The Soft White Underbelly of American Culture

We went to The Found Footage Festival last night. If this comes to your city, by all means go - it's pure entertainment in the form of old cable access clips, exercise and self-defense video montages, what-not-to-do training and anti-harassment videos, and other creepy/funny/confusing footage discovered in thrift shops, basements, garbage cans, etc. The directors are obviously deeply in love with this stuff; they've even made their own homages to it, and they personally host and narrate every screening, MST3K-style. (They've also directed a documentary about X-rated country singer/songwriter Larry Pierce, Dirty Country, which I kinda-sorta wanted to see out of morbid curiosity but simply couldn't bring myself to watch.)

A bit of a spoiler (or maybe just a warning): The filmmakers warned that the Jingle Cats and singing babies would haunt our nightmares, but it was actually the cable-access clip "Something's Happening" that ended up doing that. This old dude named Bloom appeared on a talkshow to insist that he has discovered a form of fatty, toxic mucous in his body. For years it has been his life's mission to expel all of it, which means squirting grape juice in his mouth every morning to get the process going and then spitting into a container until all this fatty stuff is out of his mouth.
He then lets it congeal so he can photograph it, melts it with a blowtorch to demonstrate the toxins burning off it, etc. He has a website called THE GREATEST MEDICAL SECRET. Please don't go there.

Right now I think I might go to a matinee of Zack and Miri Make a Porno, since Richard is off somewhere badgering Tariq Ali about 9/11. (The Stones supposedly wrote "Street-Fighting Man" about this guy, which is a big let-down. I can picture him nibbling biscotti at Starbucks and that's about it.)
I haven't seen a Kevin Smith movie since Dogma. I might be in for a massive disappointment.