The rollercoaster continues. Sleep is at a premium. The post-Jarvis week involved me running around the city, usually in some kind of sportsjacket (rare), taking meetings, making shit happen, and even looking at a new NYC office, which would be a nice thing to have these days! Once all of my colleages from LA and SF left, I thought I would have a moment to breathe, but alas, it's never quite the case, as then the Tribeca Film Festival started and Irene and I found ourselves racing around town all weekend. I probabably, and this is NOT a joke, spent about two bills on cabs this weekend just to get to everything ontime. Also, Matt Gentile and I have purchased tickets for our next gay date, which will be us seeing the reunited Jesus and Mary Chain, which better be awesome cause we just dropped a pretty fucking penny for that. Anyhow....
On Friday night, after Irene and I had dinner with a lovely lady who works with my friend Frank, we checked out SUBURBAN GIRL, a movie made by some friends that starred Buffy and Alec Baldwin in a May-December romance kinda thing. I like her a lot, and this was probably the first post-Buffy thing I have seen her in, but Baldwin, of course, owns it. It was uninentionally hilarious as Baldwin's character has an estranged daughter in it, thus leading to some of the most surreal moments that make you think theres a possibility that all his drama with this real life daughter this past week is actually a big work designed to push the movie. Come on, you gotta admit, the guy can cut a fucking promo like a superstar.
I was hoping Saturday would at least be a day of music fun, and then I realized I had made plans with the wonderful Gilez, who is in town, with his insane brother Duncan, and some mates, for holiday not unlike the ones the MOGpac used to take. You remember Gilez, chubby industrial lad with bad shoes who brought the aggression to the UK for their trimumphant 2001 show at the Underworld in London? Well, forget all you know. Divorce does a lad well. Yes, he still listens to the old school industrial (as you are all ashamed to admit, as i surely do not), but now he is a slim, healthy, Paul Frank wearing man of the world, who no longer dies his hair. I always have a soft spot for this kid, but man, he has really come a long way. I'm proud of him. He's gone through a LOT of shit and has come through it a better bloke. He wanted some steak, but i took him to Spurs himself and we spent a couple of hours catching up and how he now likes a lot of the shit "F.J. probably likes in the NME". A good time. During out meal, I suggested he check out a movie he couldn't see in the UK and then he lectures me how he didnt come all the way here "to go to the fucking cinema" and of course a day later he Emails me to say how much he loved Grindhouse. Wank Boy.
From there, grabbed Irene, and we raced down to what used to be one of our date spots, The Screening Room, which is now a permanent theatre for the Tribeca Film Festival people all year round. We then checked out a documentary WILL EISNER: PORTRAIT OF A SEQUENTIAL ARTIST, which was amazing. Knowing the guys behind it, and having a connection to Eisner, this was a very special thing to watch, especially with his family in the room. And boy did it deliver. What a movie. It was a love letter not just to Eisner, but to all those who he influenced as well. You don't have to be a comic person to enjoy this movie. It was very well done, and I hope it gets the attention it deserves. And I'm not just saying this because they thanked me at the end, this movie is the real deal. Check out the trailer here:
http://www.montillapictures.com/media/trailer_264.mov
Again, no rest as Sunday morning as Irene and brunched with the returning Bradley J. Fox, who was in town producing some stuff in conjunction with the Festival. Brad, who I love dearly, needs to understand that ordering a "soy latte" in a French restuarant in NEW YORK CITY is going to get him some weird stares. Of course, this gives your hero hours of material as he jokes this LA resident back to the reality of NYC. Though I'm sure as big money and real estate rape my beloved city even more, a soy latte will be as easy to get as crack in Washington Square Park ("sense, sense, soy?"). Anyhow, once Brad understood he was in NY, we had a good brunch and caught up on new times. He showed us lots of videos of his little one, who is adorable and sassy and smart. We then shopped like men and woman possessed, as Brad embraced his asian T-shirt addiction to the fullest extent. He loves Zakka and Uniqlo is his new mecca. Hell, even I got into the act. We had a nice stroll around Soho. Hopefully I will get to see him again before he heads back to La La Land.
You would think that was the end of our adventures for the week but NO! Irene and I then ran home very briefly to put on our Sunday best so we could hit the legendary Delposto so we could celebrate my folks 40th wedding anniversary. Sick, right? Anyhow, what a fucking meal. A certain Hamill who works there put a good word in because while we have always been treated like superstars there, this time was a whole new level. This was sick awesome over the top. More apps than you can imagine and of course the desserts were in full effect. I'm still full. They gave us more food last night than our last two meals there combined I think! It was the sweetest hook up. Ever.
Then FINALLY we went home, crashed on the couch, and watched TV. Till we passed out. Now we have a bit of rest before Los Angeles and Italy beckon. And how are YOU?
F
No comments:
Post a Comment