You're right. That's so not a me kind of title for a blog entry. It's a Larry kind of title, but since he's in L.A. with me and didn't bring a laptop, I'm stealing his spirit.

Speaking of which, here's the end of the question that's beleagured us all for months: Do Larry's knees still fit in Al Jolson's?




This will be a short entry. It's 2:07 in the morning, which means it's 5:07 in the morning, and as soon as the syringe under my arm warms up, I'm shooting up and collapsing.

The flight was delayed. We missed the filmmakers' reception that we figured we'd probably miss anyway. Walked a few blocks from the hotel to Mel's Diner at 2AM or something, where I had a Cobb Salad (item 1 on my hometown food list) and lectured Larry on Cobb Salads.

This morning was the filmmakers' hang at Starbucks. Met up with David Henderson (costume and makeup on I Love You, I'm Sorry, And I'll Never Do It Again, whose film Ghost Story is also here, met Cara O'Shea again (her film Aesop's Diner, which was shot only a few blocks from the ILY location, is here, but it'll play after we've flown out), were introduced to a few more Withoutabox filmmakers, and had several great, intense conversations about art with an Italian filmmaker named Linda, which culminated in our getting up and asking where a bookstore was, so we could look up "art" in an unabridged dictionary.

There is no bookstore. Welcome to Los Angeles, someone quips.

Met up with Dave, the guy who made my promotional DVDs. I haven't viewed them yet, but I have them here if I need them.

Our screening was in the 2:30 block of short films, and Blake showed up partway through, before Credo started, and joined us.

It was the best sound system I think I've ever heard Credo on. There were sounds I'd almost forgotten I layered into the mix, since I haven't heard them at any of the other festivals. It was thrilling. And okay, they got the aspect ratio wrong, and Larry took that as evidence that he's actually as wide as the Larry in his head, but with a sound system like that... we all agreed it was a great final festival for us to be at.

We accepted some very touching compliments afterwards, and then caught Ghost Story in its block of films, but ducked out before the block was over in order to drive out to the Malibu Pier (calling home along the way to say goodnight to Butchie and Macky) and see Patrick Hogan's Pope Dreams, a beautiful little film about a young musician. I was very impressed by it at every level; I hope it gets distribution. (And what a gorgeous night on the pier for an outdoor screening.)

Patrick is doing me a favor on ILY, which I'll tell you about soon, and part of me wishes he wasn't, because then my motivation for praising his movie couldn't be doubted. It's great.

And then met up with Dawn at the Broadway Deli in Santa Monica, and I got to see my New York and Los Angeles friends at one table, which gives me the same feeling as when I was a kid, and a character from one TV show would show up on another.

My syringe has been warm for a few minutes, so this entry has no ending.

But I will say that L.A. no longer feels like home. Now it's just where Daddy comes from.

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