and a horrible history teacher...

I have never understood war. I don't mean that in a "can't we all just get along" kind of way. I mean I have never understood the complexities of battles and troop movements. Basically, I could never play RISK because I just don't get it.
So this weekend I watched "Gettysburg" on the History Channel, and I emerge from the experience no wiser.
Battle is really, really complicated and gross. You'd think the History Channel would tone down the gore, but I couldn't really concentrate on General Sickles screwing everything up because I was too freaked out by watching a computer generated version of a cannon ball ripping off his leg.
But other than the History Channel's mastery of actors coughing up blood, these battles baffle me. I felt the same way watching the (embarrassingly fabulous) move, "The Patriot." Battles just seem like groups of men marching towards each other shooting into the opposite crowd.
It's like deadly dodgeball. But it's all smokey and scary, and you're supposed to follow your side's flag. But the guy holding the flag is "a magnet" for bullets, so the flag keeps getting dropped. And somewhere, some General is looking at a map trying to figure out where to go next.
I understand the basic concept of taking over each city until the other side gives up. But especially in the Revolutionary War, where you shoot your guns and then it's the other side's turn while you just stand there and take it? What's that about? If you survive that first round of fire, you take another step forward and shoot. And you keep doing this until one side is like, "Alright! Enough!"
How can this possibly work? How can you figure out where you're even going? How do you communicate with anyone? And how do you not run for the bushes the second the first GERM-COVERED BULLET is shot?
I would be a horrible solider...

welcome to my new show: friend/film/food...

Tara and I have taken to the rather sad but enjoyable practice of taking each other on what we regard as the perfect evening out, which consists of:

1. An artsy, sub-titled movie so we can feel cultured and sophisticated.

2. Very late dinner somewhere relatively hip to discuss said movie.

3. Post-dinner discussion on how excited we are to go to crawl into bed with a book.

Most recently, we've done the following:

Jane Eyre and Wayfare Tavern

Jane Eyre was has the ambiance of an episode of The Killing and it's a really fucked up story, but the movie is engrossing. And right away, we were on Team Jane. You could safely call this a chick flick, but I found it interesting, and kind of exciting. If you are feeling at all down in th dumps about your present circumstances, Jane Eyre will remind you that your life is a goddamn cake walk. Wayfare Tavern was loud, due to the table of drunks in the booth behind ours. But the server was really sweet about it and we had lots of fun. My favorite menu item at Wayfare these days is the roast chicken salad and the burrata crostini. Oh, and as these are lady dates, we always order dessert. Tar and I are all about Wayfare's pineapple upside down cake.

Win Win and Zero Zero

Win Win stars Paul Giamatti as an overwhelmed suburban husband and father who commits elder care fraud. He's also a high school wrestling coach. And wrestling is a sport I do not understand. How is this cool AT ALL? It's just really weird. Win Win is interesting, but it's slow and saved by the brilliant comic relief of Bobby Cannavale, whom I saw in New York TWICE. I love him and if you want to see a really amazing Bobby Cannavale movie, see The Station Agent, which is by the same director and you can watch in 15 minute increments on YouTube. Zero Zero is delicious fancy pizza 'n things. But they force you to go through a process of humiliation upon checking in, wherein they see your reservation, but it annoys them and your table isn't ready anyway and this is artisan pizza so you just need to appreciate being here, okay? We ordered the cured meats plate, which is literally a wooden tray COVERED in prosciutto. I had the pizza margherita and Tara has pasta with lobster. We had no room for dessert, but if we did, we would have ordered the vanilla soft serve with olive oil and sea salt. Just because it exists.

Double Hour and SPQR

What on earth, Double Hour? This Italian film can only be described as bananas. When you see the trailer, you think, "Oh!" No. Don't think that. It's scary and weird and the whole time, we kept saying, "Wait. WHAT? I'm confused." Also, old ladies showed up halfway through and while the main character is in the bath and suspenseful music is playing, they're moving down the aisle at a snail's pace announcing, "I can't see! Where should we sit? It's so dark!" SPQR was awesome because we got seated right away (impossible) at the chef's counter. We started with the burrata crostini (one must always order the burrata crostini. SPQR's comes with fried rosemary and honey-covered hazelnuts) and various pastas. It was fun sitting there watching the chef-action, except that the fucking dad from Family Ties sitting next to me thought he was at Beni Hana and kept asking questions. "Now what is that? Oh, what are you doing there?" This isn't Molto Mario, asshole. Let these people work. Have you not read 'Heat'? There is a fine line of how many chef-counter questions are too much, and Steven Keaton was well over that line.

The Jane Eyre/Wayfare Tavern combo was my favorite. But my other recommendation for a late night-post-movie dinner is Wexler's which is practically next door to Wayfare, but you will be able to get a table. And they welcomed Tara and me in at 10:30pm once (after we saw Get Low) and we had a fabulous time...

"we have parties and stuff..."

Today's Necessary Conversation is up!
One of the REPUBLICANS recently told me that someone asked him if we were drag queens. I was horrified and actually announced, "No! We are real ladies!" But in seeing today's video of the GLAAD Media Awards Red Carpet, I can see how someone might wonder.
We'll try and look more like chicks. In the meantime, watch this!

where at least i know i'm free...

On today's Culture Blog, Hastings and I go to our friend Nadir's Citizenship Ceremony, meet the cutest federal judge in the country and watch someone become an official American. It was all 'very special episode of the West Wing.' Up now on SFGate...

it's ain't easy being cheesy...

On today's Tourist Trapped, my new friend Christine and I visit the Cheese School of San Francisco and both rapidly agree on our favorite cheese and the hottest guy in the class. Not in that order.
Up now! On SFGate...

oh, this old thing?

No matter what people claim, everybody loves to shop. It's just a matter of finding something worth buying. This is how my co-worker Bill feels about the US Marshall's Unabomber Auction.
What? You haven't heard about the Unabomber Auction? Allow me to fill you in:

"Sale of Theodore John Kaczynski aka “The Unabomber” items – Per a Court Order in the criminal case United States V. Theodore J. Kaczynski (96-cr-259-GEB, E D. Cal.; 06-10514, 9th Circuit), the government has been ordered to conduct a “well-publicized” internet sale of Kaczynski’s seized property to be sold to the general public in the effort to pay off a $15 million restitution order to the victims and their families. Unlike other sales, neither the U.S. Marshals Service nor GSA will receive any revenue from this sale."

First of all, I love that I live in a time where the government is selling a killer's crap on the internet for everyone to gawk at.
Second of all, INTERESTING! Right?
You have until June 2nd to shop, folks. A hoodie and sunglasses, presumably the ones he wore for his famous wanted poster police sketch are currently at $20,025. And the handwritten copy of the Unabomber manifesto is currently going for $17,525. So we're looking at more reasonable items. Bill's first choice is "Hatchet and Small Hand Held Knives."
When we first looked, these items were holding steady at $50. They're currently up to over $600. My first choice is the "Miscellaneous Clothing" lot, selling for $350. Check this shit out:

Subtle.

What is on the bottom of these shoes? Lifts? Seriously. What is that?

And then the US Marshall version of Andre Leon Talley includes this description:

"ONE LOT TO CONSIST OF NAVY BLUE JACKET, PANTS, GREEN HOODED JACKET, BLACK JACKET, PAIR OF BROWN/GREEN HIKING SHOES, GREEN JACKET, AND GLOVES. KACZYNSKI~S CLOTHING COLLECTION WAS SOMEWHAT LIMITED AND VERY FUNCTIONAL, CHOSEN TO PROTECT HIM FROM THE ELEMENTS OF THE MONTANA WILDERNESS. KACZYNSKI UTILIZED GLOVES FOR A VARIETY OF PURPOSES. HE USED GLOVES, SANDING AND CHEMICAL TREATMENTS TO REMOVE AND AVOID LEAVING FINGERPRINTS ON HIS BOMB COMPONENTS. HE ALSO WORE CLOTHES SO AS TO NOT LEAVE HIS FINGERPRINTS AT THE SCENE OF ACTS OF VANDALISM HE COMMITTED THROUGHOUT THE YEARS IN VARIOUS WILDERNESS LOCATIONS. 1531F811390059"

Again, I say INTERESTING!
If you need to waste another hour on the internet today, please check out the Unabomber Trunk Sale and let me know which items you find most fascinating. Also, I'd like to hear who else's crap you'd buy. I am interesting in anything belonging to Albert Fish, David Carpenter and the Zodiac hood...

necessary conversation hits b2b...

Today is the first Necessary Conversation episode to contain FULL FRONTAL NUDITY. So, depending on your employment sitch, this might be NSFW. But it's brief, so risk your job and watch it:

republicans are endlessly fascinating...

On today's Culture Blog, I head to charming Union Street and crash a San Francisco Young Republican's meeting where Public Defender Jeff Adachi is asked the all important question, "Have you seen 'The Lincoln Lawyer?'"
Up now, on SFGate...

the whole point of reality television...

Much of my Sunday night was spent hearing about Big Chris' "sex injury" which he SUPPOSEDLY incurred with "this older divorced skank." I hope that by my dramatic formatting of "supposedly," you are joining me in taking his story with a boulder of salt.
Anyway, when Chris arrived 14 minutes late, (this never happens) I was 14 minutes into Hoarding: Buried Alive. So we needed to watch the remaining 46 minutes of it together. Chris, it's important to note, does not tolerate "feelings" or "personal problems" with any sort of "compassion." And he had never seen the TLC show Hoarding: Buried Alive.
"What is going on?"
"Well!" I turned to face him on the couch. "This is Kelain and Kevin. Kelain inherited this house from her mother. Also Kelain is an artist and she collects banana peels and hangs them from the ceiling fan.""Yeah, we're not watching this."
"Oh, but we are."
Kelain and her live in boyfriend Kevin live in absolute squalor in Dallas, Texas. Kevin has a dramatic mullet ponytail and loves to obediently cook for Kelain, who has a dramatic side ponytail. Only their kitchen, like every other room in their home, is covered with crap. So when Kelain requests filet mignon for breakfast, Kevin has no choice but to prepare it in the only accessible appliance: a toaster oven, which he does with great flair, including a berry sauce.
I guess the berries were a nod to the fact that it was 9am.
Anyway, Kelain makes her own jewelry and loses her shit anytime Kevin brings up this one fight they had years ago. She gets is such a "pissy mood" that she goes and hides in the bathroom, and then finally reemerges after a heart to heart with a stuffed penguin.
If this wasn't engrossing enough, I had the added theatrical component of Big Chris' reactions to everything, from Kevin's missing teeth to Kelain's homemade necklace which we deemed, "The Cowbell."
I attempted to explain to Chris, who kept screaming, "These people need to get their shit together!" that hoarding is a real addiction, asking for help is a huge step and most importantly, that we needed to watch until the end so we could see the before and after (much like those of you who read my rehab posts. I'm right there with you.)
Basically, Kelain had a Come To Jesus Moment when she realized that Kevin, who at this point I'd come to regard as a freeloader with low standards, might leave. So after an exhaustive process, she cleaned out the house enough so that Kevin could cook in the kitchen.
Now Kelain can have all of the 9am filet mignon she wants!
As we got up to go to dinner, Chris looked around my flat and announced, "Well compared to the ponytail people, this place looks pretty good."
And that, Big Chris, is why we watch Hoarders...

but also i'm glad it's over...

Some weird dance song about Barbara Streisand at Bay to Breakers totally won me over. After years of avoiding it, I actually had fun. God, I am so easy-going. Up now! On SFGate...

weirder than you, less weird than me...

Today's Necessary Conversation heads to the How Weird Street Faire (it pains to to type the "word" faire) to find out, exactly How Weird it is. Our results below:

Also, I've got a post up on the SF Appeal today, in where I offer up a suggestion about who might be behind some anonymous videos roaming around the interwebs. Mayoral campaigns are definitely weird, but occasionally involve exciting mysteries. Thank GOD.
Finally, if you plan to attend Saturday's GLAAD Media Awards or Sunday's Bay to Breakers, please keep your eyes peeled for two chicks in wigs and a camera guy...

a dramatic reenactment of a dramatic reenactment...

Whenever I watch Lifetime movies (100% of the time), I wind up texting a friend a question based on the movie that, out of context, would make no sense ... to test their friendship.

For example, I recently watched "Little Girl Lost: The Delimar Vera Story" and sent the following text to Melissa:

"If you thought my child died in a fire but I was convinced she was still alive, would you help me crash a Quinceanera to steal hair from a 6 year old for DNA testing?"

My phone immediately glowed with the deadpan response, "Yes." And then detailed all of the ways Melissa knows how to steal people's hair.

So that was nice. And this TV movie was amazing.

Basically, in this dramatized version of a true story, Delimar Vera was the 10-day old 3rd child of Pedro and Luz Vera of suburban Philadelphia. Pedro's cousin's skanky ex shows up one day and invites herself to the Vera's holiday party.

The holiday party is rocking, Pedro gets wasted and needs to go on a beer run. Also, he's kind of a dick about it. Luz brings her friends, including the skanky cousin's ex (Valerie) upstairs to check on the baby, and places a space heater next to the crib. (Pause for knowing look.)

Luz closes the bedroom window (Pause because Lifetime wants you to know: CLUE!) and they all go back to the party downstairs. Approximately 3 seconds later, the entire house is on fire, emanating from little Delimar's room. (Pause because we're all supposed to blame the space heater.)

Pedro arrives back from his beer run just in time to see the PFD gently carry out a tiny bundle and put it in an ambulance. Luz's "best friend" Tio is all, "OMG, Delimar is dead."

Pedro, who by the way would never hold Delimar, is basically like, "Let's move on."

But Luz is like, "This is bullshit. Delimar is alive. I can feel it."

Needless to say, Skanky Valerie has mysteriously departed.

Since their house burned down, Luz, Pedro and their two boys movie into Tio's basement where Luz keeps talking about, "when Delimar comes back."

Tio gets photos of the fateful party developed and lo and behold, there is a picture of the house on fire and Delimar's window is open! But Luz closed it! Someone must have snuck in and stolen Delimar. Tio pats Luz on the back and rolls her eyes and Pedro can't even handle it and moves out.

Oh, but first, Luz says that if Delimar is so dead she wants to see the body. So Pedro takes her down to the morgue, where they're like, "This isn't a body. It's a burned piece of mattress. Our bad."

This only fuels Luz's flames (see how I did that) that Delimar is still alive. Pedro bounces.

Pages fall off the calendar, six years pass, Luz and her boys are still in Tio's basement and Tio announces, "Come to this random Quinceara with me so I can fix you up with a guy in a bolo tie. You need to get out, you can bring the boys, it'll be good for you."

So Luz agrees and just as she's getting introduced to bolo tie, who should walk into the Quinceara but Skanky Valerie AND HER SIX YEAR OLD "DAUGHTER."

Even though the last time Luz saw her, Delimar was 10 days old, Luz loses her shit, convinced it's Delimar. Tio tries to calm her down but Luz follows the little girl upstairs (the Quinceara is held at a private residence) and starts chatting with her. All of a sudden, Luz says to the little girl, "Oh no, you have gum in your hair." And yanks out a chunk of this kid's hair.

FOR DNA.

Everyone goes back to the party where all hell breaks lose. Luz accuses Skanky Valierie of kidnapping Delimar and Skanky Valerie calls Luz, "loco" repeatedly.

Oh, and also, Skanky Valerie has pushed this child into acting. She keeps talking about auditions and commercials.

Tio drags Luz out of there and tells her to get a grip. Luz heads down to the police station, assuming she can just hand over her hair sample and get a free DNA test. Alas, no. Then she goes and finds Pedro AFTER SIX YEARS and (this is when I started screaming, "Luz, not yet!") and tries to tell him she saw Delimar at a Quinceara. Pedro is, needless to say, a jerk about the whole thing.

Down in the dumps, Luz is walking home when she runs into a rally for Congressman Angel Crus (over-acted by A. Martinez.) Never giving up, Luz stakes out Congressman Cruz's office and manages to get him to agree to listen to her story (he could see the determination in her eyes) while he walks to lunch.

Cue montage of Luz and Angel Cruz walking all over Philadelphia while she gestures wildly, obviously regaling him with Delimar's story. Finally, he gets to his lunch meeting and Luz asks, "Are you going to get me my DNA test?"

And Angel Cruz says, "You need probable cause and you have to obtain DNA legally."

So Luz sighs and says, "Do you at least believe me?"

And after a long, dramatic pause, Congressman Angel Cruz looks her in the eye and says, "Si."

So Angel Cruz gets back to the office and gets his pals in SVU to look into Skanky Valerie.

Guess who served a year in prison for arson? Skanky Valerie!

This apparently constitutes probable cause and Luz gets her DNA test, but not before Pedro kinda freaks out and says, "I guess it wasn't the space heater" and Skanky Valerie tries to outsmart the DNA test. (Impossible.)

Lo and behold, the girl from the Quinceara WAS Delimar. Once again, Lifetime makes desperate women believe that the impossible is possible. Which is why I love this shit.

I also love Melissa who, like Tio, would let me live in her basement. But unlike Tio, Melissa would believe me about my intuition, help get some DNA on the down low and never, ever try and set me up with someone wearing a bolo tie...

hi, excuse me, sorry. has anyone seen a nun? a carmelite nun? no? sure? ok, thanks.

I survived the USF Mayoral Candidate Forum on social media and gum. The nun in the house was not so lucky. Up now, on SFGate...

happy birthday biscuit...

Today is my brother’s 28th birthday! And if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you probably already know a lot of shit about Alex. But do you know the following?

1. Alex makes his own flavored croutons.
2. When he was little and everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday,’ Alex would cry, try and hide and say, “Don’t SEE me!”
3. He calls me “Sis” which I think is very old-fashioned and cute.
4. When Alex went to camp, his counselor named his morning walk to the bathroom, “The A.M. Shuffle.”
5. I was once sitting at my desk feeling gross because I ate too many nuts, so I texted my brother, “I need a hug” and a half an hour later, a grinning Alex came bounding up the stairs to my office, arms outstretched. He hugged me, then he left.
6. When Alex thinks he’s alone, he sings “Livin’ In the City” by Stevie Wonder.
7. Alex buys candy at the movies, but he will not eat a bite until the actual movie starts. Previews don’t count.
8. Alex and I were apparently friendless for long stretches of time because we would spend weekends making home movies, including an epic masterpiece in which Alex played identical twins, one of whom was a criminal, the other was a cop.
9. Alex is my parents’ favorite which is okay with me because he’s my favorite too. (My parents, by the way, will readily admit this.)
10. For five years, Alex only wore jeans and green t-shirts.
11. Alex is a horrible driver.
12. In Alex’s college ID photo, he’s smiling but he’s crying because he had just found out that our grandfather died right before he had to pose. And whenever I would visit him in college, I would look at his ID because it made me feel better that he was as heartbroken as me.
13. Anytime a magicians asks for a volunteer from the audience, Alex gets picked.
14. Alex is horrible at boardgames. He will deny this.
15. We’ve been stuck together on Spotswood Family World Travels our whole lives. Often bored and wide awake, at 3am, we’d end up doing dumb shit. For example, on a cruise through the fiords of Northern Europe, Alex and I played midnight hide-and-seek in our tiny cruise cabin and I hid by covering myself in Kleenex and holding a Kleenex box in the middle of the room. Alex pretended to look for me for 20 minutes. He was 12. I was 17. This is the 462,945th reason Alexander Peterson Anthony Spotswood is the best person I’ve ever met in my life.

no fragrance as foul as the scent of desperation...

My perfect friend Catherine that I am in love with is in 7x7 this month. And Brock is quoted repeatedly in it. I regard these developments as getting me two steps closer to breaching the pristine pages of this ridiculous periodical with which I am so desperately obsessed.
I fucking love 7x7. Sue me.
Last week, Catherine and I attended a party at Gump’s, which I attend for the sole purpose of being photographed by someone from Drew Altizer. I have zip, zero, zilch interest in anything that party was celebrating (some book, I think) because all I care about is perfecting my society photographs so I can one day be a good enough person to be included in a tiny photo in a local magazine full of advertisements and Hermes beach towels.
There is a small part of me in which my grandmother still lives and she was in full bloom at Wednesday’s party. Catherine and I followed that photographer around all night, as Catherine politely tolerates my sick, sad needs.
While I know this most recent collection of photos don’t make the grade of the Sunset Beacon much less 7x7, San Francisco Magazine or Paper City. But I think I’m getting better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.

I did not cross my legs for the standing pose. Brock advises against this as he claims it makes one look like one needs to pee, but Brock is, by his own accord, pin thin. I have the calves of a hearty hill-dweller. So for next time, it’s the standing cross. I’d rather look thinner and holding it, don’t you agree?
The second thing I need to work on for next time is looking at the camera as opposed to the photographer, who I am obviously desperately trying to befriend. I look like David Patterson in this photo.
I’m now at like, 8 physical things to remember: Back straight, head up, chin down, shoulder tilt, medium smile, eyes open, legs crossed and eye on the lens. Remembering all of this in the split second the photographer says, “Can I take a quick shot?” is virtually impossible. I don’t know how those dumb broads do it.
Catherine, who is perfect in every way, feels she needs to work on “taming” her hair.
The third and final lesson I need to work on the next time I am photographed is to not care about something so stupid, shallow and pointless.
But I suspect it’s far more likely I’ll just remember to cross my legs.

brooks was here...

The perfect symbiosis of personal interest and professional obligation. Yep, today's Tourist Trapped is the Alcatraz Night Tour. Or as I like to call it, a lovely way to spend an evening. Up now, on SFGate...

episode dirty thirty...

Today's episode of Necessary Conversation will get your three minutes closer to the end of today. So basically, it's not the weekend until you watch this shit. Get on it:

Happy Mother's Day, Moms! My mom is cooler than yours, but I'm sure yours is nice too...

date auctions are the new carrot mobs...

Today on the Culture Blog, I hit up the NLC's "Smokin' Hot Progressives Mayoral Candidate Date Auction." The most exciting thing to happen, other than Bevan singing Kelly Rowland, was that I got in trouble with one of the candidates. ANY GUESSES?
Read all about it, over at SFGate...

needless to say, it was tough driving home in rhonda the honda...

Today's Tourist Trapped is up! This week, Brock and I head to Half Moon Bay for brunch at the Ritz Carlton. Actually, we spent the night there (in our own, exciting rooms!) and I should never complain about my life EVER because after Sunday Brunch, we got to test-drive a Tesla down the Pacific Coast Highway.
Right?
I plugged in my iPhone and we listened to Nelly (yeah, I have Nelly on my iTunes) and screamed and yelled like little girls when we hit 90 MPH.
This is not how we roll, by the way. We never roll like this.
I nervously signed something without reading it before stepping into this sexy, sexy machine. But that's not what today's Tourist Trapped is about. Oh no. Today, we pour over photos of fancy brunch and dine with a crazy person. There's always got to be a crazy person.
Up now on SFGate...

the langueage of cinema is universal...

I will hang out with anyone who reads this blog. Bored? Lonely? Living in your mom's basement? We should do something.

This is how I met my friend Christine. Well, this is kinda how I met my friend Christine. She wasn't living in her mom's basement. She moved to San Francisco from Newark after giving up her job working for... Cory Booker.

"Oh, you know Cory Booker? Yes, I would love to get together!"

Not only does Christine know CB, she is also fun and hilarious. So big bonus for me. Anyway, Christine sent me a link to a movie at the (currently happening) San Francisco International Film Festival, asking if I was interested.

Page One: A Year Inside The New York Times is a documentary in which we get to spy on the NYT, mainly the Media section, as they report on WikiLeaks and the SHIFTING LANDSCAPE OF MEDIA and through it all, NYT writer (and former crack addict) David Carr offers his genius thoughts while sticking it to one guy from Vice Magazine. Needless to say, this movie is wonderful.

Christine and her friend already bought tickets well in advance, as Christine is David Carr's biggest fan, so I was relegated to the rush line. This means that IF seats were available once ticket holders had shown up, they'd start letting us in. I had to rush to get into the rush line, zipping across town in my Necessary Conversation face paint to find this random "space" across the street from the Kabuki.
New People is what I'm sure people who work there call a "space." You know when you go on Fandango or whatever and you see "Viz Cinema" and ignore it? That's New People. Aside from all of the art and organic snacks and craft shows, the underground theater is like a huge, gorgeous, comfortable private screening room. All of the seats are Business Class Seats.

So ignore no longer! (Well, I don't think they play regular movies there. I think it's all kooky art crap and the occasional gem. Still, I am now more open to Viz Cinema.)

Very sweetly, Christine met me outside and told me that inside, her friend was saving highly coveted seats for us. She went in, while I reminded in line on Post Street, listening to the conversations around me.

You can guess the kinds of conversations people in the rush line for a documentary about the shifting landscape of media have. They're the kind of conversations that make me want to climb a watchtower.

10 minutes before the movie was due to start, the line started moving very slowly forward. Oh! Some rush line people might actually get in. Glorious. Confirming this theory was Christine, texting me from inside, "There are tons of seats in here."
I was the second to last person let in, grabbing my ticket by throwing dignity to the wind and answering to the staffer who yelled, "Any singles? Anyone alone?"
It was all I could do not to turn to everyone in line and announce, "I actually have friends. They're already inside. I'm not the world's biggest loser or anything."
Christine was saving me an awesome seat, I lounged back in my luxurious movie chair and the movie began. I was thinking of all kinds of people who would really like this fascinating documentary, including the great Phil Bronstein. Oh, yay. A reason to email Phil and beg for worldly advice.
Except suddenly, Phil was in it. He's actually in the movie, sitting next to David Carr at some sort of weird televised debate. So I guess Phil wins that one.
Instead, I told my dad* all about the movie.
The only time my attention was diverted from Page One was when Rupert Murdoch came on the screen and like 6 horrible people in the audience starting hissing, like we were all at a "picture" in 1939.
Save the commentary for your blogs, folks.
I have no idea if or when you'll be able to see Page One, as that is the nature of attending sophisticated cultural events like film festivals. But should you find yourself presented with the opportunity, or someone WikiLeaks it online, kick back in a luxurious leather theatre chair and drink in an hour and a half of journalist-types marveling at iPads...

*Related: I forwarded my father a link to President Obama's hilarious routine at the White House Correspondent's Dinner. He wrote back, "Bethy, very funny! But who are Biggie and Tupac? Love Daddy."

relax, mom. i'm kidding...

Big Chris and I went to Perbacco for dinner last night. I'm trying to shift our relationship from that of "Burrito Buddies" to "Charcuterie Chums."

Only Chris screamed at the gorgeous $28 plate of carefully cured meats placed before us, "Oh! Cold cuts! Why didn't you say so!"

He was also drinking martinis, which I blame for the following conversation that went downhill FAST.

Chris: I'm being pretty classy right now.

Beth: I know. I think it's funny.

Chris: See? Who would you rather be here with than me?

Beth: Melissa.

Chris: Girls don't count. You know, when I get married, my wife won't let me hang out with you.

Beth: That implies you and I won't get married.

Chris: I will never marry you.

Beth: That's my mother's greatest fear. Wait. Why will you never marry me?

Chris: Three reasons.

Beth: This oughta be awesome.

Chris: Number one, you're too old.

Beth: I beg your pardon.

Chris: At your age, having children is dangerous. You know my rule. No one over 29.

Beth: I thought you only date divorced strippers.

Chris: I thought you only date guys who organize their closets and talk to their mom every day.

Beth: Reason number two.

Chris: You're clumsy and bad at sports.

Beth: Are you kidding me?

Chris: No.

Beth: The third, please.

Chris: Will you go see Fast Five with me after dinner?

Beth: No.

Chris: Exactly.

Beth: Would you like to hear my three reasons I will never marry you?

Chris: I can guess them.

After several terse words, I informed Big Chris the only way I'd forgive him was if we drove to Reno right then and there and got married.

Which brings me to my really exciting announcement...