Props to My Peeps: from The Strip to Cannes

I went to The Strip at the Evidence Room the other night. (It’s only on Saturday nights, so when I say “the other night,” I mean that I went to The Strip on Saturday night. Why didn’t I just say “I went to The Strip on Saturday night” instead of going to all of the effort to explain that “the other night” meant Saturday night? I dunno. Because I like to type.) (And because my blog buddies BonBon McBonBon and Babes McPhee [they’re IRL buddies too] [though we’ve had much more blog interaction than IRL interaction] [look at this! I’ve got parenthetical statements inside of a parenthetical statement!] [it’s like that moment in the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when Xander’s trying to sing his stanza and then Anya starts dancing crazy and she yells out “look at me! I’m dancing crazy!”] [except I’m not singing and I’m not dancing and there’s only one person here, not to people] [so it’s not really like that at all] [but parenthetical statements inside of a parenthetical statement are still kinda exciting!] [to me] [do you even still remember the thought I began in the parenthetical statement that preceded all of these inner-parentheticals?] [I was saying that my blog buddies Bon Bon McBonBon and Babes McPhee] recently started calling me Kiki Longpost, and I wouldn’t be Kiki Longpost if I didn’t write really long rambly blog entries) (hence this whole “the other night” tangent) (is anyone even still reading this?) (sometimes I freak out, like, what if people just stopped reading my blog, like, today?) (or what if something in my brain snapped and I just went crazy, like, today?) (these are honestly things that I worry about) (I worry too much) (I suppose the “snapping and going crazy” thing would be worse than the “exodus of blog readers” that might happen if y’all got tired of me and my rambling) (much worse) (whenever I’m in my car talking to myself and I see crazy people walking the streets talking to myself, I know that the only thing that separated me from them is my car and, I guess, a little bit of sanity) (WHAT THE FUCK WAS I TALKING ABOUT BEFORE ALL OF THIS RAMN DAMBLING) (or, “damn rambling”) (oh, right: THE STRIP!)

So I went to The Strip at the Evidence Room the other night. The Strip is a serialized late-night outrageous campy theater piece, written by (my new friend) Michael Sargent (we’re in a writing group together) (Michael is freaking high-larious), Justin Tanner (who wrote the “Guns and Gossip” episode of My So-Called Life!) (hello), and Hugh Palmer & Patricia Scanlon (who is a brilliant freak). The Strip runs for three more Saturdays (don’t quote me on that—but I’m pretty sure there are three more Saturdays).

The cast is a rotating assortment of awesome LA actors, several of whom I am proud to call friends—including blogger-extraordinaire Colleen Wainwright, who is awesome. Go check it out.

*

Okay, so this is huge…

HUGE.
(The hair in the above picture is merely big. The hair in the above picture is nowhere near huge. What I'm about to tell you is much huger.)

My friend Sian Heder wrote and directed a short film (produced by my friend David Newsom) called Mother. (Making your own film is a pretty huge thing in and of itself, but it’s not the huge thing I was alluding to, like, two sentences ago.) (Wait for it—the huge thing is coming.)

Sian and David are incredibly talented people. (When I met Sian in London in 1998, I quickly realized that she was one of the most talented people in London in 1998, and she keeps getting’ mo’ and mo’ better at her art.) (When I met David about a year-and-a-half ago, I quickly realized that he played Hank on one of my favorite shows ever, Homefront, and so I was able to quickly peg him as one of the most talented people in the room, too, but because I’m neurotic and weird I don’t think I mentioned to him that I knew him and loved him from Homefront, and then, after we became friends, I felt like it was weird that I hadn’t yet mentioned that I knew him and loved him from Homefront, and then I felt like it was too late to mention it, so I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it, and now we’ve been friends for, like, a year-and-a-freaking-half, and, well, David, I’m coming out of the Homefront-loving closet right now and telling you that I know you and love you from Homefront) (why am I so neurotic?) (I blame my Mom) (I blame my Dad, too—I’m sure he had a hand in this as well.) Anyway, what I was trying to say was that Sian and David are really talented.

They made a lovely, funny, sad, moving, visually beautiful film. It packs a really strong emotional punch.

In other words, it’s really freaking good.

Well, guess what? (Remember when I said “this is huge,” about five sentences ago? And then I was like “HUGE” in case you didn’t get how HUGE it was? Well, here’s the part where I tell you what the frick is huge.)

Mother was accepted into competition at the Cannes Film Festival. Did you just read that sentence? MOTHER WAS ACCEPTED INTO COMPETITION AT THE CANNES FILM FESTIVAL.

Yeah, you read my ALL CAPS correctly. How fucking cool is that?

So:

Felicitations, Sian and David! (That’s French for “congratulations.”) And felicitations to everyone who helped make Mother an awesome movie!

You so deserve this. You guys rock. Your movie rocks.

Bises, (that’s French for “kisses”),
dimsum (that’s French for “Erik”)