DUDE, WHERE ARE MY FRIENDS? Opening Schopening

I arrived at the opening night SIFF Gala late as usual, or as I would like to believe “fashionably over-late.” It was, after all, a fashion disaster, earlier in the evening that made me that way. I hooked up with my friend Cari Simpson, who was the Ad Goddess of Tablet at one point–she’s also a very raucous pirate. We walked a great distance, soon finding the VIP entrance through the lights and the crowd. “I’m a VIP,” I excitedly assure her. “I have a VIP pass!” So we amble up to the entrance, show the goods and are escorted into the top upper steps of the Seattle Art Museum, The smell of make-up permeated the air. Low-cut evening gowns and older women carrying two copies of the festival guide dominated the scene. Meanwhile, men in tuxes scampered through the crowd. “Where are our friends?” I want to know. We then went straight for the wine bar. I choose a white, because I can't trust myself wandering around this maze with a white cashmere sweater shirt, a sparkly snow scarf and with a glass of devastating red wine in tow.

I was then apparently singled out, and escorted down to the VIP lounge. Who they thought I was, I will never know. Only later, I would learn I had no business being down there at all. This was obvious after I had left the perfumed oasis (which apparently had a great bar), and tried to get back in! What happened down there, you ask?

Well, there were lots of tuxes, gift bags from Kiels, and more fancy dresses. Jeremy Leven, the screenwriter of the opening night film, “The Notebook” was there and we exchanged greetings. I had interviewed him earlier that morning with Gillian, so it was refreshing to see a familiar face.
He’s a sweet Hollywood man. He wrote the screenplay for “Juan de la Marco,” and “The Legend of Bagger Vance.” I think he got a bad rap by the Seattle press for this film. Yes, the film is not entirely cutting edge, but it will appeal to an older, kinder audience. I also heard it could have been worse and could’ve been better.

There was finger food galore being passed out every two minutes, and l wanted no part of it. I had bigger things to deal with—my purse. I don’t know what I was thinking when I brought that cow in. I suppose I wasn’t sure if I would be warm enough mingling on the stairs in the May mariner air. It was complicated; I had a cel phone that was just about to die, people to contact, and the non-American need to make everything smaller. This is when I found a corner in the room that was not being used. There were some coats on a chair, but what the hell—it’s SIFF. This is the exact moment when I literally bumped into Tom Skerritt, the great crusty ‘ole actor of “Alien” fame who also serves on the SIFF board. He was getting his picture taken, and as I bent down to examine the cow purse, I bumped him off balance. He apologized. I apologized and then introduced myself. I will tell you right now that I am the worst at recognizing famous people. If you know me, you have heard the stories…

After that fiasco, it was time to move on to the outside world of reality. I wandered down to the SAM entrance, and found my lovely assistant, Kristopher Monroe. We try to get back to special land, but it’s a no go. We need a black ticket and the lovely Amy Lillard explains the circumstances ever so kindly. So we meander back with the crowd and I instantly get lost. It’s my stake in life, my mission—to get lost. I’m incredibly social but I have a knack of being a great loner. I run into Andy Spletzer, and thank him profusely for putting me in contact with the peeps from “Monstor Road.” It’s a great documentary by Brett Ingram, which examines the legendary and twisted life of Seattle-based clay animator, Bruce Bickford. Monster Road plays May 26 and 28 and you should not miss it if you like creepy animation and mad geniuses.

The rest is history. I had a sweet conversation with Moira McDonald of “The Seattle Times,” and complimented Sean Axemaker, of the "P.I" on his swanky Panama Jack attire. I made a quick call to my TABLET peeps, and Aaron Green (the talented new Art Director Assistant) claimed he was going to find me. Later I found out they didn’t bother finding me ‘cuz they figured I was fine. Finally I run into Gillian, and low and behold she is talking to Mathew Stadler, novelist and the Literary Editor of “NEST Magazine.” We are featuring him in our next issue and I had recently emailed him interview questions.

I still can’t find my friends, but I really don’t care. I kind of care, but I figure it will happen eventually. Then I see The Stranger crew— Emily Hall in particular. I like Emily. She’s the curmudgeonly side of myself that I have yet to tap into. I ask her how she is, and she proclaims she is much better after pawning off her ridiculous cow bag on someone else. What is it with us journalists? Do we think we will lose information if we don’t carry it around with us?

Then I see Tim Keck, publisher of “The Stranger.” I’ve always liked Tim. We have a few ties back to old days that connected us with my friends from “The Weekly Alibi” in Albuquerque and other folks here in the Northwest. He’s always been sweet to me, so he’s a sweetheart. Speaking of sweet, Bradley Steinbacher has done a great job with the film coverage over yonder.

I finally find my posse. We put our obnoxious handbills (plugging this website) everywhere. I stuff them into some pockets, but the party is just about over. We meander to the Alib Room. I have been a good girl for the most part, imbibing on only three glasses of wine the entire evening. The true testimony is that my beautiful cashmere sweater can be worn again and I didn’t even think about stealing the red carpet. These are the good times.