First off, I'm ashamed to share the same name as this twisted pervert. Man, it's bad enough hearing that somebody shares your name, but in this context it becomes even harder to swallow.

Please read my review of David Kaplan's Year of the Fish over at Hammer to Nail, which is released in several cities today. I think it casts quite a special little spell and is a film that deserves to be seen.

Two big events have been happening this week: the Democratic National Convention and the US Open. I was going to suck it up and buy tickets off Craigslist for the Open on Wednesday night, but I decided to be a responsible American and stay home and watch Joe Biden's speech instead. I have an aversion to these conventions, especially in a "television spectacle" sense. They seem to be gaudy cheerleading competitions aimed at an audience I've yet to figure out. That's why I opted out on the first two nights (I watched Michelle Obama's speech the next day online). But I felt a little guilty and uninvolved, so I said "screw you tennis!" and got my politics on. The result? More confirmation that these conventions only push me away from the entire political process. That makes me sound like an idiot, I realize, but I can't help it. The whole "presidential race" feels as pointless to me as a parade. Each candidate should have one 60-minute chance to lay it all on the line. We can decide from there. These debates—and even the speeches now—feel like the same shit we heard the last time. At this stage I know who I'm voting for, and watching every single second of the convention and every upcoming debate (I'll watch at least one, certainly) won't change my mind. So I'd rather waste my time on... tennis!

Yes, that's right folks, in a year when the world has been impossibly kind to me, it turns out my decision to be responsible paid off. Yesterday afternoon, after emerging from a press screening of Gomorrah (more on that to come), I got a wow-wow-wow text from my wow-wow-wow girlfriend telling me that she'd landed two free tickets to last night's US Open session. They were easily the best seats I've ever had for Arthur Ashe Stadium, and both Serena and Rafa were playing. While Serena destroyed Vesnina and Rafa appeared to be on the same path with his young American opponent Ryler DeHeart, DeHeart tapped into that New York City magic for a few games to fill the stadium with electricity. Of course, that was short-lived, but at least he gave us something to get excited about. I've seen a good bit of live tennis in my days, but I've never seen a forehand move the way Nadal hits it. Homeboy is good.

Something pretty hilarious happened while we were there. During changeovers, they always cut to one- and two-shots of people in the crowd, who are dancing or sleeping or doing whatever. Holly and I kidded around about what we'd do if they chose us. And then, ten or fifteen minutes later, they chose us! It was a total shock to the system to be looking at the huge screen and then there you were up there on the huge screen! What makes it so funny is that we had riffed on funny things to do—I've always wanted to give the camera the finger to see if they'd arrest me, but I also thought it would be great if we either started making out really sloppily or acted like we were in a totally embarrassing fight. So what did we do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The whole fun of that silly game is watching people give a jolt of shock when they realize they're on the big screen, at which point they respond by dancing or doing something else crazy. But we just sat there doing what we were doing, which was having a low-key, random conversation. Everyone probably thought we were stoned—or really, really stupid.

Since this blog is supposed to be about cinema, I wanted to let everyone know that I saw So Yong Kim's Treeless Mountain yesterday and I think it's just an absolutely delight. Not even twenty-four hours later and I'm dying to see it again. Kim references Ponette and Nobody Knows in the press release, but I think I like her film more than either of those. Treeless Mountain is certainly striking a more minor chord than Nobody Knows, but that's what I love about it. In some magical way, the deceptive simplicity creates for a more universally affecting experience. To those of you who are going to Toronto, see this movie!

Oh yeah, Happy Labor Day. Bring it, autumn!