Something like five years ago I optioned a feature script from writer James Hancock that I really liked, it took the teen slasher format and gave it a more European feel mixing up a bunch of horror essentials without cheese and with a psychological edge that just completely entertained. James and I spent quite a while developing it further, tried to get it funded, unsurprisingly failed with just a couple of tiny low budget shorts to our name and decided to come back to it a bit later in our careers.

The 81st Annual Academy Awards are two days away. Going in, I'm fairly ambivalent about the outcome. Unlike last year, when There Will Be Blood and No Country for Old Men duked it out for the top prize, there are no masterpieces. I deeply admired Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler, Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire, Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight, Andrew Stanton's WALL-E and Gus Van Sant's Milk. These would have been my nominees for Best Director and Best Picture, but many of them got gypped.

Still, I'll definitely be tuning in. I've watched every awards show since 1990, when I was 9 going on 10. All 9-year-olds who watch the Oscars naturally assume they'll be making it to the podium someday. I'm sure if I looked hard enough I'd find a few acceptance speeches, written in chicken-scratch and tucked away for safekeeping. I'm more cynical and realistic about all that now - instead of 30, now I'm giving myself until 40 to win an Oscar. Now and then I'm forced to look away to avoid being blinded by all the Great and Important People basking in their own sense of self-worth. But mostly the Oscars give me a giddy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

For an ode to pretentious, up-your-own-ass, "artistic" indie shit, there's nothing quite like the opening minutes of Baghead. The protagonists are at a film festival, where the film "We Are Naked" is having its world premiere. It's shot in grainy black-and-white, the dialogue is ludicrous, and just before the end-credits roll, the lead couple take off all their clothes and have sex. On their feet. In the front yard.