I really liked the movie "Metallica: Some Kind of Monster," which had its NYC premiere Wednesday night. At the party afterward, I told an IFC exec (IFC Films is distributing the film) that the doc was great. But then I added, 'I'm a pretty big fan of Metallica, so I can't be the perfect gauge.' At that point, he gave me a bit of an askance look. I wanted to just say, 'yeah, I know it's not the typical gay thing to listen to.' That would've really mixed things up a bit, but instead I woosed out and just said, 'yeah, I know it's a bit surprising.' But, I've always liked hard rock beginning from the days when I'd blare Bauhaus on my tape recorder as a kid while going to bed.

But I digress... I knew the party would be a good one when I entered the party at the Gramercy Park Hotel, High Bar and the DJ was playing Hole's "Doll Parts." Our friend (Eugene was with me) Diana Holtzberg from Film Transit International (they're selling the film abroad) snuck us out to the VIP section. Unfortunately, the guard told me in the strictest terms I could not take any pictures from there, so scenes of Sean Penn partying down with Metallica could not make it into iPOP. Anyway, she introduced us to the band's newest member, bassist Robert Trujillo who was quite chatty. He said that film parties were very different because people would ask him "specific questions" about the movie and made inquiries that were more "about him" and his opinions. Apparently, much different from the chats he encounters elsewhere. Once, while working at Elektra, I had the pleasure of attending a post-Grammys party for Warner Music Group (Elektra was a part of that at the time). Metallica was there along with a ton of other artists on the varios Warner labels. I had the distinct honor of "escorting" one particular pop superstar (not Metallica) up the red carpet, because to put it nicely, Girlfriend Was Beyond Baked! Anyway, it might be comparing apples and oranges, but the music parties were overall, not surprisingly, on the more wild side. The "Y Tu Mama Tambien" party two years ago, however, definitely ranked up there though. Plenty o' top drawer tequila for shots is the big key always!! (at least if you're looking to f*** some real sh** up).

In one room of High Bar, photographers were allowed to stand around while the film's directors Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky as well as members of Metallica came for photo calls and for an on camera interview with local entertainment broadcast journalist George Whipple. Anyway, I was shooting a picture of the band's Trujillo and Kirk Hammett, when suddenly the cameras turned around and I felt a push from behind. I almost fell down, but caught myself, then turned around and it was Sean Penn trying to make his way through the room (which lead to the VIP area). His face was like 1 foot away from mine. Yesterday, as I was telling my friend this story, he said, "did you hit him?" I replied, "No I kissed him." (laughs) Of course, I did neither. Penn's reputation for hating photos and not posing for them (which is true so far in my experience in doing this gig) really causes a frenzy when a slight opportunity arises, which it did Wednesday. I almost joined the spilled cocktails on the floor because they just pounded him with flashes, and the fact I was already standing there made no difference, even at a "genteel" cocktail party. One photog yelled, "I got it, I got it!" not but two seconds after he passed through. To hell with decorum when you can pawn a photo of Sean off for top dollar and not get smacked doing it, right? As for what Sean must've been thinking at that moment, well, it can be a bit rough being so rich and famous. At least I think so...

Making the scene Sunday night on Ave. A...

I wish I could remember their names but I was a bit on the toasted side, but they were living it up in the E. Vill. at 3am on Sunday night. I felt a sudden burst of creative expression with indieWIRE's digital camera after covering the closing night party for NewFest. These are some of the coolios of the night hanging in my hood.

I love when people are so willing to make love to the camera. There have been many times when I've taken celeb pics hoping they'd let me photograph them smoking or eating ice cream or whatever they were doing at any given moment when I approached them, but usually, they put out the ciggy or put the food down. Once I asked a famous European actor if I could take his pic at a downtown cinema and he had a huge tub of popcorn and he was totally stuffing his face. I SO wanted to have the picture of him with his trough of popcorn. It would've been so real and so Pop. But he put it down for the picture, then resumed eating it afterward.

I took like 4 or 5 pics of her mouth trying to get photo that could be read. But, I don't remember the significance of 'Whiskey Tango.'

I can't remember their names either, but they made delicious tacos at 3am. At least I think they did, I just didn't eat them because I felt guilty for not working out all last week. It's been pretty stressful lately...

More people that I found on Ave. A... I was hoping the guys would've done the same pose as the ladies, but what the heck... They were cool cats as well. I wonder if they had fun last night?

Maybe there was garlic about, but the vampires were still out!

So, I wasn't being totally truthful when I said I was just walking home from the NewFest party because I actually did stop in for a bit of a night cap for a little inspiration prior to my foray into pictorial anthropology.

I've been sorely neglectful of my blog, and I was basically told in a nice way that I had better get on with it, so here goes, and I won't bore anyone with a political tirade this time… I guess going to Cannes (the festival of festivals, to which I'm thrilled to be at, but nonetheless does come with some baggage. A sort of 'yellow' baggage).

My immediate lead-up to leaving for Cannes was not one of my more brilliant moves. I partied-down pretty decently Sunday night at the closing night party for the Tribeca Film Festival at the Embassy Suites hotel in downtown Manhattan, then proceeded to stay out further with my friend David at the Tribeca Cinemas. Luckily I packed earlier that afternoon, because I arrived home pretty damn late (but I can honestly say I at least didn't close the place).

Anyway, I was, up at 8:20am to get into the office to finish up two rather big stories I had running in indieWIRE that week (plus other miscellaneous work to do) before leaving for JFK (late) to go to France on our 7pm flight. The plane was packed, but we managed to rearrange the seating with some French dude who didn't speak English so I could sit with Eugene Hernandez (the French will have their revenge no doubt soon). Luckily we ate at Chili's in the terminal prior to take off, because the food was a complete joke! Eug fell asleep listening to his iPod, and I nearly dozed off, but…. this really loud American guy four rows behind me was having a vociferous gab fest with the dude next to him, which pretty much kept me up until the sun started coming up. Then he fell asleep, and I was awake again.

We landed at Nice Cote d'Azure Airport around 9am. Eug and I had a bet on when we'd actually get into our place in Cannes. I said 12pm, but he thought I was being a bit cynical. (I won). The Festival de Cannes was kind enough to shuttle journalists in from the airport furnished with cars from Renault, one of the many big sponsor here. The driver wore a uniform, and was very pleasant. He even looked a bit like Jacques Chirac – at least around the eyes I thought as I stared at him through his rear-view mirror sitting in the backseat in my exhaustive haze. Anyway, Chirac dropped us off near it main event facility, the Palais des Festivals.

Since we were in front of the accreditation office, Eug decided to go in to get his pass while I watched the luggage. He came out with a little smile on his face because he received a "Rose" badge. Here at Cannes, the press badges are assigned according to how the festival deems an individual's relative importance. The Brahmin of passes is the "White" or carte blanche badge, only given to a relatively few elite. These holders can basically just show up and be whisked into any Palais competition press screening through the center door while everyone else "ooos and awwwes." Below that level is the Rose badge (with a sub-category of a rose colored badge with a yellow dot that distinguishes them from the "main-line" roses, but still a tad below carte blanche). These people also number relatively few in the pecking order of 4,000 registered Festival de Cannes journalists (compare this number to Toronto or Sundance which have like 500 to maybe a 1000 or so). Anyway, at crowded press screenings, like this morning's "Mala Educacion," the carte blanches went in up the red carpet (they're still checked by the tight security though), then the Rose badges.

After Rose are the Blue pass holders. This category forms the sort of mid-level press badge, the middle class "masses," a rather not so silent majority. Such is the importance of the colored badges, that journalists on our flight to Nice were already anticipating their color, with about a dozen of them complaining about the blue badge as being "impossible to do anything with." If one's schedule doesn't allow for showing up 40 minutes prior to an anticipated screening, the late Blues risk being left out of the screening or getting crappy seats. And just forget trying to get into an anticipated news conference with Tarantino and the jury, or opening night director Pedro Almodovar. It's the outside monitors for you Blueman!

There is, however, much more dreaded then the Blue…. The maligned Yellow badge. This is really the bottom of the barrel of press badges. While waiting for Eug to reemerge from the Accreditation office, one person came outside to his friends with a sharp, "F**K! A yellow badge." Despite my exhaustion after the flight and having not slept a real night's sleep in days, I just had to see what badge I'd get. Well, I'm sure anyone who's reading this can see where my story is going… I definitely won't be getting laid here on the Cote d'Azure by waiving my badge around showing off my place in the food chain. I did, however, manage to get into the second screening of "Mala educacion" this afternoon after waiting for 40 min. in the rain. The carte blanches (who also get in the press conferences first and always) entered first, then the Roses, then Blues… All were lined up according to signs that explained where to queue up by color.

For my particular screening, the Yellows did not actually have a sign explaining where to wait, which caused some confusion among us, but the Yellows began to queue up anyway at some point, and I did get in. Thank God! And I really did enjoy the movie. Gael is great. The story is much more layered then I had imagined, and Almodovar continues his banner irreverence in this one. Eug, who saw the film at the packed early morning screening, decided to go in for a second round with me in the afternoon. He said he'd save me a seat when he entered the Palais on the ground floor since the large theater didn't seem to be too crowded, since this was the day's second showing. When the Yellows were let in, I went through security (metal wands, followed by an inspection of any bags). I don't speak French, but the ushers indicated we had to go to the balcony (as in a rope cordoning off every area other then the path to the stairs to the balcony with a half-dozen ushers lining the way indicated as such). I saw Eug in the foyer beyond the rope, and yelled over that we were being herded up to the balcony, so he decided to just join me. We assumed the bottom level was completely full, hence the one-way ticket upstairs…

But, NOPE! The Yellows are not allowed to sit on the ground level, even if seats are available. The bottom was probably only about 40% full at best, but no matter. Empty air is preferable in filling ground-level seats to any of us nasty-ass Yellows. And ushers were placed at all ground level entries throughout the entire screening just in case any of us rebellious Yellows got any fancy ideas. Apparently at the packed morning screening of the movie, Whites and Reds filled the entire bottom level. At 10:30am the movie promptly began as scheduled, despite the fact that the Blues (sorry Blues) and a spattering of Yellows were just beginning to be allowed in. Well, no one ever promised that Egalite was a part of the Festival de Cannes.