| |
How to Get Laid in Sundance or Not
by Chris Parkhurst
Pondering Actor |
Monday, January 12
6 p.m. - Today is our Anvil-Media monthly editorial meeting. When my Editor-in-Chief, Head Honcho, Mr. Kent Lewis, hears that I'll be attending the Sundance Film Festival the following week, he decides that I should couple my visit with a story about the festival. The issue's theme is egg. Naturally our brainstorming session leads to a discussion about eggs, ovaries, sperm and sex, a favorite topic of mine. What is my article assignment?
How to get laid in Sundance.
As would any self-respecting journalist, I vow to do my Best.
Tue - Friday, January 13-16
I spend the week constructing a strategy to implement a game plan.
Saturday, January 17
5:35 a.m. - I'm tired from only getting two hours of sleep, but I am excited to finally head to the Big Dance.
I have arrived at the airport and I have been stopped as I make my way through the baggage inspection line.
"Is this your backpack, sir?" A bored looking, 50-something gentleman, asks me.
"Yes, sir."
"And is that a laptop in your backpack?"
"Yes, it is," I reply calmly.
He calls a funny looking woman over to me. She looks partly confused and partly happy to be going through my things. "We've got a suspect bag," the man tells her.
Jesus Christ, a suspect bag. Yeah, like I've got Bin Laden stowed away in there.
She smiles at me and says to one of her co-workers, "Already got one. This could take a while!" For the next fifteen minutes, the not-so-sharp woman proceeds to dismantle the entire contents of my backpack. My underwear, toothpaste, deodorant, Maxim magazine, CD's, sneakers, Sundance guide, etc. end up on a metal counter. People make their way past me. Thankfully, most of them try not to look at my belongings.
When she is done having her way with my suspect bag, I pack everything back up. On my way to my terminal it dawns on me that amidst her thorough search, she actually missed one thing.
My condoms. As I board the plane I wonder if this could be a sign.
1 p.m. - My plane touches down around 12:15 in Salt Lake City. I hail a shuttle to take me to the University Park Marriott.
I check into the hotel and unpack my things. I don my nicer threads and my Anvil-Media press badge and proudly walk back down to the lobby to find out where the bus station is located.
Here I find out that I'm in for a big surprise.
The front desk girl informs me, to the best of her knowledge, there are no buses that go from Salt Lake City. I ask the bellboy, to the best of his knowledge, what he thinks about that. He agrees with the front desk girl. This, of course, is the exact opposite information the hotel gave me a month ago when I made my reservation.
Taxis, I find out, are $75 each way. This is not an option. I check out rental cars. All rental car places have rented their mobiles for the festival. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. I hadn't counted on this, 35 miles to Park City and no bus to get there.
In a pinch, I could hitch a bus ride back into town from my roommate Skye, a teacher and fellow filmmaker. He has brought a busload of his high school students. Of course, they're leaving to go back to Portland the next day, so I've only got a trip or two to take advantage of.
Finally, I end up with the same airport shuttle service that dropped me off at the hotel. For a mere $39 I can get to the Park. I take it.
3 p.m. I'm in a largish-white tent. There is a huge crowd here waiting to see a documentary called The Corporation, which is showing at 4:30 p.m. Thing is, these people do not even have tickets. They are in what is known as the "waiting line". They are in line, just to get their names on the "waiting list". When I ask, one girl tells me that most people have already been in line for an hour.
She doesn't find me all that funny when I ask her if this must be Star Wars 3: The Corporation.
4:30 p.m. I don't get a ticket for The Corporation or the new Star Wars movie. I do run into a young, very pretty girl who is frustrated for not getting into the film.
Chris displays tags |
Frustrated.
"Didn't get in either, huh?" I ask her. She looks excited that someone can relate to her frustration. She also appears mildly impressed by my Anvil-Media credentials.
"No, some people have been waiting for nearly three hours," she says. She has big, inquisitive eyes. She opens up her Sundance guide and starts scanning the film itinerary.
Her name is Kelcey and she's an Austin filmmaker who is working as a paid volunteer at the festival. I ask her what constitutes being a paid or a non-paid volunteer.
"Timing," she replies, looking up from her book.
I ask her if I can join her for her next viewing. She says yes.
6:00 p.m. We're standing in line to get on the waiting list, we're numbers 74 and 75, in fact, we are about as far back as the building will allow. Some woman simply walks up to us and hands us two tickets, numbers 3 and 4. Score.
"I don't need these." She walks off.
We watch a film that is in the Dramatic competition. It is called Dandelion. It's a gorgeous atmospheric film shot in Idaho as well as eastern Washington. It's all that is right about independent film, a real story, shot in a real town, played by real people. I want to cry. Real Films always do this to me.
Afterwards, I walk up to the lead actor, who for some strange reason looks incredibly familiar, to congratulate him on an amazing performance. As I near him he looks as if he's about to embrace me.
"Wow, I feel like I know you from somewhere, man," he says to me.
"That's funny, I was thinking the same damn thing," I reply.
"Maybe we're star-crossed lovers. Like, we're destined to be together or something."
While it would appear that I've got some mojo going on here, I would have preferred it be workin' with one of the female cast. However, I tell myself that this is Good. This is a positive thing. Progress.
Kelcey has to leave to begin her volunteer shift. She works at some of the parties. I may have to pursue this at some point, but I decide that right now I might be pushing my luck. She has a really nice smile and I hope to run into her again during the festival.
9:00 p.m. - I am eating at a joint called Burgoin's, which is basically Park City's version of a fancy sports bar. It's incredibly crowded, mostly with what appears to be a Giant Fraternity, and I end up squeezed between two people at the bar.
One of the gentlemen, Dave, is here for the fourth year in a row. He grew up twenty minutes from where I attended college. He works for BMI and comes here every year to cover the Sundance music scene and go skiing and party. I tell him about my article and he offers a couple of tips.
To the best of his experiences and knowledge, the key to shacking up at the festival is the exclusive after-hours parties. He tells me that not unlike the film industry, one needs to have connections here at Sundance to get into these shindigs. It's his opinion that a lot of the women here won't even look at you if you're not a director, actor or a producer.
He then proceeds to tell me of the time that he and his friends, after spending much of the week unsuccessfully trying to get into a late-night party, pretend to be producers of a film at the festival. Soon they found themselves in a hot tub drinking with topless women.
I leave wondering if perhaps I might get away with telling someone that I am, in fact, Keanu Reeves.
11:30 p.m. - I almost miss my lift home because I end up rendezvousing at the wrong parking lot. This would be very bad considering that it's midnight and it's extremely cold out. There are no shuttles going back to Salt Lake City, making taxi arrangements would seriously hurt the wallet. Not something I want to do on my first evening, and I do only have a day to take advantage of my roommate's bus opportunity.
Thankfully two women and a child happen to be walking in the parking lot to their car. They offer to give me a lift to the other lot. The woman who offers me the ride is driving the car and she's really attractive. She asks me who Anvil-Media is.
I'm really unable to make any moves because she is with her friend and I only have about two minutes to make conversation. I don't want to come off as some obnoxious out-of-towner trying to hit on the locals. This is a delicate situation and one that I don't think I need to gamble on at this time. It's only my first night. Besides, the kid turned out to be hers, and that's a deal breaker right there.
Sunday, January 18
9:30 a.m. - I'm picked up by my roommate and his high school entourage. The half-school bus rides up the hill towards stardom, and hopefully to my goal, finding mutually interested pussy.
10:00 a.m. - On my way toward breakfast, a rather cute vixen asks me about my Anvil-Media press badge.
10:15 a.m. After some breakfast at a Starbuck's that looks familiar to the other 20 or so Starbuck's back home, we end up back on Main Street.
There really aren't that many folks out at this time of day, which is really too bad considering the blue skies and crisp air. People must be nursing their hangovers. No doubt this is a result of much drinking and sex with strangers. Fucking Hollywood. Maybe Indie dudes don't get laid? At least I like Main Street this way.
11 a.m. - After walking up main street to grab a cup of coffee, I head back to join the group of High schoolers that have been taping a segment for their closed-circuit news broadcast for school. They inform me that I've just missed Ashton Kutcher. He was just modeling for some pictures and waving to all of the girls.
He's lucky I don't see him parading around. I probably would punch him in the face. You know he's getting laid in Sundance, and it's probably not even Demi.
12:30 p.m. - I take in a viewing of a documentary that if picked up for distribution, will surely make a ton of noise, if not a lawsuit or two. The film is Super Size Me and is basically about this dude, Mark, who decides to take up an exclusive McDonald's diet for 30 days in order to see how fast food affects the human body. He eats three square meals of nothing but Big Macs, large fries and mammoth Cokes.
At one point, after returning from his weekly trip to the health clinic for exams, he complains about his drastic weight gain, recent heart palpitations and depression. His girlfriend keenly adds, "Not to mention the drop in sexual activity."
I think that I can relate.
displaying fur |
4 p.m. - I have noticed an alarming number of folks wearing what appears to be this year's Sundance trend. Fur. In fact, I've never seen so much fur and fake breasts in one place, and keep in mind, I live in Portland, Or, which has the highest per capita of strip clubs in the country. It seems that all of the beautiful people have come from L.A. to congregate on this one particular street to either See Someone or Be Seen. All I can see is a helluva lot of fur and implantation.
I ask one customer of Alaska Fur Gallery who is trying on a very expensive piece of animal, why she thinks that fur is in. She is also wearing a horrifying amount of make-up and appears to be permanently tinged by the sun.
"Because someone said so," she says.
She is both amazed and baffled when I guess correctly that she is from L.A. So she quickly adds, "Oh, uh, well you should know that I'm an animal lover. I'm more apt to purchase faux fur."
It should compliment her new breasts well.
6 p.m. - Now, one rule in life and love that seems to be true, is whenever I'm looking for something in particular I rarely find it. In other words, when I want something really, really badly (like a sweet job or a gorgeous girl), I never seem to get it. However, the good part is that I've found the converse to be true.
Like this particular evening, I'm standing outside in the freezing cold air impatiently waiting for my shuttle pick-up back to Salt Lake. It's goddamn cold and I'm tired of waiting outside the back of the main bus transit. Squinting in the dark as vans and SUV.s hiss by me, I feel like all the beautiful women that I've desperately been trying to hook up with point and giggle at the idiot trying to head home.
I surrender to the sheer embarrassment and head back inside the depot and place a call to the only goddamn transportation under $75. Amanda, one of the customer service people, kindly informs me that she forgot to enter the time of the pickup into her computer and that unfortunately, the next trip back won't be for another hour.
I decide to head over to the bookstore in hopes that Lloyd Kauffman of Troma Films might still be hosting his book signing. Kauffman is the writer/director of such fine fare as The Toxic Avenger and Sgt. Kabukiman, he is also co-founder of the longest standing independent film studio.
I've not seen Lloyd for a few years, but I imagine he'll remember the time I took him back to my apartment where I shared some of Oregon's finest greenery with him, let him stare at my pretty girlfriend and I introduced him to music that I was sure he'd never heard before (I believe it was Radiohead). If none of this grand imagery jogged his 60-year-old mind, then perhaps he'd remember the trip out to the Acropolis, one of Portland's premier strip clubs. I still remember asking the dancers if they knew who they dancing for.
When I get there, the bookstore is fairly crowded with the usual pre-pubescent misfits that usually accompany Troma gatherings. If only I had a dollar for every damn pimple in the place.
Chris with Tromettes |
Suddenly, I see Her.
She is a girl with blue hair, nice smile, fair complexion and breasts that stretch her white tank-top fabric to its limits. Cascading over the wondrous mountains are the words, 'TROMA'. Ahhh, a Tromette.
These kids must be crazy insane with love and hormones. A Tromette to these groupies is akin to seeing one's favorite Playmate. If one would like to see an example of a Tromette they merely need look no further than the front pages of Troma's website, www.troma.com
ow, I'd generally take a Playmate over a Tromette, but at this point beggars have no place to be choosers.
And it was already Sunday evening.
Now, the cool thing about Tromettes (or Troma) is that they generally eschew all-things Hollywood and mainstream. In fact, some of Park City folk reportedly took to calling them Commies.
Kabu, Lloyd, and Toxie |
What a country.
Flanked by the Tromette was Lloyd and two of his creations, Toxie, the original Troma superhero who was disfigured by a dumped barrel of toxic waste and consequently looks like lumpy waste excrete after a night of whiskey and loads of green salad, and Sgt. Kabukiman. Sgt. Kabukiman is a hero that apparently was inspired by NYPD Blue and KISS.
Now, if you've ever seen any of the Troma films, you already know Lloyd's taste for recreational drugs, B-movie lines and naked women. If ever I felt a connection with someone it was Lloyd. And if anyone might be able to help me realize my article, it would be Lloyd. So I headed over to talk with the man himself.
He, of course, didn't have a clue who I was. So I mentioned the Acropolis.
"Chris! How are you, old friend?" Ahh, nothing like a little "T & A" to awaken a man's memory.
We finish traveling down warm memory lane and I ask him for some advice. Amazingly, Lloyd, Toxie, Kabukiman and the Tromette, all have an answer.
Lloyd suggests what he calls his tried and true strategy. "I start out drinking and getting depressed. Then I tell them I'm gay. This all ends up being a challenge for them. Slowly, but surely, I'm able to land the gyno."
Gyno, Troma's word for female.
Sgt. Kabukiman, suggests a mask and colorful cape. It's his belief that this projected power and virility, and the fact that he is clearly the only decent police officer in the Park.
"I like to use liquor and coercion, and a big mop. Women for some reason tend to gravitate to the mop," offers Toxie.
I turn to the object of my current desires, the Tromette, appropriately named Boobalonia. She shrugs her shoulders and I desperately try to look her in the eyes as she speaks. I fail miserably, but she takes it in stride and smiles politely. I notice that Lloyd was doing the same, so I don't fret too much.
"I hear that Sarah Jessica Parker is easy," Boobalonia says.
I practically flee the building in search of Sarah Jessica Parker without even properly answering her inquiry about Anvil.
My search ends up fruitless and after two hours on a shuttle that goes everywhere except my hotel, I'm finally dropped off. Sadly, I go to bed. Alone. Again.
Monday, January 19
9 a.m. - It's my last day here and I basically run out of funds from traveling back and forth between S.L.C. and the Park. I make a number of desperate phone calls to the Anvil offices in hopes of getting some monies wired, but no one seems to answer the phones.
So I spend the rest of the day sulking in S.L.C., which is not particularly a great place to be sulking. I find that malls, Denny's knock-offs and Mormon churches just aren't the most suitable environments to engage in such an activity.
I have failed in my goal here.
Though I did not exactly achieve what I set out to "do" here at the Festival, I did manage to see some good films, meet some bright and interesting people and at least get a game plan together for the next time I come here. And really, that's all one can expect to do the first time they visit. The whole experience is really quite overwhelming and the importance of a trial run should not be overlooked.
So in parting, I would like to leave you with a Top Five List for Success at Sundance:
1. Be someone
2. Pretend you're someone
3. Stay in Park City
4. Sell fur
5. Have an Anvil-Media press badge
|
|
