Savannah Is Warm

Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone is arriving at the Savannah Film Festival tomorrow. She told me a day or two ago that she heard it might be “cold.” (When women say “cold,” they mean cool, brisk, sweater weather, etc.) Well, I got here about two hours ago and it’s almost like Palm Beach — it’s T-shirt weather, a bit warmer than Los Angeles.

I arrived at the Marshall House, the festival’s nerve center, around 9:15 or so, and right away I got into it with the staff about my midget-sized room, but that issue’s resolved now…or at least for the time being.

They tried to put me in a room the size of janitor’s closet. “Fellas, I have to have a desk and a chair,” I said. “That’s why the festival brought me here. To write and file and run photos of the festival from my computer, so I really do need a desk. Really.” It took a little time to get this point across (they hemmed, they hawed, they side-stepped), but they finally relented and gave me a room with a desk. Thank you.


Marshall House, 123 East Broughton Street, Savannah.

Houston airport during the three-hour wait for the Houston-to-Svannah plane — 10.28, 6:25 pm.

Dead And Knowing It

HE’s Continental Airlines prolonged agony day continues unabated. I sat in a munchkin-sized middle seat from LAX to Houston, next to a guy eating stinky barbecue Doritos. Awful. My first-class sensibilities don’t synch with flying coach or sitting next to riff-raff. Currently standing next to Gate B75 — “hellgate” — at Houston Airport. Charging phone. No wifi or wall outlets, of course. No massively obese people waiting for the flight, which is good. Flight is delayed 85 minutes and counting. At best I’ll check into Savannah’s Marshall House by 7:30 pm.