So I'm on the shuttle bus from the Salt Lake City aeropuerto up to Park-Ass City to schlep around at the Sundance dilly-o like I'm worth a turd in a punch bowl. Only other time I was in this state was on my cross-country trip when I stopped here to catch the 1 AM opening night showing of Star Wars: Special Edition. Fuckin' Greedo!

So I'm nervous about a few things - 1) fucking something up colossally, getting fired or something, completely screwing up my simple tasks that I will be assigned, 2) continuing my streak of marginally humiliating myself in front of celebrities (marginal because that's all it has to be to make me wallow in it and groan in mute nostril agony about it when I'm trying to fall asleep), and 3) it feels like I should have more paperwork than I do. I've been told it's all kosher, but I fear I've forgotten something integral and I'll be a positively-identified and proven idiot. I'm sure everything can be cleared up, but I'd rather not feel like a goddamned moron right off the bat.

I'm hoping to find a little inspiration in this experience, basically. As with any jackass what jabbers on about movies, I've got aspirations of writing my own stuff, starring in it, etc., but I haven't been writing much other than these reviews for a while now. It's not as though these things can be forced, but I'd like to have some sort of firing of my creative synapses to get them thar juices up and running. Of course, I have no discipline with which to sustain them, but I'll hop that scotch when I come to it.

Must be off - trying to write in a van bouncing over mountains is infuriating.

DAY 2 - 1/10/2002

8:30 AM
So I've screwed up nothing yet, although my only job was to go to a party thing. Living in a smoove-ass condo for the full-time volunteers, feeling slightly guilty about how good my friends and I, as rookies to the festival, have gotten it thanks to our 'in,' but not so guilty that we'd volunteer to go live in the dorms or somethin'. Everything seems groovy, good times are had and we're about to shuffle off to our training.

There are fish related trinkets permeating this domicile. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

I've been instructed by my friend Bryan Enk, film and theater impresario and mastermind behind Happy Tree Sprite Productions, to see the Sarah Polley short film "I Shout Love" and give him a report, and this I will attempt to do. Although we don't have the fancy in-depth film catalogs yet, I want to see "Love Liza" simply because the director, Todd Louiso, was in High Fidelity and I love that movie more every time I see it. Also, tonight we are to see "Pumpkin" featuring Christina Ricci and a documentary about a Britney Spears drag queen. Or perhaps a "clever mockumentary." We'll see.

Nothing much to report yet. Cold ain't so bad, there's Olympic shit floating around, there's a tricky ice patch on our doorstep, I'm eating Mueslix. I must be off. Yes, like a prom dress. Yes, I must make like a baby and head out.

9:30 AM
In an auditorium, preparing to learn shit. College again. Most of the time I feel like I haven't outgrown college, but any time I actually go to anything college-like, I feel incredibly weird and out of place. I'm waiting for a sign-up sheet to come my way. They aren't showing me movies yet.

7:00 PM
I would, for comedy's sake, transcribe my notes taken during my training, but they consist of a tip on how best to use a walkie talkie, whether or not food or drink is allowed in my theater, a list of the sexually explicit films that I may have to kick children out of, and a snide comment about someone actually using the phrase "De-escalate the situation." Pick an antonym, you lazy fuck! Don't just slap a prefix on a word!

So I've been trained, yet I feel completely unqualified to tear tickets. Weird. Probably just my nervous nellies about botching stuff. I've got issues, I know.

DAY 3 - 1/11/2002

12:35 AM
So I've seen the special volunteer screenings of a few movies - a poorly acted short that put me to sleep, a zinger of a film called Pumpkin, a silly claymation short called "Dirty River Dancing" (guess what that spoofs) and a ridiculous film called Britney Baby One More Time, which unexpectedly features the always amusing Mark Borchardt. It's not a documentary and it's not a clever mockumentary. It's just a goofy movie. We're off to a good start, cinematically.

2:38 AM
Just finished typing all this crap in. I'm going to go to bed. Have fun, eat some cheese. I drank pear juice at the theater. Why isn't pear juice more common? It's some decent shit. I enjoy profanity. G'night. More updates as I damn well feel like it. Which'll probably be tomorrow. Woo-hah, got you all in check.

Onto Day 3!