Oh, I get it - size DOES matter...

As I wrote about in my last couple of postings, I recently went to San Francisco where I screened Butch Jamie and checked out SF Pride. Sunday was more Pride activities - I slept in and missed the parade, but I went to the Pride festival that afternoon. It was crowded and I didn't stay too long, but I did take some pictures of some of the costumes I saw.





I also braved my way through a tented area that in spite of the police presence elsewhere during the event, seemed to be set aside specifically for people to smoke pot. It was also the place for men to be buck naked if they so chose. While the clothed people outnumbered the naked 30:1, it was packed shoulder to shoulder and I had to ball my hands up inside of the sleeves of my jacket so I didn't accidentally touch something I didn't want to. There was no running water and soap around, and the last thing I wanted was somebody's pubic lice on my hands.

The "highlight" of the tent (other than I probably got high from all of the second hand pot smoke. I always wonder if that kind of thing would show up on a drug test) was the 3/4 of an inch penis I saw; I didn't know they made them that small, and a light bulb went off in my head as to why penis jokes are so popular. Nevertheless, I saw enough during my ten minutes in there to satisfy my lesbian curiosity for a very long time.

Pink Queers and Topless Dykes

As I wrote in my last blog post, Butch Jamie screened at the Frameline film festival at the Castro last weekend. It was the first time I saw BUTCH JAMIE listed on a theater marquee - a very cool thing to see.


I learned that they recently restored the marquee for Gus Van Sant's upcoming film Milk, where Sean Penn plays the 1970s openly gay mayor Harvey Milk. I'm looking forward to seeing it when it comes out later this year.


In addition to the film festival, it was also SF Pride last weekend. Saturday night was "Pink Saturday," a blocked-off street where you BYOB and mill about.




The best part was really the people-watching. After all, Pride is the new Halloween.








Also on Saturday was the dyke march.



Unlike the march in L.A., SF did have several topless women walking around.


One lady was carrying her breasts in her hands, claiming that the doctor told her they were 21 lbs each (not that I'm an expert on boob weight, but they didn't look that big. I tried to weigh my boobs a couple of months ago just for the hell of it on my small postage scale. It seemed that they were about 2 lbs each max, but I'm probably way off. They're hard to weigh since they're attached to your body).

San Fran-derella

San Francisco is really the perfect place to screen a lesbian movie. Last Friday, Butch Jamie screened at the Castro Theatre. The house was full and the audience fantastic.



It was the first time I watched the movie the way I always wanted to - with laughter from start to finish, in all the right places. Cheering, clapping, even screaming - the energy around me was so contagious I couldn't help but smile as I watched the film (and I honestly tried not to - I think it looks so smug. I've seen several stage shows where the director is the loudest person laughing - of course it's great to enjoy what you do and all, but the idea at that point is for *other* people to enjoy it).

I've had several people ask me "How does it feel?" How does it feel to screen your film, win an award, etc.? I always feel that my answer disappoints them. It's hard to explain - it's not how you think it would. Making a film, publicizing, and selling it is a long process - a series of successes and failures over several years. You take it day by day, moment by moment. It never happens all at once (or at least it hasn't for me). You have to step back to appreciate it sometimes. You don't get overwhelmed by the excitement of it all because it happens so slowly - nothing happens overnight. It builds gradually, and you watch the horizon from a hundred miles away. You see it evolve and take shape but it never seems to happen fast enough. You live faster than your life happens, and anything that does happen is "so five minutes ago."

But then you do have these moments. Like sitting in a crowded theater and taking the journey of your story through the eyes of other people. Feeling as if you're making some sort of connection with them, as vague and faint as it feels sometimes. Talking to them during the Q&A; telling the same stories over and over again, but getting better at them every time. Meeting some of them afterward and answering questions they were too afraid to ask with the audience, or hearing them talk about their own cat who should be an actor.

Afterward, life seems to return to an unaltered state. Like a Cinderella fairy tale, I go back to my day job, my friends and acquaintances who haven't seen the film, my lean bank account, small apartment, and car that hasn't been washed in a year (I know, I know - I'm getting to it). And I work and wait and wish and watch, knowing that it's real but wondering if its not.