Broke my tooth.

Dentist said, if I didn’t stop ‘grinding’ my teeth at night, they’d look like Tic Tacs before I hit 41. Well… looks like I’m losing the bet. I’ve just been so stressed, for so long, that I ended up crunching a back molar so hard that it just snapped in half.

Not good.

So, now I have to go back to the dentist and tell him, “Yes sir, the night guard you recommended (exactly six months ago) will be most appreciated. Thank you. But before you fit me for that, why don’t we grind that puppy down to nothin’, then stick a cap on it.”

Cost, $1,500 bucks. Thank GOD Green Shield is going to cover it. (I wonder if I can get Centigrade insurance?)

But it’s a little weird, because it happened over night (unlike my career). Which means that when I woke up, it wasn’t there. Which means, I must have swallowed it. Which means, at some point in time tomorrow or the next day I’m going to poop out my own tooth. (I should be grateful, it could have been the other way around.)

But ain’t that the rub, one minute you’re 1 of 15 films competing out of 3,000. The next, you’ve got a tooth in your turd.

Welcome to my life.

I’m going to be honest here. I make a pretty good living. (Well, for a single guy, no kids, no mortgage, etc.) Problem is, I’m not happy with it. Well, that’s ridiculous of course. I LOVE my life. What I mean, is that it’s almost impossible for me to sit around and stare at a new car or palm tree or condo. I NEED to be doing something that means something.

Now, I’ve got no problem with condos. What I ‘do’ have a problem with, is the fact that anyone can simply go out and ‘buy’ one. And not to take anything away from money earned and invested, it’s a MUST. But… I’d personally get more out of the equation if I could ‘design’ the condo. Have a personal stake in it. Lay something on the line. To see, whether or not my design will hold any merit. Stand the test of time. I don’t know. Something other than simply writing a check.

Call it rebellious. Irresponsible. Jejune. But the one thing you cannot call me is ‘insecure’. There is a voice in me that I suppose will always be there. It is neither a voice of reason, logic or practicality. It simply says that the fruits of ones labor are sure to ferment, therefore… don’t get caught up in the wine. Instead, obsess over the path. The people. The places. And yes, the work.

For unlike the horseshit you’ve been spoon fed your entire life, you ARE what you do. Okay, I’ve said it. I’ve lost half my audience. But it’s true. If you are not what you DO, then what the hell are you? How else are you defined? By what you say?! What you think?! What you wear? Feel?

Bullshit.

My friends, you have roughly 70 to 80 years on this earth and I can sure as shit promise you that NOBODY is going to remember you for what you thought. (Not unless you write it down.) It will be what you DID with your life that will have mattered. How many did you touch? What did you leave behind? Was your life true to who you were? Or did you simply live the lie others found worthy? Did you delude yourself into believing you could hide under a carpet of sacrifice?

Yes? No?

Either way. And at what ever point. Shut up and do the thing you were meant to do. And if that be a parent, be the best. If it be plumber, invent something no one’s ever seen before. And if you happen to be a clerk behind a counter, know that you will perhaps touch more people than I could ever imagine through the medium of short films and second hand television.

Own your life. Own your decisions.

The flak you take will be tough. The successes, bitter sweet. You’ll wonder if it was worth it. Those that love you will tell you it was. People will hate you, others will say you’re a genius. And odds are they’re both totally full of it.

But at the end of the road, neither matter. It was never about them, but what they inspired in you. And what you, inspire in others. It sure as hell ain’t about about getting a ‘better table’ in some restaurant. (When you’ve worked in the kitchen, a table’s a table.)

It’s about taking those fingers you so readily point at the world and making the decision to bend them into a fist, that you begin to live. And yes, people will hate you. And people will praise you.

But who asked them? Not me.

Therefore, I will live my life full steam. And yes, I will wish the forgiveness of those that may have been burned along the way. But I too have been burned. And I will aspire to hold no grudge along the way. (Well, maybe a few.)

‘Success is relative.’ Though be most careful of those who describe it as such. They are the losers. The non participants. The bitter. Sheep hide best behind college educations.

Then again, maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps they are the sages of our time. Therefore, and that said.

In terms of success?

I am.

C.

Palm Springs. Hot. Sunny. Gorgeous. California never ceases to amaze me.

Arrived at the airport, grabbed our bags and raced to the hotel. We had about a 50 minute window to dump our stuff and get to the theater. It was fantastic to see my family again. They’d been out here for two days already. Putting up posters, postcards, handing out key chains and the like. My brother in law, Avi surprised everyone by flying in from Vegas. My sister was wearing a big red cowboy hat with her CENTIGRADE ‘filmmakers’ badge and looked the perfect publicist/producer. My Dad had already done some interviews and Scotland, my 5 year old niece, had little ‘Centigrade’ postcards pinned all over her dress. And it was so, very, exciting. Nobody’s family is better. Nobody’s.

I quickly got a tour from my Mom of the media center and was introduced to a few filmmakers she’d been chatting up over the last few days. I then took a quick peek of the filmmakers lounge. The place was buzzing.

We made it to the theater with about 20 minutes to spare and waiting for me were some of the best friends a man can have. Rob and Brandon Stilson. Mark and Claudia Rickerby. And one of my greatest and coolest friends in the world, Scooby Sorkin.

The theater was 1/10 the size of the theater in Montreal. Perhaps a hundred or so people (I gave my seat up to a guy who didn’t have one. I just sat on the floor at the back).

But be it large or small we were ‘Sold Out’.

The program consisted of 8 films. We were 8th. And once the first film began I felt nervous. Some of them were damn good. And so, I decided then to feel complimented to even be in such company. There are some seriously good filmmakers out there.

Granted, there were one or two that made me wonder who was smoking crack when they were first accepted, but then again, what the hell do I know? As for our turn at bat, well… the sound was a bit of a mess, but nobody noticed but me. It crackled and clicked throughout. Strange. The theaters sound system certainly wasn’t cutting edge, but it played well played enough in spite of it all.

Palm Springs votes by ‘ballot’. Basically, the audience fills out a ballot that’s handed out to them as they walk in to the theater and they check off which film they thought was best etc. And I had to laugh as being the director, I was walking in and out of the theater constantly checking on things, and had to remind the older guy at the door every time, NOT to give me another ballot. I felt like an illegal alien voting Democrat.

Anyway. It was a little unfortunate that a few people left before we even got to CENTIGRADE. I think they felt the ‘Twilight Zone’ program (to which we were a part) may have gone a little long. And so, a some of them began to split. And I was dying because I wanted them to VOTE for my film!! Hell, at least vote for somebody. But finally enough did in fact stay, the whole thing wrapped up and we all headed out for a drink.

I had trouble getting a connection on my cell phone, so I couldn’t call Madison immediately. It was too bad she couldn’t make it to Palm Springs. But the money has just gotten so stupid. Time to reel it back in. She eventually called ‘me’ to say that our 3rd and final screening in Montreal was perhaps the best of the bunch.

She said there were tons of people asking her a thousand questions and that the same day there was a journalist who had mentioned CENTIGRADE as the best film in it’s category. The category of course, WORLD COMPETITION. Cross your fingers.

Anyway. So after the screening we all went out for a bite to eat and had a great laugh. Afterwards we all went to the Hilton and sat by the pool and had another great laugh. This morning I woke up, packed my bags for Vancouver and started cry. Okay. Maybe I didn’t. But it’s just been so much damn fun following this thing around. What a blessing.

And so… Now I sit upon yet another airplane and it’s hot as hell. It’s got to a thousand degrees in here. What the hell is it with these airplanes?!

I don’t believe this. The woman across from me is freezing to death. It’s like krakatoa in here and this gal is bundled up with more cotton than Osama’s granny. She’s got her blanket, my blanket, double socks and a hood. She looks like an Afghani Drivers License.

A fitting end to a fine beginning.

Look out world. Here we come.

C.

Vancouver International Airport. 9:45pm - Red Eye to Montreal.

Sitting on the airplane and it’s already hot as hell. Everyone has found their seating assignments, there is a child screaming at the top of it’s lungs and the smell of feet has now begun wafting it’s way throughout the cabin.

Bri and I now sit in an exit row watching the safety demonstration and I don’t get it, I mean when you think of all the incredible technical advances in design/engineering, medical science, etc. that, “In case we ‘lose cabin pressure’” (and you need to ‘breathe’), a jello cup with a rubber band falls from the ceiling.

Man, if a seagull flies its ass into my pretzels at 35,000 feet I don’t want some dixie cup dropping into my lap, I want one of them Blue Angel/Snow Bird jobs with the hoses and bullet proof rubber. Seriously, the cuppy thing looks like something you’d get from a Toys R’ Us. “Sorry folks, we’re going down in a fire ball, but ‘till then, we’re all gonna play a giant game of ‘telephone’.”

Montreal. Oh, Montreal. Always wanted to go. So looking forward to this.

The city that is… Jazz. Class. Culture. Women don’t just ‘dress’ in Montreal, instead they embellish themselves with color. Adorn their frames with the finest of fabrics. I’ve often joked that Vancouver is the only city in the world where you can get ‘vintage fleece’. “Your great grandmother wore that fleece hoodie on her wedding day.”

Anyway. Here we sit. On an ‘air bus’. And it is. Interesting though. From the outside they call it a ‘bus’. But once you get inside, they call it a ‘cabin’. Sounds lovely. Perhaps I should just kick off my shoes and put my feet up? Christ, I think the guy behind me just did.

Anyway, Madison left for Gino Vanelli-land earlier this afternoon and Derrick is kissing lobsters in Newfoundland.

But it’s been a day. Yet another. Posters and fliers, dvd sleeves and dvd cases. 400 bucks to the printer. 450 to the duplication house. 250 to Fed Ex (oh ya). And the train kept a rollin’.

God it’s hot in here. Seriously. What the hell is with that? Maybe that’s why they call it a cabin? Perhaps somebody’s stokin’ a fire in the ‘living room’. My chestnuts are roasting. And I’m not kidding about the kid. You’d think his mother was pulling his finger nails off.

Bri just pointed out a giant moth that’s causing a bit of excitement among the passengers. How cool is that huh? Flappin’ up and down the aisle. And I just keep thinking that once we land 3,000 miles from here, is he ever gonna be in for a surprise.

But such is travel right? Nuts. This trip is going to be a blast. Madison has family in Montreal and she gets to share the whole experience with her aunt, whom I believe is like 90 years old. How incredibly cool is that? Taking your 90 year old aunt to a glitzy movie premiere.

Hope she likes Karate’.

God it’s hot in here.

Stewardess just asked, in the event of an emergency, ‘would I be willing to open the exit door.’ I said, “You kidding? No problem. Just don’t ask me to stick around and hold it open for anyone else.”

Cause I’m out of here.

Palm Springs ranks as my number one favorite place in the world. From the forgotten 70’s when it was an abandoned bomb shelter, to the spring break riots of the 1980’s. I’ve spent 30 years returning to the Aqua Caliente for its tranquility and Peabody’s for their mango salsa.

Something about this little desert town speaks to me and it’s a bias I can’t really describe. I used to hike Tahquitz Canyon with an empty garbage bag, work my way up to the falls, have a swim, then return with a bag full of garbage. Do that today and they’ll arrest you.

Still, we’ve been accepted to the Palm Springs International Short Fest, the largest short film festival in North America and we’re ecstatic. Madison and I had an ‘audience favorite’ there at the Nortel Festival about 8 years ago with our feature Zacharia Farted, and there is nothing better than to mix ones love of film with sunshine and sage.

I mention this only because the last few entries on this blog have carried a more ‘poutine’ kind of slant and it was about time I made an effort to balance things out.

We are having TWO PREMIERES on the same weekend. And we’ve been absolutely scrambling in our attempts to attend both. It’s incredibly expensive, but at the moment it looks possible.

Our first screening is in Montreal, Saturday night at 9:30pm. Later that evening, at around 3am, Bri and I will leave Madison and Jonathan behind and head for the airport to hop a plane to Palm Springs. We’ll make stops in both Chicago and Denver, arriving in Palm Springs at around 2pm. From there we’ll check into our hotel, drop our bags and cab it over for our 2nd premiere at 3:30pm.

Unfortunately, Madison can’t make it to Palm Springs. Just as unfortunate, Derrick Garland (Producer) can’t make either. (In spirit Derrick).

But as for me and Palm Springs…There, I will get to see my family and friends, Mark and Claudia Rickerby (who both worked on the film), Rob Stilson (dear friend) and his son Brandon (fag)… not to mention my Mom, Dad, Sister Lorraine and niece Scotland. Most will have been there days before, handing out fliers, enjoying the festivities and getting the word out.

Best of the best.

It’s the coolest thing in the world to share something like this. Granted, these are the kind of people who would support me regardless (all gold), but it is also kind of cool to give them something unique to take part in. Something aside from their own personal obligatory. That, and what better reason to go to Palm Springs than to see your kids movie, or your buddies, etc.?

Part of the sacrifice in doing this kind of crap is that you don’t get to see the people you love. Friends take a back seat. Girlfriends do their best to understand. ‘Family’ becomes a thing to be scheduled. And at the end of the day, you may actually end up with a movie that blows.

That’s one hell of a gamble.

BUT, if you succeed…

IF you’re able to pull it off…

IF the film is good…

Then their existence. Their memory. Their influence, becomes tribute. A mirror. An explanation. A thank you card. And ALL are able to celebrate together. One and the same.

Vicarious, perhaps. But all guilty… and proud.

As my father has always said,

“You’re dead a long time.”

See you in the desert gang.

CAMELOT Theatres. SUNDAY 26th. 3:30pm 2300 E. Barista Between Tahquitz and Ramon

760-325-6565

C.

Colin Cunningham in Centigrade, © Turn Up the Heat Productions, 2007

Hope I don’t screw this up.

Okay. First entry into what I hope will be many. Provided I can actually get my lazy ass to document the coming months (years?). That said, welcome to CENTIGRADE the magical tour journal. A place where one can check in to see how one little short film is doing as it makes the rounds to various festivals and finally takes over the WORLD!!!

Will it be the first short film to break the 100 million opening weekend mark?

Will the film be celebrated and studied by cinephiles and critics the world over?

(Or, will my corpse be studied by med students pondering the physical effects of independent filmmaking and how it can age you faster than huffing glue.)

So, before we begin I should bring you up to speed. My name is Colin Cunningham. I’m the films Writer, Director and Actor guy. Ya, ya. One of those ‘do it all’ idiots. Lord knows, you’d have to be an idiot to think you could actually make a living doing this kind of thing.

That said, myself, Madison Graie (Producer) and Derrick Garland (other Producer) made a movie, sent it off to some festivals and here we go. First one on the list, Montréal International World Festival. And after that Palm Springs Short Fest.

So, this is the blog. The diary. The suicide note.

Hope you enjoy it.

C.