It occurred to me that with these updates about my film, I couldn’t be any more self-indulgent. But let’s be honest: after busting my ass and draining my bank account to get it produced, dangling a festival in front of me is like showing an eight-ball to Mischa Barton.The first step is admitting I have a problem, so with that out of the way, on with the festivities: I got into my 26th festival. Yahtzee.
Here’s the best part, for me, shallow guy, received via congratulatory email from the Cinema City International Film Festival:
“The festival takes great pride in honoring our country’s military men and women and their families by allowing all our events’ proceeds to be donated to charities for severely burned and injured American soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan.”
Hopefully this brush with goodness will help me avoid the Eighth Circle of Hell when it's my time. Instead, I'll wind up with a more mildly irritating eternity, in which I share a room with Nicole Ritchie.
I just swallowed back a little vomit. Worth it.
Thanks, Cinema City.
