Birds, say what you will about the desert.
Go on, complain about the heat and the scorpions; the dry, dusty wind that burns your throat in the spring and summer.
I love it, I love it, I love it all the more.
Which is why I’m back. No, not in Vegas. (I still haven’t managed to get the ciggy-and-booze scent off my clothing, despite multiple washes. “Filth” just seeps into your pores there, you know?) I’m headed to Palm Springs for the Palm Springs International Film Festival.
There’s quite a few films, like Dolphin Boy and A Separation and Run For Life and We Need To Talk About Kevin, that I’m dying to see.
Unfortunately, I’m too late for the Diana Vreeland documentary, but I think the festival has a really solid line up of foreign offerings this year that will fill in the gaps quite nicely.
Pictures, quasi-reviews, and other updates coming tomorrow. I’ll be arounnnnnnnd Birds, and if you’re also in the lo-desert, holla atcha gurrrrllll. 
(P.S. the best way to keep up on my #PSFILMFEST hijinks is Twitter. Follow me here. Not lugging around the laptop these days. Blog posts VIA phone can be tedious. Ever try to write HTML on a touch screen with goddamn autocorrect? Failllll.)
