Bad At Apologies

This is going to seem like a stupid question, but can you get Fritos just anywhere? It's not just a Texas thing, right? I can go into a store in Phoenix or LA or Berkeley and get Fritos? (well, okay, not Berkeley, because I'm sure the Frito is an oppressed species or made of GMO corn harvested without a reparations ceremony presided over by a Jainist or is shaped like a labia and therefore misogynist or something. But maybe Oakland.) Damn, I love Fritos.

Also, Fritos are like the grossest thing ever. Please pass the Fritos. Pop me open a Lone Star while you're at it. I need something to wash down these Fritos. I don't know what you send in to get the taste of Lone Star out of your mouth. I'm sure you good people will have some suggestions.

And yes, I remember the Frito Bandito. And Casa De Fritos at Disneyland. I know people know what Fritos are, but I can't remember the last time I was in a store on the west coast and there were Fritos. Tostitos, sure. Every kind of lame-ass potato chip imaginable, yes. But Fritos? Well, we shall see. If I make Fritos the Official Corn Chip of mcbrennan will they send me a case of 'em or will they sue for defamation? Tough call.

All I have had for food today are two slices of cake and 13 Fritos, so I may be a bit buggy. Also all the good music is on the other computer. I forgot my iPod when I left Berkeley. This is the pre-divorce laptop and it has only pre-divorce music, all of which I hate. All 65 gigabytes of it. Fuck you, 13,991 pre-divorce songs. Your naïve doe-eyed reality is as dead as grunge, Phil Rizzuto and representative democracy.

I had no breakfast, lunch or dinner, but I did have a good meetup with my wayward lunch date, who it's safe to say has some potential future involvement with my movie, and so we had a good chat about movie-related matters. I also got to spend some nice time this evening with my generous host, who I will miss as I head off to Phoenix, that land of peril and promise but mostly peril.

Plane's in the air at 3:15 central, lands at 3:15 pacific. Two hours of my life will disappear without a trace, except for vague memories of being groped against my will by horrible creeps. It's Daddy Day Camp all over again.

Remember when I used to use this blog to complain incessantly about Natalie Merchant or go on and on about my feeeelings instead of constantly flogging my career?

Yeah, neither do I. Anyway, this morning the Austin Film Festival made it official: Dramatis Personae (and its author) made the semifinals at this year's AFF screenwriting competition. I am, of course, delighted, and I'll be headed to Austin next month for the festival, so if you're there, do come say hello.

We now return you to "Mr. Belvedere", already in progress.

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...and my apologies if you're hearing this twice, beloved writing-filter friends...

I'm prepping for tonight's closing-night film Kiss The Bride at the Orpheum. It's the first script to be produced from the Outfest Screenwriting Lab, and I'm looking forward to seeing it; I really like Ty and C. Jay and am hoping they get a great response. There are also festivities, of course, and a last opportunity to see people I've gotten to know and like during these past two weeks. If I sound a little wistful, I am. And terrified, of course, that the momentum I've built will vanish into the ether like so much...vanishing-ether stuff. Like my ability to coin metaphors, apparently.

Last night was Itty Bitty Titty Committee at the Ford Amphitheatre. It was festival awards night, so Bruce Vilanch was onhand with the same high-quality zingers he unleashed in The Star Wars Holiday Special. I don't mean the same type of zingers. I mean the same zingers. Though I think we can all agree a good Cyrus Vance joke never gets old.

I kid. It was fun. And the movie was enjoyable, but I looked horrible in it. satoribee is also in it, and she looked good. Me, not so much. Ah, but vanity is not something your finer actors worry about. I was playing an ugly chick. It's called being true to the character, people! You should try it sometime, Penelope Cruz!

There was a pre-party and a post-party and I went. I said hi to people. I'm still not feeling entirely copacetic, so my schmoozing was limited and I mostly hung out with people I know. Tonight I'll have to step it up a bit. Or I could just relax and trust that it'll all work out.

After tonight...well, the future is always a mystery, innit?

I know you, Gentle Reader. You like to laugh. With, At, makes no nevermind: you enjoy a hearty guffaw. You also get a little tingle in all the right places when contemplating the idea of live staged readings of breathtakingly clever and thought-provoking new work by...well, by me, for one, as well as four other clever Outfest Fellowship-winning persons.

Well, then, Gentle Reader: Make a beeline for The Directors' Guild of America tonight at 7pm for a LIVE STAGED READING from all five Outfest Screenwriting Lab Fellowship scripts!
7920 Sunset Boulevard, between Crescent Heights and Fairfax. Tickets are $12 and available at the DGA box office.

See M. C. Brennan live and in-person, along with her friends, relatives, well-wishers and hangers-on! Ask for her autograph in a conspicuous matter! Hop on board this rocket, baby, we're going straight to the top! Etc.

A reception will follow in the DGA lobby. There's parking available under the DGA building for a mere $5. Hope to see you there.

Please note the extremely filtered nature of this post. If a word of this gets out, it's all memes from here on out. Thx.

Okay, not so much a redaction, just an acknowledgement of the First Rule Of Blogging: Never blog in anger. See, I received my training in the theatre, and am used to working with a tight-knit group of professional actors and reliable friends. These are people who have an interest in what's on the page and who take their jobs seriously. So moving beyond that into the realm of...let's call it "personality" performers...is not a choice I would have made. But you go to staged readings with the cast you have. And three of my four actors range from quite competent to downright outstanding. (And all trained in regional theatre!) And the fourth? um, he means well. I'm assuming.

I suppose the trouble, again, is the schism between film acting and stage acting, and I strongly prefer the latter: you get it at least some semblance of right every time. Man up and get off book. Know your character. The lines are not suggestions. Crap, I'm doing it again, sorry.

I suppose in post, you can assemble ten sloppy takes into one passable one. Sadly there is no post available for the tragic victims of Wednesday's reading. Pray for them and for me, friends.

So it was a rough day like that, but an illuminating one--it reminded me immediately what I'm giving up if I let this script go without iron-clad attaching myself as director. Sobering, yeah. There's a marvelous sequence in Ed Wood where Ed is trying to direct Plan 9 and everything is going wrong. The Baptists who financed the thing are ruining everything, tinkering and futzing and driving Ed bats. When they see Ed in his Angora director-doll outfit they flip out, and Ed runs away to Musso & Frank to drown his sorrows. There, in the corner, is his idol Orson Welles, who in a few well-chosen words convinces Ed to fight for his vision.

Well, friends, life imitates art, because in my own moment of despair tonight I spent a good ten minutes talking--I shit you not, alone, just me--with Steve Buscemi and Kathy Kinney. I went to the gala screening of the late Bill Sherwood's wonderful Parting Glances at the DGA, and through an improbable series of events, accidentally found myself next to the film's stars at the post-show reception. (They were doing what I was doing--hiding from the maddening crowd.) So I nervously introduced myself and we talked about their film, the 80s, my script, and my desire to direct the thing myself. Buscemi had a lot of extremely helpful advice about directing, setting the tone on a set, putting the right people in place and then getting the hell out of their way so they can do their jobs, knowing ultimately you'll have the final say. Kinney and I talked about acting and articulated what I'd been feeling all day--"Casting is everything," she said, "But you're an actor, you get that. You have to cast people you believe in." They were very encouraging, and at no time did they ask security to haul me off, as they probably should have done. It made my night.

In keeping with the whole life-imitating-art thing, I shall now go off and direct the worst movie ever made.

I also snuck into a high-dollar VIP donor party, did my cute pixie thing and got yet another potential producer on the ol' MCB bandwagon. WHO THE HELL AM I? And what have I done with mcbrennan?

Anyway. I need to go to bed. HBO panel breakfast thing at 8:30am. Then I think I'm taking the day off from Outfest to talk to some legal personages and do a lightning-fast polish on that old standby The People's Choice which is also mysteriously in demand. Tune in for more showbiz drama tomorrow, folks.

The Writers Guild Of America would like to remind you to get your tickets now for the upcoming Outfest Screenwriting Lab reading from my script on July 18th at the Directors Guild of America.

Seriously, how did this happen? I'm just a simple, naïve girl from the wrong side of the trailer park, a girl with only a typewriter, a brownie camera and a dream. A dream of entertaining millions. A dream of making America laugh and cry. A dream of tripping over two Oscars, an Emmy, a Tony, an MTV Moonman and a Cable ACE award on the way to my bed full of hundred dollar bills, where a shirtless Johnny Depp will spoon-feed me Ben and Jerry's Strawberry Kiwi sorbet while Jude Law slooowly massages my...

Ahem.

A dream of entertaining America...


We all know the Clampett-colored truth, but if anybody asks, I'm driving a Jag and staying at the Chateau.