A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Free moustache rides

Apropos of nothing, here's me and the deadCenter folks cultivating our mouth gardens at Maggie Mae's in Austin earlier this month:

Blow it out your ass, Keith Hernandez.

Almost forgot

So I'm in line for...something at the Alamo, and there's a guy and a girl in front of me from New York, The girl is holding forth, very passionately, on the subject of prescription drugs in the water supply:

Random Girl: So there was this report in the New Yorker about how there's all these drugs in the public water supply, because the filtration plants can't separate it all out.
Random Dude: Oh yeah?
RGSo just think about it: the water you drink could contain Xanax...Paxil...Prozac...[glances in my direction]
Pete: Sweeeet
RG: [baleful stare]
Pete: What brand of cigarette is that you're smoking?

To be fair, we struck up a conversation after that and they were both very nice folks. I just like that the smoker would be worried about the threat of impurifying their precious bodily fluids.

Oversize me

I swear, every other vehicle on I-10 coming back into town today was a truck carrying an "Oversize Load." As if my windshield didn't have enough cracks already.

First of all, my wireless access in Austin was shit-tay these last few days. Posting that entry on Sunday was the last time I've been online until today, so I apologize to everyone I didn't hook up with.

Sunday night was what I'll call the "Cautionary Example" evening. I played Rock Band for the first time at the FT party. My debut performance was singing Weezer's "Say It Ain't So," and according to the game, I am a "messy" vocalist. The party was held in the BSide offices up on Brazos, with such luminaries as Doug Super High Me Benson and Michael Melvin Goes to Dinner Blieden in attendance. Cacky and Melissa from deadCenter showed up about halfway through and spirited me away to the Alamo South for the Nerdcore Rising premiere and then to Maggie Mae's. The last four two hours of that evening are something of a blur, but I managed to make it back to the hotel without incident.

Rising at the crack of noon, I lurched over to the Alamo Ritz to take my place in line for Explicit Ills, sort-of starring Paul Dano and Rosario Dawson. From there it was on to the Paramount to line up for Forgetting Sarah Marshall, the latest from the Apatow gang.

There was already some talk about the growing trend of studios/filmmakers saving seats at their SXSW premieres (apparently only about 12 badge holders got into Explicit Ills on Saturday), and after getting into Sarah Marshall, Mark, Don, and I noticed that at least 100 seats had been blocked off by Universal for cast, crew, and contest winners. We at FT aren't in the habit of sending the entire crew to the same movie (unlike certain other web sites), but it's become something of a tradition for us to attend at least one premiere together (last year was Knocked Up). Seeing all the reserved seats soured us a bit on the experience, however, and Mark and I elected to bail, in the hopes that at least two of the couple hundred still lined up would be able to enjoy the film.

And it allowed us to join the Rainbow Around the Sun crew for more drinkage. Don got out of Sarah Marshall and we checked out...another Rock Band party, this one thrown by Next New Networks. Drinks were free, and I was fully prepared to give my all to "Suffragette City," but unclear technical issues ended the gaming early (perhaps Bowie, fearing my mad skillz, threw a wrench into the works somehow. Mark did take his shirt off to promote the site, however. So that's...something. After that it was to the apparently doomed Ginger Man for a few farewell beers.

As always, I have returned from SXSW in need of extended detox and a couple days' sleep. And the hope that I never hear the word "mumblecore" again.

Deep in the heart of South By

Rolled into Austin Friday afternoon, and - in the words of Diamond Dave - I hit the ground runnin'. Four movies under my belt so far (The Wife was in town last night, and we reconnected with some old friends, so no movie fun for me until this afternoon).

Only one review up - Rainbow Around the Sun, directed by one Kevin Ely, who - as some of you may recall - gave yours truly a ride home from a party at last year's deadCenter Film Festival. I don't like to think how awkward OKC would have been this year if I hadn't liked the movie.

Forthcoming reviews include The Upsetter: The Life & Music of Lee "Scratch" Perry, The Order of Myths (about Mardi Gras in Mobile, AL), and We Are Wizards (about various aspects of Harry Potter fandom, including wizard rock and Potter War).

That last movie introduced me to the works of Brad Neely of SuperDeluxe.com, who created the online video "Washington, Washington," which earned me several raised eyebrows as I just now watched it, laughing my ass off, here in the Austin Convention Center. You can see it here (NSFW).

I don't want to shut down, as I have one of the only seats down here with access to a power outlet, but in the words of Louis Tully, I gotta have a shower. More movies today, then the Film Threat party (in association with BSide Entertainment) tonight. This year, I will not drink 8 vodka & Red Bulls.

I hope.

The Aust Weekend

Spent this last weekend in Austin for the beginning of South by Southwest. Several of the Film Threat guys flew in as well, and I spent most of the two days in question either drinking with them or drinking with some friends living in town. The common thread, of course, being drinking, and the inescapable realization that I now require almost a full day of recovery for sessions of this magnitude. Getting old rules.

Unlike Sundance, FT doesn't pay my transportation (I drive) or lodging (assorted couches). As a result, I have less guilt when it comes to spending an entire afternoon sitting in the back of the Ginger Man, drinking Anchor Steam and reading magazines instead of watching movies. I have several screeners that I'll review in the next few days, but this weekend especially was way too nice to lurk in darkened theaters.

Had my requisite celebrity sighting, exchanging pleasantries with Henry Rollins on the escalator at the Convention Center, so the trip wasn't a total waste of time.

Some of you are probably wondering how SXSW differs from Sundance, so I'll offer a few of my observations that I came up with while avoiding eye contact with people at the Film Threat booth during Mark's interviews.

1. SXSW features a lot more rockabilly types. Whether this is a function of movies like Jam and Tales of the Rat Fink playing this year or not, I don't know, but there was a definite glut of guys with flame tattoos on their arms and girls in pigtails sporting wife beaters.

2. Sun. It was 86 degress on Saturday, and I took great pleasure in watching my California brethren struggling to find something comfortable amidst their predominantly black wardrobes.

3. Cheaper and stronger beer, and - by an order of magnitude - more places to drink it. Then again, Austin is a college town with a population of almost 700,000 people, making it nearly 100 times larger than Park City. On a related note, if you get drunk and accidentally pass out in front of your hotel, you're unlikely to die of exposure.

4. SXSW takes itself less seriously than Sundance, which is evident in the kind of films screened. Personally, I think movies like Air Guitar Heroes or Darkon would've killed at Sundance, but there's always an underlying sense that they should stick with more "serious" fare. Their loss.

5. The fact that you can drink in two of the Austin venues (both Alamo Drafthouses) scores a thumbs-up from most of the assembled festival goers, with the flipside being that the seats in the Austin Convention Center are more uncomfortable than even the dread ass manglers of the Yarrow Hotel press rooms.

6. Austin traffic may suck, but I can usually find a place to park within a few blocks of the Convention Center if I hunt around for 10 or 15 minutes (and, unlike some, I don't mind parking near the homeless shelter). I wouldn't even bother bringing a car to Sundance.

7. I used to live in Austin, so the comfort level is understandably greater. I know my way around town, and if I want to disengage myself from all the BS going on, I can just walk a mile or two and be pretty much free of my fellow laminate-wearers.

8. Waterloo Records

That was about as far as I got before I actually had to start answering questions.

The Dirty South by Southwest

I think that should about do it for "south" puns. For this year, anyway.

The "Film Threat Sucks!" panel was fun, even if some guy named Gore did the majority of the talking. I told an anecdote about the trials and tribulations of being an online critic and generally limited myself to making snarky asides to what other people were saying. Essentially, it was live-action blogging. Still, I had several people come up to me yesterday and tell me how much they liked the panel. I also think I gave tentative agreement to come up to a film festival in Oklahoma City. That'll teach me to talk to industry people while hung over.

Speaking of hangovers, things got a bit hazy after the Jesus Is Magic screening Saturday night (review pending). I hit the Hooligans after party at Maggie May's with some of the guys, and was actually on my way back to the car when I got word from Eric that he was at some place called the Red Fez with some of the organizers of the Sidewalk Film Festival. Being horribly underdressed for a Saturday night on 6th Street (shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers) I immediately headed over there. The Fez is a great club, if you like watching couples simulate sex to Nelly played at 120 db. Needless to say, I kept the whiskeys coming at rapid pace. From there it was to a quick trip to Magnolia Cafe (where we saw a very forlorn Zach Galifianakis waiting for Brian Posehn to come out of the bathroom), and then getting dropped off at my friend Stacey's place at 4:15 AM.

Spent most of yesterday afternoon lurking at the FT DVD booth, sucking off the wireless connection at the Convention Center and making frequent trips to the restroom. A bunch of us went to check out an pre-release party for Be Here to Love Me, about the life of Townes Van Zandt. I'll have pictures when I get my shitty disposable camera to Walgreen's, but for now all I have to say is, "Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Joe Ely, and Lyle Lovett all on the same stage singing 'White Freightliner Blues.'"

Was planning on going to the Comedians of Comedy and then the after-party, but real life came up, so now I am back in Houston. I have a robust headache and a decent sunburn, but I had a great time.

Though not as good a time as I'll have in Oklahoma, I'll warrant.

Apologies to Melanie, however, for not being up for breakfast. I hope she'll believe me when I say I wouldn't have been the best company.

P.S. You won't be able to check out the latest Star Wars Report today because the Film Threat server is acting up, so let me just take this opportunity to say it's the greatest thing I've ever written. And you are intellectually poorer for not being able to read it.

South by Southwest of heaven

Just met Patton Oswalt. He’s a really cool fellow. Also reminisced with the Dallas Observer’s Robert Wilonksy about our days together on the Daily Texan. Back when dinosaurs ruled the earth.

I always appreciate how much more relaxed SXSW is compared to Sundance. The out-of-towners appreciate it even more, except for the dipshit in the press lounge complaining about the Texas heat. It’s 72 degrees outside, asshole. The guy makes me sound like a Bedouin. It almost makes me wish they held this thing in August.

Last night’s penultimate Slobberbone gig was, shall we say, disappointing. It was great to see them after such a long time, I admit, but they really were just going through the motions. An hour and 45 minutes and no encores, after a decent set by Grand Champeen and a strange appearance by the Damnations (strange because, although I enjoy their music, I don’t think they were playing to a very amenable crowd), wasn’t what most of the faithful wanted, I’m afraid. An ideal outcome would be a three hour set with five Neil Young covers and ending with the band spontaneously combusting, but I would’ve settled for “Cortez the Killer.”

And the Parish is no smoking, which probably aggravated the 3 guys in the band who are nicotine fiends.

I am apparently supposed to sit in on the “Film Threat Sucks!” panel taking place in about 10 minutes. More about that later.

Old 97s and the Gourds tonight at Stubbs. If I play cards right, I may not have to see any movies at all.