Where was I?

Oh that’s right…before all this yelling and screaming I was reporting on the last festival I attended. I seriously doubt that at this late date (seeing as how I’ve spent the last 4 weeks partying my fucking ass off) that I’ll be able to recount all of the things that happened….

So… I guess I’ll just give you the highlights…..in the manner that I remember the events….

…sometime after the beer tent closed and the restaurant refused to give us more pitchers of Margaritas…we stumbled our way back to the room and had a small blaze session. We were running low on weed and on cash… and there is still more than 18 hrs to go at this festival….this is what it’s all about, people!

FLASH…the next thing I know we’re walking through downtown… on our way to the awards ceremony. This will be like my 5^th awards ceremony in less than 6 months and believer you me, there is not much to look forward to.

As we approach the front of this museum/concert hall who’s name I can’t remember I get a bad feeling. For starters, I haven’t seen this many cops in one place since the Krispey Kreme truck rolled over on the 405. And there’s this fence/wire-barrier thing around the entrance and half of the street. I guess they think that this thing is going to get like hella crowded…yeah, sure it is.

It’s me, The Professor, Det. Budd, Johnny Sabado….yes, our team has dwindled…but c’mon it’s playoff season….how many guys really get off the bench? We get inside and head straight to the bar and wouldn’t you know it’s nothing but domestic beer for the most part. What is the deal with AZ? Is this really how you motherfuckers roll?

So we’re pounding beers and eating pigs in blankets are whatever-the-fuck-else is on the tray and we are not making friends. Now don’t get me wrong, I totally want to climb on top of the chick working the fondue table…but it’s really hard to get shit happenin’ at a film festival…trust me on this.

We meander outside and it’s a sad scene. Amateur dancers and some sort of drum circle. Oh look, it’s another capoeira demonstration. We’re standing here watching this shit… and after about 10 minutes Johnny Sabado says “man...are there any changes in this tune?”… The Professor chimes in “no dude! My boy ‘Lama used to live above a Capoeira studio...and this is their title track and their greatest hits album” It’s a sad scene.. I mean I’m sitting here watching this thing…watching the Capoeira C-team take turns not even coming close to hitting the guy he’s fighting/dancing with and then The Professor goes on a rant…

THE PROFESSOR
“Now I don’t wanna come right out and say these guys suck dick, ‘cuase I don’t know ‘em like that...but let’s just say from what I’m lookin’ at here….I’m fucking totally fucking awesome at Tekken, because I can do hella more shit with Eddie Gordo than these sorry motherfuckers...and he ain’t even my favorite character.”

The crew busts up laughing, that has to be the comment of the night.…I mean you know your reality has come full circle when you can bust on someone because your fighting game skills give you the right to talk shit on a capoeira dancers (are they dancers or fighters… I’m confused). The rowdiness continues.

Next thing we know there some funny lookin’ white guy in like a jester’s outfit on stilts. He’s a redhead and he’s got this red goatee that he’s like playing with…and he’s holding an instrument of some type. He’s like a refugee from the fucking renaissance fair and I’m really not digging him. My description is a little off because I really didn’t get that close to the guy…he was really freakin’ the shit out of me and I was sure that after a few more beers that I was gonna kick him into the capoeira circle and see who really had game. And then Johnny Sabado approached the guy and asked him if he was granting wishes. It was totally money and I was glad that I was running with the dogs… I mean we’re probably going to wind up in jail at the rate this is going, but I don’t care.

Det. Budd gives me the look and next thing I know we’re all heading back to the parking structure (it’s really only like a 50 yard walk… but that’s like hella far when you’ve been drinking all day). We’ve picked up a straggler who I suspect just wants to blaze for free. We don’t really care because there are less cool people at this thing than a crochet convention so we let him follow us. At some point our 19 yr old drug dealer and her 17 yr old sister joined the group (for all I know they’ve been here all along).

So we are on the roof, blazing.. telling lies. The slick guy is putting the moves on one of the young girls and I’m really not digging this…I mean if I’m not getting’ laid…nobody is getting’ laid (and fuck you…he ain’t in the clique so that does not count as a cock blocking). Anyway we’re smoking and the slick guy begins to go to work on me. He’s got connection, he’s got influential friends and I think I heard him say that his farts can be used as an alternative fuel…I don’t know… he was running mad game. Yada fucking yada… I’ve been snowed by the best. I let him talk… nod my head and play along. It’s been my experience that you just let them keep talking…sooner or later they say something stupid.

FLASH…now we’re back at the “party”...more bad dancing, jester-stilts guys and all that shit. I get another beer and low and behold I see the slick guy talking to some brother in a suit with a kid in a stroller. He looks over at me and gives me a nod like “I’ll be right over”.. he finishes sipping his wine and comes right over to me.

He speaks quickly… telling me who this man is, and why I need to speak to him. He’s one of the check writers for the best short film competition. He’s got a post-production initiative the he self-funds. He’s supposed to be the guy to talk to… next thing I know I am being introduced to the guy. This money guy is in the middle of a story that he is telling to a group of 6 or 8 filmmakers who seem ready to drop to their knees and lick his balls if the opportunity arises (I’m not going out like that yo!). Then he abruptly finishes his story and puts me on the spot.

MONEY GUY
“So…you are a filmmaker?”

COOPRDOG
“That’s what it says on my badge”

MONEY GUY
“And you have a film in competition?”

COOPRDOG
“Yes…Sex, Love & Z-Parts”

MONEY GUY
“Oh yes, your one of the shorts nominated for the award….I might be handing you a check.”

COOPRDOG
“Is there something that you want to tell me…cause you know, if you’re shy…you can whisper it in my ear.”

The money guy cracks up as does everyone else (why is it so surprising when I say something funny? I am a writer people…fuck!). He spills his guts to me about his funding initiative and his mission. He’s a really nice guy…but what the fuck am I going to do with $150K in digital grants….I need $4MM baby!

We bounce away from this guy after exchanging business cards and then the slick guy comes up to get his props…which I have to give to him. I mean his Money guy is not a lead for what we want to do… but he did deliver like he said…and he did it in less than an hour….I really can’t hate on this guy…

FLASH…

Now we are inside….seated… waiting for the award show to start. But due to the fact that we’ve been drinking since the first Bush Administration… we’re all nodding off. And please turn down the fucking PA system….I mean can you motherfuckers keep it down…I’m trying to win a fucking award over here. We endure a plethora of stories….bad stand up….and then guess what… not only do we not win… but we weren’t even nominated. See, it is a fucking conspiracy! I wake up the dogs and tell them that it’s time to ride. We make a loud exit amid stares and hushed comments…Like I fuckin’ care…bitch, I about to be all kinds of famous!

FLASH…

We’re in this bar… it’s underground… and there’s nothing but red light and lots of smoking. The boys are in rare form… swinging at everything that moves. The Professor is chattin’ up this chick. He’s working hard for the money like his name was Donna.

Det. Budd is hatin’ on him. I don’t really know what the fuck his deal is. The Professor comes back to the table to get another drink. He’s more focused than John Holmes on a Saturday night and I’m rootin’ for him…I mean a line drive is a line drive.. I don’t care who’s pitchin’…..-. And then it happens…

DET. BUDD
“You know you don’t have shot right?”

THE PROFESSOR
“Oh really? And why is that tough guy?”

DET. BUDD
“‘Cause she’s a Les-b-ian!”

The table erupts in laugher as The Professor is in denial.

DET. BUDD
“C’mon...say it with me… Les-b-ian!”

THE PROFESSOR
“No way, she’s digging me!”

DET. BUDD
“The only thing she’s digging is a hole in the fur, baby.”

THE PROFESSOR
“No way… are you sure?”

DET. BUDD
“Listen…maybe in Washington State….you like your women in wife beaters with transmission fluid on their jeans…but that’s not what we would call a heterosexual female here in the southland..”

The table howls as The Professor concedes defeat….

FLASH..

Me and Det. Budd are arguing with some so-called filmmakers...and one of these guys if French or Brazilian or Russian… I don’t fuckin’ know, it was dark and he had an accent.. He’s baggin’ on Sex-Love saying that Americans lack creativity. I crush my pint and break out my PSP and hit him with the trailers…he says they’re ok.. but a little amateurish. He suggest that I read a few more books before wasting my crews time. I return the favor by suggesting that he might want to get some dental insurance so it doesn’t look like he’s been chewin’ the bumper of a ’57 Chevy. We called it a draw and go our separate ways.

FLASH…. We’re eating slices in some sort of pizza joint. This really “handsome” chick is making eyes at me (and by handsome…I mean ugly)…and I’m like “fuck it, I don’t live here”…I crush the remainder of my Fresca (I’m so not lying…they were out of everything).. next thing I know Det. Budd is having some type of an intervention for me.

DET. BUDD
“Do you really want to do this?”

COOPRDOG
“Dude, I ready to punish her”

DET. BUDD
“I understand that you want to put on your dreadman costume...and make her read obscure dictionary entries as your lay a new section of the Alaskan pipeline”

COOPRDOG
“Wow… you do listen to me.”

DET. BUDD
“Always baby…but let’s thing about the last time you did this.”

COOPRDOG
“Don’t start…”

DET. BUDD
“You seem to not remember how you had to hide in your house and fake your own death.”

COOPRDOG
“I did not fake my death.”

DET. BUDD
“No, you didn’t…you parked your Z on the side of the road and smeared it with bloody road kill all over the door and windshield and then disappeared for a few weeks.”

COOPRDOG
“I mean it had to look convincing”

DET. BUDD
“I know… but how do you get hit by your own car and not leave a body….it was just fuckin’ weird man.”

COOPRDOG
“So what’s your point?”

DET. BUDD
“Look… if you are going to fake your death and ruin your paint job…she should have a nicer ass… that’s all I’m saying…”

FLASH… I’m in the room. It’s morning… the sunlight is so fucking loud…ok, that kind of doesn’t make sense… but I was drinking Killabitch…so, it’s possible…

We checked out and fled the state before anyone started to talk about what really when down……I can’t wait to go back to AZ!