Sundance: Like Manhattan's Zoloft
We've spent the past few days feeling inexplicably refreshed and — dare we say it? — cheerful for absolutely no reason. Despite the dismal weather, we've hit the streets and loved them. Apropos nothing, we've smiled at strangers and enjoyed the little spring in our step. For the first time in ages, we can actually breathe and it feels lovely.
Why does everything seem so damn wonderful right now? In a word: Sundance.
Nearly every publicist, celebrity, entertainment reporter, gossip and whore in New York has left for the glitzy clusterfuck of Park City, Utah. Under the guise of an appreciation for independent cinema (like The Da Vinci Code!), they've flown across the country to pursue their starfucking, swag-grabbing birthrights.
It's no wonder, then, that we're filled with such abstract joy. It's as if 75 percent of the city's evil just left town and we've got the whole place to ourselves. Hell, we bet even Marquee is safe right now.
