Ah, once again, back where real cold happens, as opposed to the fake cold that I deal with in Los Angeles - a town I'm still adjusting to. Nobody wears shorts in that town, and that offends my Midwestern over-70-equals-summer sensibilities. I don't get it. Native Californians are odd. Anyway, riding the shuttle in, I recognize a guy I saw on the shuttle ride last year, and this time we get to yappin' and NEW FRIENDS. Starting to get a good vibe so far, since I'm not a paranoid numbnut this time around.

All that happens today is volunteer check-in, which is cake compared to last year's madhouse, and getting free-ass shit. So much so that they're making us wear 'em as uniforms this year. It's cool, but my 'fleece' doesn't fit all that well, though. I don't know why I have issues with calling any jacket-like object a 'fleece.' I don't call my raincoat a 'plastic.' (I don't really have a raincoat). I don't call my boots 'rubbers' either. Nor do I call my couch a 'davenport' or my closet a 'chiffarobe,' but that's an entirely different discussion.

Anyway, tonight is the only party I get to attend, what with workin' midnights, so it's off to drink alcholic beverages in an effort to elevate my "giddyness" levels! Huzzah, and good morrow!

DAY TWO: 1/16/2003

Today, I saw a guy eating Dreyer's Ice Cream. He then got on his cell phone to some guy and announced he worked for Ben & Jerry's. This amused me greatly. Or perhaps just mildly.

This is Training Day again, although this time I felt a little more like Denzel Washington and not so much like Ethan Hawke - and I gotta tell ya, it SUCKS to feel like Ethan Hawke. I got this shiznit DOWN. If only my day job wasn't distracting me so much, I could chill out and get my relax on. Can you get your relax on? It seems like if it's more than one syllable, you can't "get your anything on." Maybe it's just me.

So my day job makes me miss the first volunteer screening, so I'll have to go see "Raising Victor Vargas" some other time. However, I did get over there in time to check out "Confidence," a zing-tastic slick-assed caper flick starring Ed Burns, Dustin Hoffman, Rachel Weisz, Paul Giamatti (whom I just realized I no longer refer to as 'Pig Vomit' instinctually) and an Andy Garcia performance that completely makes up for his drawbacks in last year's The Man From Elysian Fields. A lot of fun. Then I cruise for pizza, do more of my day job and must now sleep, perchance to freakin' SLEEP. I need some shut-eye, none o' this wakin' up every hour on the hour bullcrap I been doin'. MAN ALIVE.

DAY 3: 1/17/2003

Now, the fest kicks into gear. I hauled my ass out of bed this morning and thought I was gonna be late for "Levity," but it turns out I was good to go, got right in, savavadizzeh.

I will now explain that last word for those of you that do not actively share my brain. You see, there's a bit on an old Eddie Murphy comedy album (I believe it is "Delirious") where he riffs on James Brown being pretty much unintelligible, and told a story of asking The Godfather of Soul a question, and his response was, in a James Brown voice, something that sounded much like 'savavadizzeh.' Thus, that kinda thing is floating around in my head, available for invocation at all times. Absurd, I know.

"Levity," which I will write about in greater detail later, is a really good movie starring Billy Bob Thornton as a guy named Manuel Jordan with a need for redemption being released from prison 23 years after foolishly killing a kid in a convenience store robbery, and struggling to deal with the weight he carries. He gets a little help from a soup-kitchen, parking-lot-preacher named Miles, played by the goddamned great Morgan Freeman. The sister of Jordan's victim is Adele, played by Holly Hunter, who I'm now in love with. Mentioning this to my roommates, though, causes a bit of reeling and an invocation of "Crash" as a film that should invalidate my newfound psychotic one-way romance. I was scared of that movie before... now I'm really scared.

I shall be back later today with more bullshit ribaldry to relate, perhaps. Huzzah! Or savavadizzeh.

DAY 4: 1/18/2002
2:26 AM

I've just returned from my first night shift at the Egyptian, which featured barfights up the street, vomit in the bathroom and apparently mild excitement caused by the presence of Britney Spears running around in the deep cold air with just a crop-top on up the street a handful of yards. This, I did not see. Then I was told that J.Lo apparently rode by our theater in some car, apparently hanging her head out the window. I'm not fooled. I know she's still Jenny from the block.

The new project greenlight winner is supposed to be announced tomorrow, or so I hear. "Ben and Jen" will be present. Some guy from "Extra" or something was shooting a spot and said "Ben and Jen." I loathe entertainment news reporting with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.

Simone from "Head of the Class" was at my theater tonight. I saw Ebert earlier, too.

I've also seen "The Singing Detective," which was apparently the first time it had been screened for anyone over the five people working on editing it. It stars Robert Downey Jr., and it is a weird, goofy, psychotic yet highly entertaining film. However, I found it amusing that during the Q&A afterwards, some guy asked Robert Downey Jr. about meanings and themes, and he responded with "Well, since you know what the film is about, can you explain it to me? I mean, I just saw the thing and I don't know what the hell... I mean, I get it, but... y'know?" Quite the cut-up, this guy, and very self-deprecating. Katie Holmes is in the movie. She is tall and from Toledo. Keeping it real.

I was also delighted when the director was talking about how he got the project started, mentioning that he and Downey had been in a little film called "Back To School" together, and I suddenly shot upright, looked closer at the guy and realized he was Rodney Dangerfield's SON from that movie. I'd wondered what happened to that guy. If you ever see "The Singing Detective" (which I believe has a good shot at making some noise this coming November or December), keep in mind that it would never have been possible without the Triple Lindy.

DAY 5: 1/19/2003

It's the daytime. Today, I've missed lots of movies I wanted to see so's I could do my day job. I have no idea how I pulled this off last year, doing all that crap at night before I went to bed and after the midnight shift. I'm doing poorly at it this year. Weariness! Fatigue! Woe!

So on the agenda for today is either "Dopamine" or the newly heard-of "Whale Rider." The response that the crowds have given this film have been humungously positive, although that could mean it will win an award, so I can see it next Sunday when everybody goes home and nobody's in the theaters when they actually show the award-winners. So perhaps I'll see "Dopamine."

Yesterday, I had planned to see "Party Monster," only to get halfway there and realize I'd forgotten my handy-dandy volunteer badge what gets me into movies. So I shall have to catch that another time (same today with "All The Real Girls" and "Pieces of April"). I did, however, manage to catch the Danish film "Open Hearts." Now, this is the first of the famed Dogme 95 films I think I've seen (keep in mind that some films have been 'certified' as Dogme films even though they sidestep a couple of commandments here and there), and I enjoyed it thoroughly, even though they had a couple of reels mixed up and the film played out of order at my screening. It creates a lot of honest emotional confusion that creates gut-twinges, and it doesn't help that the star, Mads Mikkelsen, somehow reminds me of The Rock (it's in the facial structure and the smile). Everytime he started getting some action, I heard the "Rocky! Rocky!" chants in my mind. Yes, I am a loser.

After that, though, I caught "It's All About Love," which apparently features a former Dogme director going balls-out in the other direction with this grandiose near-future metaphorical dream-film about the state of the world today, starring Joaquin Phoenix and the intermittently-accented Claire Danes. I'm still trying to decide how I feel about it. Bold artistic risk-taking or soiree of pretention? I think I'm leaning towards the more positive interpretation. There were some really touching moments between the two of them. Plus Lars Ulrich of METALLIFUCKIN'CA was in the audience, sitting near Sean Penn. Rebecca Gayheart was two rows behind me. I wonder how that whole 'running over a kid' thing turned out.

So I notice that the lovely and talented Dave Cornelius from Amazing Colossal has tossed a link my way and has expressed extreme jealousy about being here. In response, one is tempted to pull out a 'nyah nyah,' but then I must admit that I've met nary a Miramax crowd member... or if I did, they weren't bearing a badge stating so. I did, however, meet a guy that does a lot of extra work on "Dawson's Creek." Although I do feel bad for Dave and his laments, especially having just popped back into the "real reel life," so to speak, and discovered that the KANGAROO MOVIE won at the box office. WHAT. THE FUCK. I feel as though I have to watch forty documentaries now, just to cleanse that palate.

DAY 6: 1/20/2003: MLK DAY

Again, another busted day, and I even got up in time. Silly technical day job issues once again prevent me from seeing movies - this time, it was "The Cooler." Did see "Bill Macy" after the show though, as I was in line to see "Pieces of April" - keepin' it real with the TOL and Katie Holmes. This has gotten some good response from the crowds here, and this time was no exception. Lots of women reported that they 'could not stop crying.' It's a nice little dysfunctional family picture about the black sheep of the family struggling to put together a decent Thanksgiving meal for her estranged relatives in an effort to mend a bridge or two before her cranky, critical mother dies of breast cancer. I resisted it for a while... about halfway through it, I was starting to squint at it like it wasn't gonna get me, but the film took that as a challenge and nailed me by the end, getting me a little misty-eyed. The fact that it's based loosely on director Peter Hedges' (Gilbert Grape) own experiences made it a tad more touching, too.

Going to attempt "28 Days Later" tonight. I saw Gina Gershon shopping yesterday at a supermarket, pushing a shopping cart around outside. This amused me. I also spent about two and a half hours loitering at the Holiday Theaters just to make sure I saw at least ONE movie yesterday, only to discover I was waiting in the wrong spot. So I wound up 22 back in line rather than being A-numbah-1. Ah, well, I got in, and I saw "Brother Outsider: The Life of Bayard Rustin," which is apparently playing today on PBS as well. A great documentary about a little-known civil rights figure that worked alongside Martin Luther King Jr. as a tireless organizer and campaigner - without him to bang out the logistics, the March On Washington would never have happened. This guy was inspiring, intelligent, and integrationist, which earned him the ire of guys like Malcolm X and H. Rap Brown (finally, my lame honky ass knows what Flavor Flav's response to the 'controversial negro' question in "Burn Hollywood Burn" is - "Yeah, I'm wit it. You mean somebody like Huey P. Newton or H. Rap Brown, right?" I always felt like a dumbass for not recognizing those names), the separationists and 'by any means necessary' guys, who tried to smear him (as did the federal government) about his homosexuality, which he was never ashamed of. While it's easy to get caught up in the separationist thoughts (after I read The Autobiography of Malcolm X, I thought he made some pretty valid points about it, too), but we ARE all one. Setting up borders and isolating groups of us with fences and boundaries isn't ever going to make things better.

Imagine there's no countries, it isn't hard to do, nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too. Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the world will live as one. Then, perhaps, we'll be free at last, free at last... thank god almighty, we're free at last.

DAY 7: 1/21/2003

Yes, okay, a tad preachy, grin and bear it. I'm doing a lot of this late at night, but I thought the whole 'dreamer' bit and the "I have a dream" speech was a cool combo, even though it says 'no religion' and 'thank god almighty' in the same paragraph. IT IS COOL AND IT MAKES YOU THINK. I always get a bit of a pang of something or other, be it remorse, regret, admiration or just straight-up amazement when I see or hear Dr. King speaking. Flaws, he had 'em, but listening to him speak... man, I would have followed that guy into a cave full of thumbtacks.

So today I joined Greenpeace because the woman who stopped me on the street uncannily resembled a late friend of mine, and I was really knocked off my kilter by it. I'm generally reluctant to join any organization at all, but I ostensibly agree with most of their ideology and I think our current president is a buttfuck. But also, left-wing zealotry can get just as out of control and wrongheaded as right-wing zealotry/greed/disregard for the environment, what-have-you, and for some reason my brain was registering some sort of dissent about joining, suggesting that some shit had gone down with Greenpeace recently that I was annoyed with, but I can't remember. Suffice it to say, I'll be following them more closely now, to make sure I'm contributing to something I want to contribute to. But I was inches away from voting Nader last time out of my desire for viable third party candidates (my reasons behind voting for that little maniac Perot in 92), since I'm sick of the white-collar Super Bowl that happens every four years.

So... anyway, back to da lecture at hand. I caught "28 Days Later" last night - a really intense British post-apocalyptic tale that sorta takes the major plot device in "The Return of Optimus Prime" and puts it in a non-Transformers related story. The "hate plague," an experimental infection set loose from a lab by animal activists, runs like wildfire throughout England, sending everyone who comes in contact with it into a murderous rage and a severe, incurable mental regression into a zombie-like maniacal state. Then one guy wakes up in a hospital a month later to discover the world gone mad and decaying. Really intense, really cool. Then I saw Eddie Griffin's new standup flick (or most of it), that was partially an autobiographical film, too. I have an affinity for stand-up comedy and I study it a lot. While I dug Undercover Brother and there was a flair or two of an interesting take on things, the bottom line is that at the end of the show, he did a standard hack sort of bit - "What if Sammy Davis Jr. worked at McDonald's?" That just depressed me, and I was already a bit depressed by his silly bit on homosexuality and a handful of other old bits sprinkled in. So I wasn't that impressed by it. Then Eddie "Midget Wanna Be Tall" Griffin himself was pitching a jestful jape of a fit at the counter about having to pay for his concessions. He really wants to be a superstar.

Then today, I've only seen "Buffalo Soldiers," and it's good to see a film that's not lionizing the military at all these days, even if it was made before the whole 9/11/2001 bullshit. Joaquin Phoenix vs. Scott Glenn in a battle of wills between the Sgt. Bilko black market army hustler and the psychotic war-lovin' ballbuster in charge - quite the black comedy, and frighteningly based on truths. Tonight, I'm working the "Sundance Tribute To Independent Vision." This used to be an award called the Piper Heidsick Award. I don't know who Piper or Heidsick were, but at least that sounded like an award. This sounds like a banquet. They're giving it to Holly Hunter, whom I officially fell in love with after seeing "Levity."

I've also been extraordinarily gassy. Whether this comes from eating less-than-healthily or just weird altitude issues, I know not. I just know I'm gurglin' and pooterin' like an old'n'busted locomotive. It ain't fun.

DAY 8: 1/22/2003

So. I saw "The Shape of Things" last night. This is the first Neil LaBute film I've seen, although I'm aware that "In The Company of Men" featured two fucking asshole guys utterly devastating a woman for the fun of it. This new film seems to be the counterpoint to that - a woman utterly devastating a man for the art of it. I was sorta in love with Rachel Weisz after "Confidence," but after seeing this... my god. Any insecure schmuck like me, who has been in relationships where you watch the beautiful person you're with and wonder WHAT in the BLUE HELL she sees in you, is likely to feel some serious angst and woe while watching Paul Rudd get utterly humiliated... and its an exceptional knife-twist when the implication is that he might actually consider going back to the bitch after he's been emotionally raped. But, anyway, the movie was so blatantly a play it was distracting.

I had big-ass plans to spend all day at the huge-ass Eccles Theater (which is actually a schmancy high school auditorium sorta thing), starting with the 9:15 AM showing of "The Cooler." However, I'm still screwed up on my time zone change, so I set my stupid cell phone alarm (yes, I am equally disgusted about resorting to such cell phone bullshit, but there's no way I'm waking up to that alarm clock's air-raid-warning horrifying buzz again. NO SIR) an hour too late and fucked myself outta some Bill Macy. However, I hopped my ass out to check out "American Splendor," which, as a card-carrying comic nerd, I am sad to say I'm not familiar with. The film, however, was, as a friend of mine used to say, "fuckin' tits." That is a positive statement. After that, I caught "Laurel Canyon," which is the first film I've seen that actively annoyed me, though it wasn't really the fault of the actors. I just found some of the crap that these characters do in this movie to be off-putting and fucking aggravating, and I was hoping for a payoff that never came. Still not an awful film, though - some interesting shit took place, too.

Then it was time for the superfly big-fuckin'-deal debut of the new Bob Dylan film "Masked and Anonymous," and I snaggled my way in there. Um. I don't really know quite what I saw, but it seemed like a surreal and bleak take on contemporary America. Some bloke in the crowd described it as being like a Bob Dylan song - doesn't make sense at first, but will with repeated exposure. It was described as a "work in progress," though, so we'll see what happens with that one. I should be more familiar with Dylan than I am. This is evidenced by the fact that I've had the one line I know from "Like A Rollin' Stone" stuck in my head all day now. "How does it FEEEEEEL....."

Off to work I went, prepared for entourage madness for the premiere of the Brittany Murphy wacky drug adventure "Spun." Lots of cool dudes showed - Jason Schwartzman, Patrick Fugit, Mickey Rourke, Mena Suvari, what have you - but no up-and-coming freakzilla Murphy. Fine by me. I have had e-goddamned-nough of stylized drug movies. If I see one more snort-shoot-crazy-head-shakey-speedy-film sequence, I will punch a small child in the mouth. SO DON'T FORCE MY HAND, MOVIE PEOPLE!

Tomorrow, I get to see a Slamdance film directed by Bob Odenkirk which promises NOT to deliver Mr. Show-style hilarity, but other kinds of hilarity, of a more subdued nature. Yes. This I will see.

DAY 9: 1/23/2003

Today was my 'alternative festival' moment, and it proved infinitely better than last year's R.S.V.P. debacle. "Melvin Goes To Dinner" was quite good, in the 'people at a table just talking to each other' genre. The dialogue was quick, smart and funny, and that managed to happen with sound difficulties that I didn't even notice. Hopefully it doesn't suffer the same fate as Run Ronnie Run and languish in unreleased obscurity.

After that, I chilled until it was time to see "All The Real Girls," another film that felt very real, not to mention dad-blasted beautiful. A simple story about one girl's first love and one guy's attempt to put a lot of really shitty loves behind him and go for something good. Neat part is that lead actor Paul Schneider is a friend of a friend, so I actually go up and introduce myself to one of these star types for the first time, and it goes well.

So I've been trying to understand this ridiculous phenomenon of celebrity collection - the constant desire to have pictures taken with some movie schmuck or, even more ludicrous, the craving of having an autograph from one of them. A freakin' AUTOGRAPH? What is the goddamned point of this? It's just some doofus writing his name, for chrissakes. I've never really had a thing for autographs, but I will admit to having the occasional desire to have my picture taken with famous folks I admire. I'm trying to figure out WHY. Is it some sort of need to have proof that you met these people? Nobody really cares about that even if you have it - at best, it's a nod and a "oh, cool, hey, you got any cheese?" for your trouble. I know some of these glory hounds eat up that kinda crap, but overall, it seems like just a huge annoying thing for millions of people to do every day. So I've been ignoring the impulse. Ain't no point and it's goddamned silly.

Anyway, the midnight show last night was "The Hebrew Hammer," a goofball comedy - a rarity for this festival - attempting to invent the "Jewsploitation" genre. I enjoyed that sucker - and it's a bit of a release after seeing so many depressing films all the time. Sometimes you just wanna watch a Jew be a badass.

DAY 10: 1/24/2003

So I got a bit of a gastrointestinal insanity from eating what I suspect was a gut-greasening burrito after the midnight flick, so I woke up alarmed at the day-job-related stuff I was supposed to do the day before. So I went nutty this morning and did all that, at the expense of flicks like "The United States of Leland" that I was going to see this afternoon. Instead, I made my way to see the documentary "Stevie" on the recommendation of one of my theater team Runnin' Krew. This doc is about one of the backwoods rednecks that I remember growing up around in the Midwest, but this guy's had some unbelievable tragedies in his life that get put on film when his former Big Brother (TM) re-establishes contact with him after a decade or so and decides to direct a film about him and his awful life. Fascinating to watch and also disturbing to deal with.

Scrambled my scrubby butt over to the big theater to weasel into "The Secret Lives of Dentists," which I was late for and wound up missing the very beginning of, but Campbell Scott makes any movie he does worth watching (and it's too bad I didn't pay more attention so I could also see his directorial debut "Off The Map" here). I'm pondering my affinity for Scott, trying to discern why I dig him so much. He's just entirely natural all the time, casual and intense whenever he needs to be. He carries this movie as well, a study about suburban happiness and how it can fall apart and hold itself together at the same time. The guy's just magnetic.

Then I swerve my ass back over to work and I get to check out "Rolling Kansas," a dopey little comedy about dudes in Texas that try to find a magical marijuana forest in Kansas to sell dope enough to save the oldest one of them from financial ruin, directed by Lowell from "Wings," Thomas Haden Church. It had some really funny doofiness, but then tried to become more than it was from time to time, and fooled itself into not being so good.

Time draws to a close here, and being around all of these kooky people with their own film careers moving forward makes me want to get my ass in gear and do something more than kvetch about movies. I'm living in Los Angeles, and there's only one reason to live there. To freakin' DO SOMETHING. What, I'm not entirely sure, but it's time to get a focus. Maybe a Ford Focus.

Yadda yadda, my personal crap, nobody cares. Wooo! Movies!

DAY 11: 1/25/2003

Today, I took in my first film at the Egyptian Theater as a guy with a ticket and a seat and not as a staffer loitering in the back. It was called "Garage Days," one of the films that had been mandated for me to see. While mildly amusing at times, I found it more often than not to be boring. This may replace "Laurel Canyon" as my least-enjoyed film. I wasn't really involved with any of the characters, and the best parts of the film were creative drug trips, which is never a good sign, although I always want to give credit to any film that ends with a big Tom Jones Dance Party. Anyway, when I arrived there, Denis Leary and Robin Tunney of "The Secret Lives of Dentists" were chillin' outside. I've already met Denis Leary briefly years ago, and I'm sad to say that the more I listen to Bill Hicks, the less enamored I am of Leary. Listen to "No Cure For Cancer" and then listen to the stuff Hicks put out before that, and get depressed at the similarities. I enjoy Leary performances still, but as soon as he comes up in a conversation, I immediately think of Hicks and get all distastey. Luckily, Campbell Scott wasn't around or I might have embarassed myself by gushing over him.

After this, I shuttled my scrubby butt over to see a selection of short films, none of which I found particularly interesting. First up was a poorly acted short with kids liking stars and a troubled teen hoping for a bit of redemption called "Night Light." Then came "Good Night Valentino," about a conversation that Rudolph Valentino had with a guy ten days before he died about how pissed off he was at American gossip rags and its shitty culture. Okay, dull. Next up, a mariachi guy fucks up his life by getting possessed by the ghost of Chet Baker when he plays his new trumpet, called "Tromba D'oro." This one was saved only by the random appearance of a guy in a luchadore mask providing a 'The End' moment for no particular reason. "Earthquake" was a two-minute film featuring shaking dolls pretending to be in a quake. Cute. "Above and Beneath" was also cute, where a girl on a train in black and white imagines she's swimming underwater in LIVING COLOR. See, THEN SHE'S ALL WET WHEN SHE GETS OFF THE TRAIN IN BLACK AND WHITE HOW CLEVER. "This is JOHN" is just about a guy who goes nuts trying to record his outgoing answering machine message. Mildly amusing. Then it ends with "Most," which was a nice story about a drawbridge man and his loving son, but about halfway through it I had to lean back and sigh and say "Okay... how long do I have to wait before the little boy gets killed in a horrible railroad related accident and fills the father with angst, woe, melancholy and despair?" As described by one of my co-workers, sometimes at this festival, you get sick of waiting for the big "trump card" like that to be played - "oh, but the mother then dies!" or "oh, but then he has a huge overdose" or the crisis du jour. Lay that tragedy on me, Mac.

Wrapped up the moviegoing day with "The Blues," a documentary series that will eventually make its way to PBS, featuring a handful of directors going hogwild covering different aspects of the roots music. Guys like Wim Wenders and Mike Figgis. It's a Scorsese brainchild, too. I thought it was purty damn groovy, myself. Hard to go wrong with the blues, though. Not sure how I liked the 're-enactmenty stuff, though, like having the guy from "O Brother Where Art Thou" playing a classic bluesman in old-timey faked footage, though, but that was mainly Wenders' gig.

Tonight, I go for my last shift with my Midnight Krew. The folks is coo'. Tomorrow, I hope to go check out some award winners, but they might make me work during the day. These screenings are sparsely attended, though, so it probably won't be much o' nothin'. Word.

DAY 12: 1/26/2003

So it's Super Bowl Sunday, and I'm gonna miss most of the Bowl (including the NEW HULK MOVIE COMMERCIAL!) because I'm go' be shuttlin' my ass to a plane tonight. They're showing the Sundance Award Winners today, but due to my getting inordinately blitzed last night (I have never been so drunk so quickly in my life - one shot of Jack on an unfull tummy'll do it), I probably won't be seeing them, despite my desire to check out "The Station Agent" and "Whale Rider," which a guy described to me as being a cross between "The Karate Kid" and "Free Willy," except a zillion times better. However, having heard that comparison, it will automatically not be as good, because I will keep thinking of Ralph Macchio or Hilary Swank (The Next Karate Kid).

Ah, well. Off to have lunch with my Utah friends, and then I'll be shuffling back to LA LA Land, feeling somewhat inspired and energized. Hopefully I can carry this through so I can get caught up on reviews (and I also hope my memory ain't muddled to the point of mixing all these flicks up in my brain as I jot down thoughts). If I actually DO go see something today, I'll let ya know, but chances are, this is my wrap-up to the 'Dance for 2003. I'm sure to be back, though. It's too much fun to pass up.