the room bearing dozens of records are highlighted by his "little kid at Christmas" facial expressions. After a week of watching me go to and from films, I'm glad he finally gets to feed the media monkey on his back.

- I've spent the last couple of days trying to get caught up on work. I'm behind, but gaining. It's such a blessing to have so much work! And stressful. Stressful Blessing would be a good name for a rock band. Whoever uses it, I want free tickets to all your gigs. Gina gets first dibs.

-The traffic laws in Austin (perhaps all of Texas) appear to be, in their entirety, thus:

As long as nobody dies, don't worry about it.

And yet, there are approximately 4 cops per 10 people in town at any given time. Note: The Alamo was lost (at least in part due to its lack of a basement), but the Mexican-American War was won. We can chill out on the constant patrols.

- Looks like we'll be pulling out of Austin tomorrow, headed home. I miss my dog, and need to get on the ball with regards to catching up on all this work that's coming in.

- I am thinking of taking up smoking. I figure I have plenty of nice pink lung tissue to spare, I'll lose weight, and let's face it, smoking is cool. It's the coolest. It's bad for you and makes you cool. Kind of like dressing up like a bat and fighting crime. Hear that, kids? If you want to be as cool as Batman, start smoking.

- My friend Marcello called to send his good wishes for the return trip. Marcello is a superstar. All praise Marcello. He has also offered to treat A-Game and myself to a final meal at Kerbey Lane. I intend to accept his generous offer. Any excuse to enjoy Austin's best eatery. If for no other reason, it's not buffet style. Seriously, what is up, The South? How many steamtables full of macaroni and cheese does one region of the country require?

- Jon and I have somehow started to write the most racist country song ever. When it's finished, I won't share it with anyone, probably. It's inappropriate enough any time, but the same week as Rosa Parks dying? The worst. But it's mighty funny. We could run for the state legislature of Arkansas based on this song alone.

Speaking of Ms. Parks, don't you think the mortuary should make an exception this once and let her ride in the front of the hearse?

- Back to work! Thanks to all who have been checking in. In the coming months, various blogs will be popping up on Diversion Surplus, as well as other creative endeavors by my brothers and me. Stay tuned.

I'll likely be coming at you from the road next time. East bound and down!

Made some mighty bad choices lately, that's for sure.

I opted to stay in a drinks meeting with someone interested in a script instead of attending the finals of the Pitch Contest. A contest which, by all accounts, I would have won. Alas, if money is tight next year, the free pass does me no good. And if money is fine next year, I don't mind paying to come to the Festival. Still, the meeting seems to be resulting in little or nothing.

I opted to go see Abnormal Beauty the other night, because it replaced R-Point.

I opted to go see Stomp! Shout! Scream! last night instead of Tristram Shandy.

There are others, but you get the point. It seems every time I pick door number 1, there's an ugly goat there. The sexy goat in lingerie is always behind door number 2. Oh, Sexy Goat. How I miss you so.

Anyway, we made a good choice today. Breakfast at the Kerbey Lane Cafe was was sensational. The gingerbread pancakes were ambrosia. Not the kind that incinerates mortal colons, mind you. The good kind.

Abnormal Beauty was a mess. I love The Eye, and had high hopes for this Pang Brothers outing. Obsession with death, gradual descent into madness, hot Asian chicks. That's a recipe for success. Alas, the movie was poorly structured, with very little plot to speak of and convoluted plot twists that made me wonder if someone didn't drop the script downa flight of stairs, and pick up the pages int he wrong order.

To make matters worse, it was shown on the Imax screen, and appeared to be just a regular DVD, so the resolution was horrible. Throw in some of the worst-translated subtitles since All your base are belong to us and what you have is... well... Domino.

Speaking of horrible messes, a lesson from the room of Bob and A-Game. Don't set your fridge too cold, then accidentally freeze, then thaw, then freeze, then thaw a bag of baby carrots. The result is something with the consistency and taste of something scraped out of the bottom of a leper's gym locker.

Last night, I watched Stomp! Shout! Scream! instead of Tristram Shandy. Mistake! I love the old surfer movies, and couldn't resist something called a Skunk Ape. But this was another abortion of a movie. The pace was clunky, the running gags were more like limping gags, and the jokes failed on virtually every level.

On the upside, the original surferchick songs were all really good, and the lead actor managed to do a workmanlike job capturing the acting style of leading men of the genre they were satirizing. By and large, though, I wouldn't look for this one anywhere except as an Easter Egg on a future release of Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

We had a fenderbender the other day. Another driver ran a red light, and is now fighting every step of the way to avoid having to have her insurance pay. She ran the red light! She knew it, too. So A-Game is getting estimates and so on today before a tennis lesson. He's stoked about the tennis.

I'm writing away. Work doesn't stop just because I'm in Texas. Tonight, I see Manderlay! I've been looking forward to this like crazy.

Been a couple of days. And my last post was rushed. No links to speak of. Oh well. Let's get to the movies!

Backseat was a reasonably good first effort from a couple of young filmmakers. It's a road trip movie, with a few moments of very good writing. But it's uneven and doesn't really inspire. The acting was good, but it's becoming a cliche. "The square and the wildman take a road trip with hilarious results." Some of the hilarious results were laughworthy, but pound for pound, I felt like I could have made this one myself, and as Grand Rapids Dave pointed out, why shoot on film when your budget is so low? The money sunk into stock could have gone to locations, cast, shooting more footage, whatever. I love film like crazy, but priorities, guys.

Grand Rapids Dave and Paul have departed, after many beers in the Driskill bar, many many laughs, and hours of movie geek chitchat. When we parted company last night, they had about three hours to pack, eat, and sober up before getting up for a 5am departure time. I will be working on them on one of their projects in the future. Nothing to divulge at the moment, but stay tuned. When they are ready for a release, I will pass the word.

Speaking of "ready for a release," it's really challenging finding time to masturbate when sharing a tiny hotel room with Johnny A-Game. And that's all I'm going to say about that. What's that, A-Game? Going out for a smoke?





Oh, Baby.

And I'm back!

Back to the movies.

The Ape, written and directed by, and starring, James Franco from Freaks and Geeks and the Spider-Man franchise was... not great. I was really rooting for it. The idea is surreal enough and has some things to say about the artistic process and manhood in general (these seem to be popular themes this year), but James Franco isn't strong enough an actor to direct himself. He's a clumsy director overall, with stylized shots that distract more than they augment, and near the end, as the movie reaches its emotional climax, the directorial choices actually mute the impact of the scene.

It was well-written, though. Franco is more of a writer than I might have thought, and he's a nice guy. I had the opportunity to shake his hand and wish him luck before his premiere. To the surprise of nobody, being rich, famous, sexy, and popular is a recipe for a good mood much of the time.

Frozen is a pschological thriller from the UK that was tremendously engaging. A young woman searches for her sister, who disappeared two years earlier. It flirts with slipping into cliche and contrivance, but the performances are strong, and (half-spoiler alert) it's a relief when a story like this doesn't end in a "shocking," contrived, ultimately unsatisfying and hackneyed split-personality reveal.

I hope this one gets picked up.

Probably the best film I saw yesterday was Unknown White Male, a documentary about a 30-year-old man who suddenly and inexplicably loses memory of all his experiences while retaining all functional memory. So he can walk, talk, ride a bike, whatever, but doesn't remember his family, friends, or name.

Following Doug as he meets his father and sisters and friends for the first time is heartbreaking and riveting. His first time seeing snow, seeing fireworks, and tasting different foods is fascinating enough, but watching home movies of "old" Doug and "new" Doug is creepy and the differences in his photography styles and so on make for subtle illustrations of how much our experiences shape who we are.

Who would you be if someone shook your Etch-A-Sketch? Who would I be?

After the movies, a few drinks with the Grand Rapids boys, Rebecca from Vancouver Film School, and a few other really fun festival attendees rounded out a great night. I think I want a job that just requires me to go from Festival to Festival in a luxurious bus and report on them, like Film Fest John Madden. How do I get that job?

Tonight's films are Abnormal Beauty and Three... Extremes, both from the Asian Horror vault. I can't wait!

Tomorrow, the plan includes a visit to Kerbey Lane Cafe for gingerbread pancakes (thanks for the recommendation, Claire!) and a gametime decision as to whether I'll be seeing Stomp Shout! Scream! Or Tristram Shandy. The latter comes highly recommended by Lynne and Rich at Cinemapolis, but I'm a sucker for surfer/monster movies. And this one comes form one of the guys behind Aqua Teen Hunger Force. That's a pedigree for success if I ever saw one.

Im out. Going to get an Oreo Blizzard. Met someone last night who enjoys Oreos wrapped in balogna. Seriously. To quote Ernie Hudson in Ghostbusters, I have seen shit to turn you white. But that? That's just not right.

Not much to report today. I'm busy and tired form lack of sleep (the fold-out couch in the hotel room was just shipped in from Abu Ghraib), and too much sensory input, but also energized by inspiring talent (met Judd Apatow, saw him interview Harold Ramis. Both of those guys are true inspirations). Plus stressed out about meeting writing deadlines... just so much in the ol' cabeza to keep straight.

At least I'm fed at the moment. I just finished a $25 Chicken Caesar Salad. Seriously! Next time I pay $25 for a Chicken Caesar Salad, it had better be served by Julius Caesar himself. "Et tu? Breadsticks?"

Last night I saw one movie: "The Ice Harvest," directed by Harold Ramis. It's a real depaerture for him, darker material, very Coen Brothersesque in tone if not directorial sensibility. Lots of humor couched in a great noir in the classic style. Really, really good. Billy Bob Thornton was terrific, playing against type, and John Cusack was great also.

But a personal favorite of mine, Oliver Platt, stole every scene he was in. It's a juicy role, and he juices the hell out of it. Jack Lalane would be jealous.

As those who have read my script, "Softball," might realize, the theme of "what it means to be a man in modern America" really appeals to me, and this film really addresses that theme with gusto. There's violence, there's sexiness, there's murder. A recommend, for sure.

After that, I went to the Judd Apatow event, where he showed outtakes from "40 Year Old Virgin," and a pilot he shot called North Hollywood. It starred Jason Segel, and Amy Pohler, and was completely awesome. Not only that, but it featured a scene where Segel is vomitting, and gets a nosebleed. It's weird that A-Game did precisely that the other night, then I see it in a pilot. So much for writing what you know. Even what I know has been done before.

Need to get to work. Gonna be a late night.

Hello from Austin.

Sitting in the bar of the Hotel Driskill, after ducking out of a panel discussion that was going over old territory. Quick update: I wound up going to the Pitch Competition, and advanced to the Finals, which are tomorrow night. The problem is that if I want to pitch tomorrow night, I'm going to miss the screening of Ghostbusters, which I haven't seen on the big screen since the third reconciliation of the last of the Meketrex supplicants. Plus, Q&A with Harold Ramis and Ernie Hudson! Boss! I know Ernie might be the least famous Ghostbuster, but he did utter the classic line, "If someone asks you if you're a god, you say YES!"

On the flipside, the winner of the competition gets a free Producer's Badge to next year's conference/film festival. That's a value of around $500, maybe more, so it's tempting... But then again, who knows if I'll be in a position to come back next year? A year's a long time, and Ithaca is wild and unpredictable, ready to tear your throat out and leave you dying on the side of the road.

Oh, wait. That's not Ithaca. That's werewolves.

Haven't decided yet what Im going to do. Probably going to be a gametime decision.

Yesterday's movies!

I had hoped to see Going Through Splat, but technical difficulties intervened. So a newfound friend and I (hello, Jen!) double-timed it over to a documentary called Walking The Line, which, coincidentally, was directed by two young fellows from Ithaca. It's a disturbing and sometimes funny (but mostly disturbing) account of the "border wars" going on between Mexico and various Americans living along the border. Who are these Mexicans? Drug-smugglers? Hungry and desperate migrants? A full-scale stealth invasion designed to re-take the land given to America in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo? Depends who you ask, and they ask everyone. I enjoyed the flick, and hope it goes somewhere.

As much as I enjoyed Walking the Line, the homerun film of last night was called The Civilization of Maxwell Bright, starring Patrick Warburton in a breakout, Oscarworthy, downright brilliant, bawdy, and layered performance, Eric Roberts, and Marie Matiko, who should be a superstar.

In a nutshell, Max Bright hates women. When he's not getting stabbed during a naked shouting match with his latest girlfriend, he's tempting fate, yelling, "Shoot me, you crazy cunt!" at the female police officers called to his house. The guy raises misogyny to an artform. He decides to get a mail-order bride from Asia, a woman who is submissive, servile, and trained in the ancinet arts of sex by experts, even as she remains a virgin.

Of course, there's more to buying a woman from a broker than just fun and games. Which, let's face it, is a disappointing reality we all need to face once in a while.

Warburton absolutely kills here. We all loved him as Puddy on "Seinfeld," and his voicework as Superman and on "The Venture Brothers," but in this one, he blows the doors off the back of the theater. Max Bright is a charming, self-centered, funny, cruel sadistic asshole who is just as likely to protect his mousy friend (Roberts) and support him throughout his life as he is to threaten to "put his foot so far up your ass, it'll come out of your mother's pussy." This gasbag could easily be the most reprehensible character in movie history, and he is, but Warburton plays him perfectly, getting us to root for the guy even as he makes one horribly cruel mistake after another.

Note: For another acting gem by Warburton, hunt down The Woman Chaser. It's a tremendously beautiful film, and Warburton owns the titular role.

Marie Matiko as Mai Ling, the mail-order bride who provides Max's redemption, is a beguiling sensation. She brings a peaceful strength to the otherwise extremely kinetic film, her beauty provides a perfect counterpoint to Max's brash roughness, and her performance is a work of art.

It is a wonder to observe as Max and Mai Ling change through the film, not just due to the circumstances where they find themselves, but also due to the influence of each on the other.

Warburton, Matiko, and director David Beaird deliver an unblinking look at the humor and horrors in love, hate, marriage, and death. Despite one misfire (Jennifer Tilly almost pulls it off as a brilliant, blunt doctor, but let's face it, you want your oncologist to be as far from Tiffany as possible), this one is sure to make my year-end Top Ten.

To my understanding, A-Game spent the whole day hungover in bed. I haven't seen him much, due to my schedule. Oh, A-Game. I miss you so.

And one last shoutout to the Austin Film Festival Red Bull team, who have now hooked me up twice when I was starting to fade. It's not Trucker Pills, but on the upside, Red Bull doesn't cause major organ failure, to my knowledge.

Gin is good. Vodka is good. Beer is good. Tequila is very, very good. Also varying levels of good: friendly strippers, cigarettes, and late-night pizza slices that burn the roof of your mouth.

That was my Wednesday night. A-Game's Wednesday was mostly the same, but also included (I love this) vomitting until his nose bled. Ha ha!

Everyone at the strip club was in a good mood. The dancers were faking their good moods, but that's okay. they were very convincing. I don't know what it says about the sports culture in America that the Astros' clinching a trip to the World Series for the first time in franchise history was garnering more appreciation than the lovely Yellow Rose Dancers.

After several meaningful discussions on the socio-political implications of the Katrina disaster and its subsequent effects on the economics of the region, and the stripper industry as a whole, there were lapdances. It's nice to know that some things bridge the gap between red and blue states. Lap Dances, a divided nation turns its eyes to you for healing. The clingy stink of cheap perfume shall bring peace.

After the Yellow Rose, we headed into town to dig the Austin night life. Both A-Game and I somehow forgot that it was Wednesday, not exactly nightlife supreme. But we found ourselves at a cool outdoor bar, drunk dialing friends and exes, and getting a picture taken with a midget Elvis impersonator. If I could ever figure out a way to get the pictures off my cell phone, I'd post it here. Instead, well, you'll just have to take my word for it.

The Screenwriting Conference has begun! The Film Festival starts tonight. I'll be seeing Going through Splat and The Civilization of Maxwell Bright.

This afternoon, I have a roundtable to attend on Television writing (an area where my expertise is seriously lacking) and a pitch competition. I was going to bail on the Pitch Competition, and I still might (I've got a lot of paying work to catch up on), but it's being judged by the gys who wrote Wedding Crashers, and I think they might respond to my MallCop (click to view script in pdf format) script.

Probably no major shenanigans tonight. I'm tired, A-Game might burst an eyeball if he pukes again, money is an ever-present concern, and there are a lot of days left in Austin.

Reports on the films and such tonight or tomorrow.

Here’s a new policy. If you’re driving through rural backwater Arkansas, and you stop for gas, and the men's bathroom in the gas station is a small bathroom, like, say, with one urinal and one toilet, two dudes with New York plates on their car probably shouldn’t go in together. Johnny A-Game and I made this mistake. We both had an urgent need, and took care of business. Alas, in rural Arkansas, that thar's a hangin' offense. No harm done, thankfully. But on our return trip, we're going to have to avoid stopping there.

A fly has stowed away with us since Ithaca. Every time I open the window, it flies under the seat. It doesn’t want to wind up in Arkansas, either. Who can blame it?

So last night, I wound up getting 3 or 4 hours of sleep. A-Game didn't fare much better, but we wanted to push through to Austin today, so it was time for the stimulants to come out in force. Ye Gods. I have never before felt so exhausted/wired/freaked out all at the same time. Gleeps! Today, we partook of: Coffee, chocolate-covered espresso beans, ginseng balls, and something called Trucker Pills (probably not made out of actual truckers). End result? Two words: Bat country. And a third word: Constipation. And a few more: I've never peed so much in all my life.

In addition to Shoney's, and the hotel breakfast buffet, we visited the lunch buffet at Bowen's Family Restaurant. Their slogan should be, "Don't Be Afraid! All The Colored Folk Work In The Kitchen!" Just an observation A-Game made.

Ah, Arkansas. Such a grand tradition of segregation deserves to be recognized. Maybe you could switch your state sport to Laundry... separating whites and colors. I'd have suggested chess, but... well, you know.

Also, we no longer remember how to eat anything that doesn’t come in buffet form. We hope to find a Wienerschnitzel to remind us how to eat real(ish) food served on genuine styrofoam once again.

Update: The Ithaca fly is now a resident of the Bowen’s Family Restaurant parking lot. Sorry, little buddy. But I'm sure you'll love the kitchen.

My favorite moment of the day was when we drove past this town. Are they kidding!? What next? Los Arkeles? Arkinatti? Arkarck? New Yark City?

As you might have ascertained, much of today was spent in Arkansas and Texas. The Texas landscape was rather barren (and, due to the overactive bladder, the lack of trees was particularly noticeable), but Austin seems very cool. Tomorrow, we'll go exploring, then the Film Festival starts Thursday.

Good night!

(p.s. the food at Bowen's was really good.)

After an inauspicious beginning, the journey to the Austin Film Festival is underway. The first leg of the journey took us from Ithaca, NY to Dickson, TN, home of the... um... well, I can confirm there is a Holiday Inn here. And a disgruntled desk clerk. Beyond that, who can say?

This leaves us with 815 miles to get us all the way to Austin tomorrow. 6AM wake-up call, I curse thee!

Tomorrow will hopefully be a day of redemption for Johnny A-Game, my stalwart travelling companion. After assuring me of a 7AM pick-up this morning, Oversleep won this day, and we didn't truly hit the road until 8:30 or so. Que sera. It all worked out in the long... very long... run.

Regrets from today include a stop at Shoney's. Yeesh. I think they carve all the food for their buffet out of the same substance. It combines the consistency of tofu, and the flavor of deep-fried armpit. But everything tastes better with gravy!

Anyway, after a steaming hot mug of gravy, we failed to successfully tune in to the NLCS playoff game (AM Radio, why have you forsaken me? I always thought I could count on you for sports and ads for Credit Counseling Services), enjoyed the 70mph speed limit down here, and stopped for a pee break at a place that advertised fireworks, but might have been a cover for a full-blown military stockyard. There were some fireworks there I haven't seen since the last time I watched "Starship Troopers."

Tomorrow brings us through the rest of Tennessee, Arkansas, and finally Texas. My primary regret at the moment is that our trip through Texarkana will not be in a Trans Am (or conversely, an 18-wheeler full of Coors), and my sidekick is not a beleaguered basset hound named Fred.

Til tomorrow, I'm westbound and down.