Or organise do buck phonemic

WEEKEND RECAP

FRIDAY

Faye and I went to see a screening of “Malfunkshun: The Andrew Wood Story” at the NW Film Forum. I was quite a fan of Mother Love Bone in high school, to the point of ridicule from my very metal/punk friends, but I haven’t listened to them in ages. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the documentary. Faye and I were a little disappointed by the Gits documentary at SIFF. If Seattle is going to be the next Hollywood, they’d better start making better documentaries about Seattle subjects. But “The Andrew Wood Story” was pretty good. At first, the psychedelic motion graphics reminded me a little too much of VH1 program, but after a while, I settled into it and enjoyed the ride. Despite having been a fan of the music, I didn’t really know that much about the man. Turns out he was a very funny, thoughtful fellow who liked to have a good time, look pretty and rock. His family kept referring to themselves as “screwed up”, but their love for one-another was so evident, that it really didn’t feel that dysfunctional. It was one of those stories that, even though you know it ends badly, still gives you a glimmer of hope. This guy left too soon, but he left behind some great music and left indelible marks on everyone who knew him. Even Chris Cornell, who is known for being kind of a dick, was clearly having trouble in the interview. He chain-smoked and choked back tears throughout. At the end, the director came up and answered questions. Actually, he answered one question with his life story. But it was ok. He seemed like a good guy. He explained that the documentary found him, and took 10 years of his life to make. He explained the structure of it and how he wanted to show Andrew Wood’s life from inside Andrew’s head. Once you know that, the style of the film is much easier to take. Also, Kim Thayil, AKA Zombie Santa, was in the audience of about 20 people. That made the whole thing seem that much more special. Even if this documentary doesn’t do well, it serves as a lovely tribute to the man, for the people he left behind. Sorry for the Hallmark sentiments. But I’m TOUCHED, Goddamnit!

After the movie, Faye and I went to the Canterbury for a quick drink and a plate of fries. It was the wrong night for the Canterbury, however. Our favorite waitress, the nice, small blonde girl, was off. And we were ignored. After waiting for about 10 minutes, I went to the bar to get our drinks, and asked if I could order food there. The bartender snippily replied that our waitress would take our food order. I said that I wasn’t sure if there was table service because we’d been waiting and hadn’t seen anyone. He said he’d “send her right over”. Faye and I were almost done with our drinks before we saw “our” waitress stroll through the room. She checked on the other table and then walked past us without even a glance. Faye and I downed the rest of our pints and went to QFC.

We spent the rest of the evening at my house watching Alan Partridge and drinking of the beer. Faye also printed out some pictures for her haircut the following day.

SATURDAY

Faye and I met at 12:30 to go downtown. Faye was on a quest for a new top and I was along to spend money I shouldn’t be spending. Glorious. We also went to Vain so Faye could get a haircut. A MAJOR haircut. From long to bob in an hour. And, I must say, Faye looks A-fucking-dorable. I know it must be a major adjustment for her to lose that much hair, but it definitely works.

After that, we still had some time to kill before meeting Dom for our dinner/casting meeting. We were quickly discouraged at The Rack, so we decided to give up on shopping and kick out the fun. We had a nacho and beer aperitif at Shorty’s followed by a quick game of Pinball. Then we met Dom at the Rendezvous and had out casting meeting. Right now, these meetings still feel a bit like make-believe. It’s hard to imagine that we are actually going to be contacting such and such’s agents and making offers!

After the meeting, I joined Dom in the Jewel Box for a show called “Verbatim Verboten”, wherein actors read the scripts from phone messages, interviews and other recordings, left by belligerent, intoxicated, or otherwise mentally unstable notables. Meanwhile, Faye hung with Borgia and Elyse. The show was pretty entertaining. The acting wasn’t stellar. And there was a very LOOOOONG-winded Woody Allen bit from his deposition about the Soon-Yi debacle. They kept coming back to it throughout the show and each time it was more insufferable. I very much pity the individuals who were forced to pour over the testimony. But, for the most part, the bits were amusing. Sherrard would have LOVED this show. My favorite bits were a belligerent message left by Ryan Adams on the answering machine of a man who gave him a bad review, and the ravings of Orson Wells as he attempted to record some advert voiceovers.

The show over, I resumed drinking with Elyse, Faye and Borgia while Dom had to do a reading really quick at a fundraiser in the Grotto. At 11:30, we were all exhausted and ready to go home. Elyse, especially, had an excuse, as she’d spent the day at the Puyallup Fair.

SUNDAY

I spent an ill-conceived morning watching “Dancer in the Dark”. Oh my god! I just don’t like Lars Von Trier. His “heroines” are helpless, borderline insane women who don’t help themselves. I’m all for tragedies, but only if the protagonist is willing to fight for self-preservation. I’m also all for stories about self-sacrifice, but not when it’s COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY. I guess the bottom line is that it’s hard for me to watch a 2 and a half hour movie about a character that I don’t like. It’s especially hard when that character is played by a singer with a grating, impish wail. After a while, I was fast forwarding through the musical numbers. I suppose Bjork’s acting wasn’t bad. I’m sure she was doing exactly what she was told. But the bottom line for me is thus: Lars, I don’t jive with your world view. Bjork, shut up.

To stop the bleeding in my eyes, Dom and I watched some more Battlestar Galactica (almost caught up!) and then went to the grocery store. This was followed by yoga and finishing Deadwood. Deadwood, by the way, is awesome. It’s very rare that a show is SO FULL of amazing actors that I actually like all the characters equally. Well, I kinda like the Doc a little more than everyone else.

NEXT WEEK: Hell-A!

September 19, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, Filmpinions . Tags: . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

made from Cactus, Russel?

WEEKEND RECAP

Friday

Around 6:30, my friends Ryan and The Kidd came over to get me ridiculously baked and drive my ass to Everett. The Kidd was just taking us up there and leaving. Ryan and I would have no ride home. At the time, we weren’t concerned. There HAD to be a bus that left Everett, right? Besides, it would be a rock n’ roll adventure. Little did we know, seeing Oasis at the Everett Events Center is about the LEAST rock and roll thing a person can do.

The ride up was promising. Ryan played DJ in the backseat by spinning the best Oasis b-sides (as every Oasis fan knows, are the best Oasis tunes). The Kidd dropped us off at the Events Center around 7:45. The show had started at 7, but we couldn’t be bothered with the openers, Kasabian & Jet. I didn’t expect much hassle from the bag checkers. Why should I? The guy looked inside my bag and was set to move me along when he noticed my patches.

“Are those safety pins on your bag, ma’am?”, he asked.

“Yes. They’re holding on the patches,” I said.

“Well, you’re going to have to remove them and throw them away,” he said sternly.

“Are you serious?” I asked. “What kind of damage can a person do with safety pins?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s regulations.”

As I huffily removed all my safety pins, I muttered about how ridiculous it all was. Ryan concurred.

“Do you know how many times I’ve flown with these pins on this bag?” I asked. “They don’t even let nail clippers on airplanes but they don’t care about safety pins.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he said again. I know it’s not his fault but COME ON! Safety pins! They have the word “safety” in the name!

Anyway, even after that little annoying incident, we entered the building in high spirits. I wasn’t drinking that night on account of my stomach still feeling a bit weak, but Ryan purchased a double-fister and, this being an all-ages show, we had to stand along the wall by the concessions stand to drink them. We could hear the irritating strains of Jet as we scanned the crowd. After a while, we realized this was the WEIRDEST crowd we had seen at a show in a long time. There were Dockers everywhere. Girls in tube tops strolled along with ex-frat boys now in their early thirties. A middle-aged woman in what appeared to be a house-frock, stood along side some younger adults with beer-in-hand. A couple of guys who looked like they came right from the office strolled by. Ryan and I wondered if we had the wrong night and we were actually about to see Third Eye Blind or something. Or perhaps there is so little to do in Everett that the entire town turns up to a gig at the Events Center, no matter who’s playing. Even with the tame crowd, cops sauntered around like giant twats with moustaches, actually HASSLING the 30-somethings. One such group was asked to show their I.D.s for the beers they were holding. Another group was hassled for a good 10 minutes by two mustachioed cops. I couldn’t hear what the altercation about was about, but it was clear that these perfectly law-abiding people were being bothered for no reason. When it was obvious to the cops that they had nothing on these guys, they sauntered away, pausing to exchange smug glances with a nearby security guard. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN EVERETT! Ryan and I were definitely losing heart by this point. As Jet finished spewing their shitty Gap inspired “rock and roll”, we went in to the arena to find our seats. We were right above the floor and had thought it might be easy to sneak down TO the floor. That was before we knew there WAS no floor. What should have been a sea of people standing around waiting to be rocked, was actually row after row of folding chairs, filled with people sitting dutifully. Some people stopped in the aisles, talking to each other. A security guard came by and told them they had to sit in their seats. Are you kidding me? No one at this show was under 20 and we were all being treated like a fucking after-school day-care. The crowd continued to weird me out. To our left was a group of people who appeared to be dressed as the Kinks. They were hanging out with Mr. Kotter. A woman in a short-shirt and cowboy hat strolled by about a hundred times, stopping periodically to put her arms over her head and cheer. More people in work clothes scrambled to find their seats as the lights dimmed. The sense of normalcy came from a small gathering of English guys around my age who were excited as hell to see some boys from back home.

When Oasis came out on stage, I knew instantly that they were not going to give a good show. Their body language was heavy. They were tired. They didn’t know where they were and they didn’t care. They stared out at a half-empty arena and decided to plow through their set as quickly as possible so they could get the fuck out of there. “Where the fuck are we?” asked Noel. “Everett!”, someone shouted. “Everett? What the fuck is Everett? Is that Seattle?” he snarked. “No. I know. I went to Seattle today. It was forty-five fucking minutes away.” Later he introduced a song by saying “Ever have one of those days where everything comes together in a zenlike fashion? This is not one of those days.” He never addressed the audience again. Meanwhile, Liam was being a twat, which I love. During the guitar solos, he would come to the front of the stage and just stand there, arms crossed. At one point, he balanced his tambourine on his head. At another point, he hid behind a stack. It was all kind of funny. But I couldn’t help but feel his heart wasn’t in it. The played only two new songs. The rest of the time, they plowed through the hits like it was a Revue. The English guys didn’t care. They sang their hearts out. It was pretty cute and the only thing that really kept me entertained throughout. Oh well.

After the show, Ryan and I wandered around Everett looking for the bus station. We asked a few passers by for directions but…surprise surprise, no one was from there! In half an hour, the entire town seemed evacuated and Ryan and I were hopelessly lost. We found a Texaco station and asked for directions. The told us the bus station was 10 blocks away, but that he was pretty sure they weren’t running until morning. Everett. Finally, Ryan broke down and said he’d pay for a cab. Back to Seattle. I wasn’t going to argue. He was hoping we’d get a cool cabbie who would be interested in bartering with weed. We didn’t. $60 later, we were back in Seattle. Everett. Not going to do that again.

I was home (thanks to a kind Dom who picked me up from Ryan’s) at 1:00 and took solace a rerun of Star Trek TNG (the one with Hue!) before going to bed.

Saturday

I make no apologies for sleeping in till noon. It was fantastic. I’m pretty sure I needed the rest. Dom and I watched some TV and putted around the apartment until dinner time. Faye came over, we exchanged presents and then went to get some dinner at Toreros on Broadway. We got to the Nite Lite around 8:15. Cherry wasn’t there and we didn’t really know if we should ask about getting in the back room since she was the one who reserved it. Sherrard finally got up the courage to ask someone. We entered a fairly large room full of extremely random décor. None of the wallpaper matched. One wall was lined with shiny red and white cloth. Still, it was kinda cool. People began to stream in and the rest of the night is kind of a blur. Not because I was drunk (I only had 3 drinks!) but because people came and went constantly. Large parties like that are fun but also difficult because, if you’re hosting them, it’s impossible to talk to anyone for longer than 10 minutes at a time.

Matt bought me a drink I’d never had before called a Greyhound. I really liked it. I’m so picky about mixed drinks. A Greyhound is grapefruit juice and vodka and I think I like it more than vodka and orange. So that was cool.

Dom and I made out with some pretty cool gifts. Sherrard got me a great print of the “Rude Boy” one-sheet. The tagline for that movie is “Grab the future by its face”. I think that might be my favorite tagline of all time. Especially since it has NOTHING to do with the movie itself. Faye and I were very excited to give Sherrard his “Alone in the Dark” theme gift which included the movie, the t-shirt and a copy of “I Wish I Had An Angel”. He seemed pleased. Erin got me and Dom and copy of the Suicide Girls book, which I had bought for Ryan and was coveting. I actually knew what it was before I opened it just based on the size of the book. Kayobi got me some delicious, booze-filled chocolates. Faye got me the DVD of “Knowing Me, Knowing You with Alan Partridge”. I’m VERY excited about that. Love the Steve Coogan. Sherrard got Dom a book on Paul Verhoeven which is full of fantastic pictures and inspirational quotes from the man himself. Love the Verhoeven. Faye also got Dom a game that looks pretty cool called “Darkwatch”. Birthdays are nice.

For some reason, me, Dom, Borgia and Faye all pooped out around 12:30 and cabbed it back to the Hill. This turned out to be a highlight of the evening. The cabby had the radio on and we heard “She’s Got a Way” followed by “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips. For some reason, we were in a singing mood and we sang along to both, Faye throwing some sweet harmonies in to the latter number. The cabby said we sounded better than Wilson Phillips. Awesome. And all this fun was had sober. Who knew?

Sunday

I put together a book shelf while I watched “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2”. Then I went to yoga. After yoga, Dom and I watched the last episode of Doctor Who with Christopher Eccleston. I was very very sad at the end because SPOILER he turned into some other dude. Granted, it was a very clever way of dealing with Christopher Eccleston leaving the show without killing him off. And the new Doctor is pretty damned hot. But I doubt the new guy will be able to exude the same dangerous, sexy, creepy and charming British James-Spader-ness of Christopher Eccleston. Plus, I’m going to miss that charming Northern accent. Damnit. End Spoiler

Then I tried to finish the Jenna Jameson book before bed so I could return it to the library. I couldn’t do it. Despite being filled with (sexy) pictures, it’s also chock full of words and is taking me a long time to get through. I highly recommend it though, if you’re a fan (maybe even if you aren’t). She’s very well-spoken and has had a difficult and interesting life. The book is engaging and honest. And overdue. Doh!

September 13, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, The Printernet, The Soundtrack . Tags: . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

I lose again

A few months ago, when I got my raise and “promotion”, one of the terms of said promotion was that when we moved to the new office, we would hire a new receptionist, and I would no longer have to sit at the front counter. This would fully usher me in to the Portfolio Administrator role, and ideally, I would cease to be everyone’s butt monkey. There would be a NEW butt monkey in town and I would have my own office with a door that would prevent everyone from being all up in my business all damned day. So today, at my belated birthday lunch (since I was on liquids on my actual birthday), I mirthfully brought this up, because we will be moving to the new office at the end of the month. But lo, my sunshine was quickly blocked by a storm I like to call The Lil’est Dictator. She rained her little booty-less attitude on my parade by saying that we should really reconsider this idea, since we will have all kinds of hidden expenses from moving and whatwith the uncertainty of the upcoming company split. Valid points, to be sure. But rest assured, she would NOT have made these points if we were talking about HER. She would be fighting tooth and nail to get what she believes she deserves. Which is everything. And BECAUSE she gets everything she wants (why, I don’t UNDERSTAND. She is NOT a nice person. Yet, everyone caters to her every fucking whim), Boss Man started taking her side. He made it sound like it would be better for my interest too, because apparently the $24K a year that a receptionist would make would significantly cut into profits for, well, those guys. I’m sorry I wanted something that a) would make my life easier, b) would make me more productive for your unappreciative asses and c) WAS PROMISED TO ME. Thankfully, the Nice One was on my side and brought up a few points such as “she would be free to do more work for me” and “I think it would help all of us”. The outcome of this fun little democratic session was that now I have to WRITE SOMETHING UP that explains why I think it would benefit the ENTIRE company for us to hire a receptionist. Apparently, the next time I get a promotion, I have to get it in writing or it doesn’t count. The Nice One volunteered to add to whatever I’ve written up to strengthen the case. Regardless, if they even decide to hire a receptionist eventually, it now won’t be until “January at the earliest”. That means that it probably won’t happen before I (hopefully) put in my notice several years from now. And then they’ll have to hire TWO people. I hope that fits into their little plans.

So that was my birthday lunch. Happy fucking birthday to me. Thank you for the gift of putting me in my place once again. I’ll take that hot fudge sundae in enema form.

September 12, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, I'm Working . . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

Buddy – you are the hypochondriac

STOMACH-GATE ’05 UPDATE

Once again, my insides baffled the doctors. They took a whole bunch of unpleasant tests and left me with only theories as to what the problem could be. I am supposed to hear the results of the tests today. Her theories included appendicitis, ectopic pregnancy, some dealy where your ovaries get caught on a ligament and then twist and twist back, causing a bruise, and a complication with IBS. With the snagged ovaries, she said she has no way of knowing if this happened once the ovaries twist back, but if that’s what happened, the only thing I can do is wait and heal. She did say that she didn’t think it was anything immediately life-threatening, because, if it were, I would probably have a fever and be throwing up.

The doc put me on a liquid and soft food diet for the next 24-48 hours (depending on how I’m feeling). This is a bummer because you can’t put a birthday candle in a bowl of broth. At least the real party isn’t until Saturday. However, on account of my health) or lack-there-of, perhaps I will do a bit less of the tying on than in past years.

Later today, I will hear the results of the tests. Her leading theory is that it’s something related to my IBS. Ah, lovely. My attractiveness points are skyrocketing. Come and get ‘em, boys.

Today, I definitely feel better but my guts just feel sore. Which is a weird feeling. At least my appetite is pretty low. Otherwise I doubt I would be OK with just feeding myself hearty cups of tea and snack packs.

TOMORROW: OASIS with the illustrious Ryan!

September 8, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary . Tags: . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

mont salami ammeter collaborate terse abusive

WEEKEND RECAP: THE CONCLUSION

MONDAY

Ben, Dom, Sherrard and I arrived at Seattle Center in reasonably jolly spirits. We parked Ben’s car, paid the ridiculous parking fee, and wandered toward one of the many entrances. Around that time, Ahe called me to inquire after my whereabouts, for she was already at the main stage waiting for the Decemberists to play. Having never had a problem before, I told her I would be there momentarily, right after I picked up my ticket. I had forgotten that Will Call was on the other side of the Seattle Center. So, being the little nerds we are, we made jokes about quests and riddles that must be solved in order to enter Bumbershoot. I definitely found it strange when we arrived at Will Call, and there was a sign which read “Send only one representative up to the window, bring two forms of I.D.”. Funny, I thought I was just picking up tickets to an event, not the dossier of a top secret government official. So up to the window I went, and handed them my driver’s license and credit card. After a few minutes (!), the lady handed me my ticket. Ticket? I ordered TWO tickets. One for me and one for Dom. That, I thought, is why my credit card was charged $36 plus a service fee. Is THIS the service they were talking about? I told her that I definitely bought and paid for TWO tickets. I even got an email confirmation for said transaction which I foolishly did NOT print out because of my pathetic human faith in the robots that run the system. She asked “did you buy the tickets on the 25th?” “Yeeeeeees.” “Oh. Well, apparently, there were some computer glitches with a number of orders that day. Yours must have been one of those orders.” Ok. Any respectable business would have then said “So here’s the other ticket you ordered. Have fun!” She did not do this. Instead, she “offered” to take my credit card and call the “head office” to see if she could find a trace of the other ticket. Meanwhile, some other poor girl was going through the same bullshit at another window. She kept asking them if she could just get in there and check her email to show them she did, indeed, buy her ticket. This, again, should have been reason for them to admit mistake and just fucking hand the things over. But nay. 15 minutes later, I was called back up to the window. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we can’t find the other ticket”. “Um. Ok, how do I get my money back for the other ticket I paid you guys for?” “That’s a matter you’ll have to sort out you’re your credit card company.” “I have to call my credit card company for your computer glitch?” “Yes ma’am”. “Can I buy another ticket from you for the original, pre-day of show price?” “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” I’m sure you’re real fucking sorry lady. This was my queue to stomp away from the window and begin an impotent string of obscenities as I stormed up the street. I realize it’s probably not that particular lady’s fault, which is why I didn’t yell at HER. But, who’s fault is it? And what kind of dystopia of customer service do we live in when I have to track down retribution for a mistake that Bumbershoot ADMITS to have made?

So, this being the day of the show, the ticket prices have gone up TEN FUCKING DOLLARS. Dom kindly suggested that he just go home so I don’t have to buy another ticket. But I didn’t let him do that. I just bought another exorbitantly priced ticket for a festival that used to be free, and asked the cashier who I should call to voice my outrage about having to buy another ticket. He told me, and we entered into the pit of the hippie and frozen banana hell that is Bumbershoot.

I checked the time and saw that if we tried to see the Decemberists, we could stay for, maybe, one song before having to head over to the comedy stage to get in line. So instead we opted to buy lunch in the Centre House and cut our losses. Or rather, MY loss, and everyone else’s misfortune for being around a crabby Jessica.

By the time we got in line for Patton, I was feeling a bit better. I was still outraged, but Patton is Patton and I knew that, barring any further fiasco that would prevent me from seeing Patton, I would be ok. We were in line at 1:30 for the 3:00 show. That may seem ridiculous, but, trust me, it was necessary. After a while, Chris and his friend (whose name STILL escapes me) showed up, followed by his friend’s girlfriend and about a billion of Ben’s countless acquaintances. A few of us played cards (with my fan-made Serenity playing cards that I procured at Comic-Con. Joss’ face is on the Aces. Yes, I am a NEEERD). Andrew showed up to try and jump the queue. We did not have a problem with this, nor did any of the other hundred of people in line who’s friends were doing the same things. However, since we were at the front of the line, and because Andrew has that shifty look about him (just kidding, Galoo!), a security fellow told him he couldn’t cut. WHAT? Andrew was sent away and we never saw him again.

At 2:45, they began to let people in for the show. It was around that time that I noticed a small gathering of people on the other side of the door. Who are they, I wondered? Well, Sherrard told me. They are people who paid EXTRA for their tickets in order to receive VIP bands that allow them to get into places FIRST, regardless of how many people are in the proletariat’s line. Ah. I see. Bumbershoot is REALLY sticking with the original “music for the people” concept, aren’t they? AAAAARG. Anyway, the special people went in and we filed in after. We still got fairly decent seats, however.

The first comic who came on did not identify himself. It’s ok. He was occasionally funny and mentioned about 100 times that he was from New York. Isn’t it funny how different New York is from other parts of the country? Like, say, Seattle? That guy thought so.

Next up was Paul Gillmartin, who is none other than the Paul of Dinner and a Movie with Paul and Anabell. Yes, he is a twat on that show. Here, he was pretty funny. He did a character (Who’s name…guess what…escapes me), in which he was a Republican representative on a tour of liberal events to field questions. At first, I thought he would be taking questions from plants in the audience, but after a few questions, I realized that these were real questions from well-informed, liberal Seattle-ites, and he was giving off-the-cuff, conservative prick answers like “George Bush doesn’t hate black people. He just doesn’t think about them” and “the reason we care more about fetuses than babies that are already born is because we don’t know whether or not they’re gay yet”. I liked him. But, the whole show being only an hour long, I was eager for him to get off the stage to allow for more Patton time.

Patton. Was. Amazing. He did a few of the jokes from his album, but he always does some new stuff and he always treats each individual audience as, well, an individual audience. He also said he LOVED Seattle audiences because they’re the only ones in which every single person actually gets his jokes. He said Seattle is a beautiful city made of “unicorn tears”. He said that because of this he needed to prepare himself for touring in places like Idaho, so handed out some cards with some heckles on them and had people read the heckles after he finished a joke. Good stuff.

You know, comedy is such a BROAD subject. It doesn’t seem right that someone like Dave Coulier or Ray Romano can be considered a comic because that puts him and Patton in the same field. And they SO aren’t. Patton is more like a liberal unifier with some jokes. When I see him, I feel better about the world. If someone with those ideas can be put in a position to speak to large audiences, and maybe just one little girl or boy in Indiana or somewhere will see him and change their minds about Bush, we just might be ok. After his set, the audience gave him a very earnest standing ovation, and he thanked us profusely and humbly left the stage.

I felt pretty good after that, but I wanted to try and stick around for Eugene Mirman who was up next. For some stupid reason, they required everyone to evacuate the theatre before bringing in the next group of people. Obviously, if I went back outside and got in line, there is no way I would have gotten back in. So we tried something I’d done successfully a few years back. We hung around the bathrooms, pretending to be waiting for someone. It didn’t work this time. The big beefy security guys said that EVERYONE had to leave the theatre. OoooooK. What’s with the tight security? Just as we were giving up on the dillydally, Eugene Mirman walked RIGHT past us. I froze, trying to think of some reason to get his attention. I had nothing and he was gone before I knew it. Oh well. We lost Ben to his other friends and stood around in a daze for a while.

Finally, we decided to kill some time in the beer garden before Okkervil River. Mmmmm. $5 MGD. $6 Mike’s Hard Lemonades. They taste so much better than the reasonably priced versions. After a while, Sherrard noticed Ahe and her friends on the other side of the garden. We stared at her for several minutes attempting to get her attention but it wasn’t working. Finally, I decided to play “creepy stalker” and call her on her cell phone. I told her “I’m looking right at you,” in my best lecher voice. It would have worked better if cell phones didn’t have caller I.D. Eventually, she saw us and headed over. Our group of 15 corralled in the middle of the garden until a table opened up. One of Ahe’s friends was a PERFECT gentleman and insisted that I take his seat because he couldn’t let a lady stand. How often does THAT happen from a young male? Like…never. Unless it’s Dom. And he HAS to do that or else he’ll look bad. This was a guy I just met and it left quite an impression. Thanks, guy. I do wish I could remember names. Eventually, Team Ahe declared that they were tired of Bumbershoot, and headed off back to the Hill. Team Brugos sat in the empty chairs for a while and then it was time for the parting of ways. They were off to see some One Reel (fuckers) short films, and we were to take in some Okkervil River. On our way out of the beer garden, we passed…EUGENE MIRMAN, who was smoking and talking to some people. We paused for a bit but I could still think of nothing to say other than “Hey man, you’re jokes make me feel good inside” and so we departed.

Two songs into the Okkervil River set, we realized that they were drunk and definitely did NOT give a fuck. They were speeding and sassing through their set and, as Sherrard noted, playing their songs in album order. If they didn’t give a fuck, neither did we. Fuck you, Bumbershoot. Mostly. Sherrard is going to email Patton and request that if he comes back to Bumershoot next year, he should also play a venue outside of the ‘Shoot so that his fans don’t have to be subject to metaphorical sodomy just to see him. I hope it works.

We opted, instead, to buy Sherrard a birthday dinner at the best little Pho house in Seattle. After Pho, we pushed it a little too far by getting a drink at the Jade Pagoda, when really, we should have all just gone home and slept. This was confirmed the next day when I realized that I’d left my tab open at the bar when we left. As drunk as I get, I’ve NEVER done that before. And this time, I’d only had ONE drink. That’s how mentally exhausting this weekend was. But fun. Definitely fun.

September 8, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, The Soundtrack . Tags: . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

Feel good concussion (part 1)

WEEKEND RECAP

FRIDAY

Boss Man decided we needed a little company retreat, so my Friday started on his speed boat with my co-workers. We cruised around Lake Washington and had a grand old time taking turns being pulled in the tube behind the boat. Everyone had a grand old time except for the Lil’est Dictator, that is. She refused to put on a bathing suit because she thought it was “weird”. She also, apparently, can’t swim (file that bit of information away for a rainy day…) and was afraid that the “life jacket” wouldn’t effectively keep her boney, 90 pound ass from sinking to the bottom. Whatever.
Later, I had dinner at Palermo on 15th with Faye, Borgia, Ben, Dom and Ben’s piece du jour. :P
After dinner, we decided to play drinking games with the movies “Out Cold” and “Orgazmo” (the unrated version). Sherrard hated “Out Cold”, which is perfectly reasonable. It’s a silly movie with a cliché plot. Faye and I tried to figure out what we liked about it and the only explanation we could come up with is Zach Galifianakis. So there you have it. “Orgazmo”, on the other hand, was a hit with everybody and there’s no denying its brilliance. All I have to say about the “unrated version” is that I don’t understand what the hell the MPAA is doing. The only new bits we noticed were a few extended humping scenes (how much humping is TOO MUCH?) and a few little noises here and there. Weird, man. Anywho, it got late and Faye was supposed to meet Borgia at a bar with his friend who is deathly allergic to cats, so she couldn’t come to my house. Sherrard, being hammered at this point, challenged Dom to an Atari duel, but it never panned out and he left with Faye. I went to bed.

SATURDAY

Woke up feeling ok. Man, I miss that feeling. Dom and I watched some more Deadwood and Battlestar Galactica (THANK YOU, Ben, for getting us caught up on the new season of B.G.). Then I got a hair-brained idea that I should go to Value Village to look for brown coat. If you can’t guess why I would do that, I’m too embarrassed to tell you. Faye begrudgingly went with me. I didn’t find anything, but Faye found several cute tops that will aid her in her new persona: adorable urban cowgirl. Faye and I split for dinner with our fellas. I convinced Dom to take me to Ballet, a delicious “Asian” restaurant on Pine. Well, it’s delicious to me. Apparently, their meat dishes aren’t as orgasmic as their vegetarian ones (their mock chicken, while resembling unappealing and floppy dark meat, is tender and flavorful). Anywho, after dinner, Dom and I squeezed in one more episode of Deadwood before I rushed off to the Satellite with Sherrard to meet Ryan, Faye and Borgia. And thus the debauchery began. At the Satellite, the normally ok (but NEVER great) waiter was clearly in a bad mood and decided to take it out on our table by, well, completely ignoring it. For the first round, Borgia had to go up to the bar. After that, if we were lucky enough to get the guy to come to our table, he would inevitably leave before everyone got their orders in. I’m sure it only pissed him off further when he would return with the drinks and the person who got left out would then order something else. He only served us too full rounds and we were there for several hours. Meanwhile, he was attending to other tables like they were giving blowjobs for tips. Needless to say, we wanted to stiff him a tip, but without the proper change, we ended up giving him 12%. After that we decided to hit the Comet. We sat at one end of one of the big tables. After a while, a group of people took up the other end. Not a big deal. But then Ryan, Sherrard and Faye, who were all sitting on the same side of the table, got up at the same time to take care of their respective business. Not 5 seconds later, this girl, who already had a chair of her own, sat down in Ryan’s chair. I leaned over and said “Excuse me, that chair is taken”. She kind of glanced at me and then turned her head back toward her friends. She didn’t get up. I leaned further and said, a bit louder “Excuse me! My friend is sitting there. He just got up to go to the bar”. I looked at her friends for help. She was clearly wasted. And frankly, I was getting a bit drunk myself. Her friends looked back at me as if to say “We don’t even really like her. You’re on your own.” Finally, I got Drunk Girl’s attention. She looked at me like I was being the biggest bitch on the planet, gestured to the three empty chairs and said “Fine! You can have ALL the chairs!”. Then she sat in the empty chair on the end of the table and pulled Ryan’s chair right next to her. I tried to explain AGAIN that people were actually sitting in those chairs mere seconds before she sat down. Obviously, she was here when they were here so she would have no reason to doubt me. But she didn’t listen. So I just waited for Ryan to return. He did, and had to pull his chair away from the Drunk Girl and back to our side of the table. I told him what had happened. Later, the Drunk Girl got up and I told Ryan he should pull her chair closer to him. He did and that was when her friends decided it would be fun to fuck with her. They told him to tell her he knows “Brady”. When she sat back down, she missed the subtlety of the fact that her chair was now right next to Ryan, and he began to tell her about how he knew Brady. She believed him right away. Apparently, it was almost too easy. Especially since this girl was hammered at Brady’s wedding as well and wouldn’t have remembered Ryan if they’d made out in a broom closet. For all she knows, they DID. Wacky. By the end of the night, Drunk Girl and Ryan were best friends and she was never the wiser. After last call, we were ushered out by the Comet staff and decided that we weren’t tired enough to go home. Nay. Instead, we NEEDED to go to Faye’s house for a Dance Party right then and there. After a quick stop to QFC for some not-at-all needed beer, we headed over to Faye’s. On the way, Sherrard, who was carrying a 24-pack of bottled Weinhart’s, tripped. As he toppled to the ground, he instinctively held out the box full of glass to cushion his fall. Miraculously, only two or three bottles broke. Sherrard was embarrassed, but honestly, with the state we were all in, it could have been any one of us. At Faye’s, we began the dance party with the classic Nightwish song, “I Wish I Had an Angel”. Fans of the director Uwe Bole might recognize this song as the closing number in “Alone in the Dark”. Next up, Faye put on the ever-popular Brit Pop mix that I believe she made for A.J.’s birthday two years ago in an attempt to make him realize the genius of the English. Somehow, we got on the subject of the classic Disney film “The Electric Grandmother” and the rest of the night turned into a google party. Things got fuzzy. The next thing I knew, I was attempting to take a nap on Faye’s couch, when she clearly just wanted everyone to leave. Ryan and Sherrard convinced me that I could make it home with their help. Once inside my apartment, I saw that it was 4:30 in the morning and I knew that if I attempted to find my jammies, I would surely wake Dom. So, my drunky brain rationalized two options: 1) Sleep in my bed in my clothes or 2) Sleep on the couch in my clothes. For some reason, I decided the latter was preferable.

SUNDAY

Despite Dom kindly relocating me to the bed at 9am, I was still very much in a bad way when I was woken up at 11 with a phone call from Ryan. We had decided the night before that we would have breakfast at the Canterbury and I figured, at that point, that coffee and greasy food could only help a bad situation. Breakfast was great and hit the spot. After breakfast, I was badly in need of a nap, but there was no time. Dom and I had domestic things to do like buy bookshelves and go grocery shopping. We went to Target, but half way there, I realized that the sooner I got home and back into bed, the more likely I would be to actually DO SOMETHING that evening. So we bought a few essential groceries at Target and sped home. I definitely felt better when I woke from my nap. But after dinner, I was ready for another nap. There wasn’t time, however. Karaoke was calling. Dom and I met Ben outside of the Bus Stop, where we sadly realized that it was no longer our little secret. There were NO tables left, which isn’t surprising considering there are only, like, 5 tables in the whole joint. Luckily, we ran into our friend Rob in the street and he tipped us off about a place called Vito’s on Madison where he was headed after he “put [his] face on”. Sweet. We called the necessary parties and made our way over there. It’s a great little bar with a delightfully Mafioso atmosphere. We were met by Elyse, Gene, Andrew, Brugos and his friend who’s name escaped me because I’m an asshole who can’t remember names.
Ben, Dom and I were the last ones standing, and we headed back to the Zookster pad. Ben was staying over to ease the Bumbershoot situation the next day. For some reason, we decided to watch Reefer Madness the Musical in fast forward (i.e. only our favorite numbers) before going to bed. This resulted in me having “Listen to Jesus, Jimmy” in my head for all of Monday.

I will get into Monday tomorrow. I’m having a lot of trouble getting through this update on account of work being busy and because of having to welcome a new Baxter ailment to the fold: unexplained stomach pains! That’s right. Last night, I was getting some sharp pains in my lower abdomen. I assumed it was cramps, but as they worsened, and nothing seemed to dull the pain, I suspected they might be more. I could do very little about it but curl up into a tiny ball on my living room floor. So much for my friend’s birthday party. Sorry, Ryan. Anyway, this morning, they aren’t much better. I think I’m just used to the pain at this point. But it still hurts to walk or breath. So I’m going to the doctor at two. I can say this about my body: it’s never boring. But it does everything it can with each passing year to tell me that I should never ever pass these genes on to another human being.

September 7, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, I'm Working . Tags: . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

Too much

The long weekend was, well, long. I am working on the update but also got slammed at work. And my head hurts. I think I have a 4 day hangover. Details tomorrow.

September 6, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary . . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

chimera british postage anatomy

Holy Christ on a Cracker! I just talked to my friend Ryan and apparently for my birthday present he got me…a ticket to see Oasis at the Everett Events Center on the 9th!!!!!

I hadn't purchased a ticket for myself for a couple of reasons, not the least of which being what happened the LAST time I went to see this band. I literally almost died. Twice. First, Faye's life was endangered along with mine. We were driven up to the show by a drunk, emotionally wrecked “friend” who didn't reveal to us his inebriation until we inquired as to why he was tailgating a BUS. Later that evening, I was nearly trampled by moshing frat boys and I had to crawl to the back of the Paramount, losing, in the process, my favorite maroon cardigan. Needless to say, this incident colored my feelings toward large concerts, the aforementioned “friend”, and Oasis themselves who did nothing to quell the rambunctiousness of the crowd. (I guess I was spoiled by punk rock acts like Avail who would actually refuse to keep playing if anyone in the audience was hurt by or in danger of being hurt by another person).

Regardless of these past feelings, I am now finding myself pretty damned excited for the show. Maybe Oasis live will be redeemed.

Thank you, Ryan! And Happy Birthday to me!

August 30, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, The Soundtrack . . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

Your Account Statement is Ready to View buttock

WEEKEND RECAP

FRIDAY

We began the evening by stopping at the Shitty Market in our old hood for movie snacks, before strolling down to Pacific Place to see The Brother’s Grimm. I was delighted to find not only BOTTLES of Blackthorn’s for sale, but also CANS of Strongbow. I felt like I was back in London for a brief moment. The Strongbow beckoned me and I had to purchase a 4-pack for the movie.
Oh Terry Gilliam. How the mighty have fallen. The movie wasn’t BAD certainly. But one has come to expect more from such a man than a cliché script, fairly ho-hum visuals and a whole bunch of jokes about the French. There were one or two cool Gilliam-esque special effects and I must say that the acting was, for the most part, enjoyable. Matt Damon isn’t terrible, even if his accent is (it’s reminiscent of a region of England that Meep would call Genericshire). Heath Ledger was only as annoying as his lines, though he played his character inexplicably gay. Perhaps he was preparing for his upcoming gay cowboys eating pudding film? Jonathan Pryce was, well, Jonathan Pryce, and therefore great, if not underused. It was delightful to see Gareth, even though he is well on his was to Type-cast Town. Overall, however, the film was a bit of a yawn, and that hurts coming from the man who made Time Bandits. It was almost saved by a hinted-at moment of homoeroticism, but they chickened out. Damn you, PG-13!
Meep, Dom and I all felt similar about our luke-warm feelings toward the film. Borg liked it. Krk, a die-hard Python and Gilliam fan, was pretty devastated. So devastated, in fact, that he could only go home and go to bed. The rest of us went back up the hill for a late-night snack and drink at the Canterbury. I was only two Strongbows ahead of everyone else. The Canterbury was fairly uneventful apart from the French-fry orgy.

SATURDAY

I had planned to go to yoga but I decided to forgo exercise for finishing Season One of Battlestar Galactica. As most of you know, it ended in true That-Carnivale-Guy fashion by making everything very open-ended and effed up. Thanks, guy! Even if you are sometimes mediocre, you really know how to leave your audience hungry for more. Luckily, Ben is going to get us caught up on Season Two thanks to his TeVo.
I did my yoga video, which is in no way as intense as the Bikram, but still reasonably effective, and then we got ready to go to Brugos’ Birthday Dodecacathelon. Oh happy day! We loaded the DDR in the car and the Troika + Sherrard headed Brugos-way for a day of games and drinking!
Well, games for everyone else. For me and Meep, it was all DDR all the time. Some of the games we didn’t participate in included Tang (something to do with speed-drinking), Egg-Tossing, Botchee Ball (sp?), and Keg Stands. To our surprise, Sherrard took part in the Keg Stands not once, but TWICE, consequently propelling him into instant drunkenness very early on. The party was, as Sherrard pointed out, a Sausage Fest. The result of this is many many drunken, shirtless men running around being obnoxious. This isn’t as sexy as it sounds. But I didn’t care. I was playing DDR. Meep and I got in round after round. For a long time uninitiated people would periodically pop their heads in and laugh at us before running to the backyard to binge drink. Eventually, a nice, open-minded couple (of course I’ve forgotten their names) who’d never DDR’d before showed up and were intrigued. They played a few rounds, and before long, they were just as addicted as us. The guy actually turned out to be some sort of prodigy, going from “beginner” mode to “light” (which is a fucking misnomer if I’ve ever heard it) mode with ease. Before long, he was playing everyone in light mode while they stayed on beginner and was KILLING the competition. Amazing. After dinner, Meep and I started drinking. For a while, the alcohol seemed to be helping. But only for a little while…
Things started to get a little hazy after that. I noticed the house was getting pretty trashed. I feel kinda bad for the Birthday Boy, who doubtless spent all day yesterday hung over and cleaning. I know there were conversations in the backyard, people eating raw eggs and running laps, a pie-eating contest, Borg, and some other guy jamming in the basement with Dom on drums. Meep and I sang “El Scorcho”. There was some playing with Brugos’ cat, Lucy. There was a crazy Russian guy who broke all Keg Stand records (I think his best was 45 seconds or something) and then passed out on the lawn. There were some drunk jerks (who were probably jerks sober as well) running around insulting people. There were some drunken declarations of admiration (in which I participated). And finally, there was karaoke on the X-Box. The selection was rather limited but I sang not one, but TWO Skid Row songs and had a fucking blast. I also got in a horrific rendition of “Cum On Feel the Noise”. Luckily, I got help on both that song and “I Remember You”. I need more butt rock on our at-home karaoke system, man. It reminded me of sophomore year of college when I hung out with Beth, Allison, Ann and KT at their on-campus house. Erik would pull out the acoustic guitar and we would sing all the butt-rock favorites until the sun came up. I’m telling you, Warrant is the perfect campfire sing-a-long band.
ANYWAY, at 2 or so (I think), poor Dom had to drive all our hammered asses back to the hill. At least I’m pretty sure he had a good time before people became incoherent.

SUNDAY

I may have had two bottles of Cook’s to myself, but it was over the course of 10 hours (yes, the party was that long. Longer, in fact, as we arrived late. THAT is why everyone was so useless by the end of the night.) That and sweating out the booze as I dance dance revolutioned all night. Furthermore, Dom was an angel with the water-bringing. So all I needed was to sleep in till 11 and I was fine.
Sunday was mine and Dom’s 3-year anniversary. Our big plans started with beginning Deadwood Season One. Then we showered and went to the Interbay Golf Course for some mini-golf. The weather held up nicely. Mini-golf was fun apart from the 4-5 year-old girl and her grandma who were speeding through the holes behind us and chasing us through the course. We would have let them play through but they would finish their last hole when we were ¾ through our hole and so it seemed like waiting would take forever. Instead, we finished the whole course in under an hour. Then we stopped at Fred Meyer in Ballard for a quick, romantic shopping trip, before going to dinner at Louis’ Chinese Restaurant. The food was really good, but about half-way through our meal, it became family hour. After dinner, we decided to drive to the U-District to see if we could catch a movie. We decided on The Aristocrats. See Mark, we DO see indie films in the theatre sometimes! We probably should have picked something else though. In retrospect, it seems like a waste to spend $9 on a mini-DV documentary. Overall, the film was interesting, but really not that funny. It wasn’t OFFENSIVE or anything. It was just kind of mediocre humor. Plus, I’m not a very big fan of most of the comedians they featured. Give me the Comedians of Comedy over Drew Carey any day. Plus, I don’t think I like seeing comedies with American audiences. They are so eager to laugh that they don’t really stop to think if the joke is funny or not. They just recognize the fact that they’ve just heard a punch line and so they laugh right on cue. This is, I think, why Meep, Dom and I tend to find ourselves laughing out loud in a silent theatre and vice versa. We actually LISTEN to what’s being said and, if it strikes us as funny, we laugh. It can’t be that our sense of humor is SO VASTLY different than the rest of the country’s, can it?

And thus endeth the anniversary date and the weekend.

NEXT WEEKED: Meep and I celebrate a finished script, and I take Sherwood to Bumbershoot for his Birthday.

August 29, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, Filmpinions, Hug Your Television . Tags: , , . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

Titular

Last night DZ and I went to a free screening of the film The Baxter, the movie that gives my surname a turkey-like connotation. The director, Michael Showalter, was to be in attendance. In the interest of protecting the innocent (us), I shall heretofore use pseudonyms for the antagonists of the story. As DZ and I waited in line, we were shocked to witness a rare event: A prominent figure in the local film making scene. Let’s call him James Lipton, was HIMSELF checking people’s names off the list. “Oh great,” I said to DZ. “This should be interesting,” I thought to myself. Mr. Lipton approached us and took our names. As I suspected, he recognized DZ’s name (from the numerous times DZ has sought out assistance from him, or invited him to a screening of OURS to no avail. The following exchange took place between DZ and Mr. Lipton as I stood off to the side willing my eyes to stop rolling.

Lippy: DZ! You do animation, right?
DZ: Uh…no. But I make movies.
Lippy: (with a look of complete, smarmy ignorance) And when am I going to see one of your movies?
DZ: Well, we submitted one to One Reel.
Lippy: Oh yeah? Which one was yours?
DZ: Snow Day, Bloody Snow Day.
Lippy: Ah yes. I remember that one. It was good. You came very close. But as I said in my [rejection] email, we had to make room for a lot of retrospective stuff. That takes up around six hours of programming. (DZ nods). Well, keep making movies!

I don’t actually remember what he said as a closing statement. It might not have been “Keep making movies”. But around the time he said “We HAD to make room for a lot of retrospective stuff”, my ears filled with blood and I went deaf with rage. I’m sure whatever he said was equally as dismissive. You HAD to make room for retrospective stuff?! Because there’s not enough of THAT in Seattle? It’s not like we have TWO THEATRES dedicated to showing retrospective works or anything. Who wants a film festival dedicated entirely to the works of local filmmakers? That would be BORING. I’m really glad Meep wasn’t there to see that. Actually, I’m NOT glad she wasn’t there because it would have been REALLY cool to see her shoot laser beams out her eyes and make his head explode. Sure, it would have been messy, but SOOOOO worth it.

Anyway, that little incident concluded, we went into the theatre and settled in for the movie. Another nemesis (a local editor who is EEEEEVIL), sat down across the aisle from us. Lippy came down to the front of the theatre to introduce the movie, doing his usual sycophantic/morning D.J. shpiel of getting the audience to repeat things back to him and cheer for various other projects that the director has been involved in. For the record, I only conceded out of my admiration for the director in question. Anywho, the movie began and I could tell immediately that it was going to be very different from Wet Hot American Summer or Stella. It was very subdued. Very quiet. Almost formulaic. But the cast was spot on and there were many little quirky moments of Stella-ness (non-televised Stella, I might add) thrown in. Justin Theroux was HILARIOUS. The man has got the looks AND the comedic chops. I was pleased to see Peter Dinklage in a role that doesn’t make reference to his stature. He is a very fantastic, understated actor. Many of the Stella/State favorites were there including David and the other Michael, Zach Orth, Joe Lo Truglio, A.J. Miles and even Ken Marino! And I don’t care what anybody says, I like Michelle Williams. She is really very good at being cute and likable. Sometimes it’s hard to look past her Jen Lindley years, but I think she definitely put Jen behind her in this movie. Overall, I would say that the film is worth watching at least twice, but I definitely prefer the Wet Hots of the world. As far as romantic comedies go, however (being a genre that I typically find intolerable), it was very enjoyable and just quirky enough to keep me from losing interest.

After the movie, Lippy introduced Mike Show who is surprisingly reticent without the company of his Stella cohorts. I was also a bit taken aback at seeing him, not only NOT in a suit, but dressed in a very indie looking plaid shirt and jeans. I’m sure he doesn’t wear a suit every day, but I’d gotten so used to seeing him like that. Anyway, Lippy asked his own questions for a while before opening it up to the floor. Here’s where the REAL fun started. God, I hate James Lipton audiences. They try so hard to ask questions that sound insightful and original, but instead they come off as snobbish or sycophantic or just plain crazy.

When Lippy mentioned the editing of the film, Eeeeeevil Editor actually CLAPPED. Why? Because he wanted Lippy and Show to acknowledge HIM. And it WORKED. “Oh, are you an editor?”, asked Lippy? WHO CARES? This isn’t YOUR Q&A! Later, Eeeeevil Editor asked a question about the editing and you could tell that he wanted Show to ask him a question in return. “That’s how WE edited The Baxter. How do YOU edit YOUR movies, Eeeeevil?”

Other stupid questions included:
“Did you have a dwarf in mind when you were writing the wedding planner character?” Answer: No.
A question about the plot that I won’t go into detail about for risk of spoilers, but rest assured that anyone who paid attention to the film would have already known the answer.

And finally…”When is The State coming out on DVD?”
Answer: “I don’t know.”

There were a few good questions in there too. Not everyone at these things is developmentally challenged. Someone asked if “the Baxter” is a real term. Answer: “No. I made it up.” Essentially, Show wanted a word that sounded nebbish and square and a bit old fashioned and that’s what he came up with. The person who asked the question said “Well, I think it works perfectly”. HEY!!!! But yes, it does. Damn.

Someone asked why Show decided to go it alone on this one and he answered that it’s a story he’s been thinking about for a while and it’s basically another side of him that he’s wanted to explore. But he can’t really do that with the other guys around because it always ends up being about dildos and necrophilia. Heh.

I really want to know what these directors think of James Lipton when they come to Seattle. Do they think he’s a tool? Do they think that he revered by all the people that are on his list? Do they think he’s a swell guy?

Despite all my bitching, I would say that it was an enjoyable experience. It was a good movie which I will see again (with Meep, whose crush on Justin Theroux is doubtless going to skyrocket) and it was cool to see a different side of Michael Showalter. But damn that James Lipton.

August 26, 2005
Categories: Dear Diary, Filmpinions, I Made Movies . . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

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