Festivus, Part XXVIII.

Over the weekend, as I drove through Brentwood, where the creeks flow with Bollinger and raccoons wear rhinestone collars, I couldn’t help but feel like the poorest guy in showbiz. But then the Blackberry chirped with this nugget: my film got into its 28^th festival. Take that, sugar daddies.

You know the kind of neighborhood I’m talking about – where you can’t swing a rhinestone-wearing raccoon without hitting a CL-Class sedan. Whatev – because the FirstGlance Film Fest comes with $25,000 in cash and prizes.

If I win, I’m not about to waste the bucks on stuff as trivial as rent or food. I’m gonna use them to Brentwood-ise my place, with a better popcorn ceiling. Or I'll donate some back to the festival for a top-notch spell check (see above.)

Thanks FirstGlance. The fest actually pays you back.

Happy Laborious Day.

My fondest memory of elementary school – besides the water fountains whose pressure lowered whenever a toilet was flushed – is the cartoons they showed us whenever it was too rainy to have recess. A little asbestos and Bugs Bunny, and I was a happy kid.

Seeing as it hasn’t rained in SoCal in about eight months, I’m changing the rules a bit, with a clip of my one of my favorite comedians, Jim Gaffigan. Love him. Click above. (Facebook readers click here.)

Kickass Celebrity Sighting Of The Month.

In a classic case of life imitating art, Steve Martin, right out of LA Story, antiquing on La Brea in a cool hat and much younger babe on his arm.

He’s an Olympic-level stud.

Hilaricious.

It’s drilled into actors’ heads that in an audition setting, we really have to take charge. Which can be tricky for those of us who can barely get to the bank before it closes.

In a workshop the other night, here was the scenario: I was paired up with my friend Brian in a scene in which we’re two guys having drinks. His character is a real stick-in-the-mud, and mine was described as a “Vince Vaughn that can’t get laid.”

At the end of our scene, as we talk about a friend getting married, I say to Brian’s character, “Yeah, well he’s not livin’ and swingin’ like us,” to which Brian, baffled, replies, “We’re at Applebee’s.”

It didn’t feel like a complete ending to me, and, wanting to be a take-charge guy, I figured I oughta load-up with a funny button for the scene just in case. So I jumped on the Blackberry, searched the Applebee’s menu, and when Brian’s “We’re at Applebee’s” didn’t get the laugh we wanted, I paused and said, “Dude, chicken parmesan tanglers.” Much better. The casting director loved us.

It begs the question: what did actors in Shakespearean times do when faced with an Applebee’s punchline? Internet access back then had to be sketchy at best.

By the way, the runner-ups were:

• Steak quesadilla towers
• Cajun lime tilapia
• Brewtus steak burger
• Triple chocolate meltdown

(Three-word items seemed to be funniest.)

Happy long weekend, for those of you who work for a living. Take a cue from my mom, and slather on the SPF, put on a big hat, open up a huge beach umbrella and never leave the house.

Going Down.

As the music thumped upstairs during my acting class last night, I learned that the penthouse in the building used to be owned by Liberace. Which finally explains the rather bedazzled elevator.

The man truly was a “confirmed bachelor.”

Little Help.

I ain’t the smartest. Most days, I couldn’t find my ass with two hands and a flashlight.

So will someone explain to me why vampire shows, movies and webisodes are lately all the rage?

What’s the difference between Twilight and “True Blood?” And Robert Downey Jr. is in talks to star in a new film based on Anne Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles. Wasn’t there already a Vampire Chronicles?

Lots of questions, yes. But before anyone attacks my ignorance, forgive me – I went to a state school.

The Best Film Of The Year.

One of the most charming features of the ArcLight Theater in Hollywood is that every movie is introduced by a member of the theater staff. And on opening night of Inglourious Basterds, with a revved up, full-house, the staffer closed his intro with: “Let’s kill some Nazis!”

I realized right then that that statement offends no one. Impressive work, Hitler.

Inglourious Basterds is 153 minutes, and I wish it were longer. It’s smart. It’s scary. It made my hands sweat. But it’s also funnier than most comedies. Quentin Tarentino, already great, has actually matured as a writer/director. This is epic, and classic.

And while Brad Pitt is a hilarious caricature of a lieutenant, it’s Cristoph Waltz as the Jew Hunter that will win the Oscar this year. As a breakout villain, Waltz makes Alan Rickman in Die Hard look like a piker. He’s a terrifying figure in four different languages, and if you ran into him on the street, you’d pretty much want to stab him.

In what has thus far been the lousiest movie year in a long time, Inglourious Basterds is a film that I’m going to go back and see again. Who’s coming with me?