To all of my fellow film writers huddled together in Park City’s dark, Sundance-affiliated screening rooms this week, may I extend to you a hearty middle finger. Really, go fuck yourselves. In the snow. With your UGG boots.

Jealous? Me? Never. I’ve got plenty of things to do. Like cry about the polar bear–inhabited areas our fearless federal leaders are handing out oil leases for (and, the end of Isaac Mizrahi for Target). Pfft. No, you enjoy the star-studded week. Go ahead and sip your designer organic hot cocoa with giant, fresh marshmallow cubes. I hope it begins to snow at the exact moment you start tongue-kissing John Krasinski, too.


But all bad words and vulgar gestures aside, folks I’m genuinely happy for the North East School of the Arts cinema students who’ve made it up to Robert Redford’s Utah art-haven for the festival. No, really: I am. They got — ahem — earned free passes that give them access to screenings and panels, and that’s just super. So super. Um, kids, if you could manage to bring me back like, an icicle, or something, that’d be great. XO.


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