Hollywood is apoplectic today with the news that 111-year-old talent agency William Morris is merging with the fourteen-year-old agency Endeavor. Endeavor was started in the mid-nineties by Ari Emanuel (the inspiration for Entourage character Ari Gold and brother to Obama’s chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel). As the trades are reporting today, it’s a well-suited match: William Morris has cash from its lucrative music ventures and decades of TV packaging fees (The Andy Griffith Show, The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Cosby Show) while Endeavor has the more impressive client roaster of Hollywood’s elite actors, writers, directors, and producers.

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Day two of the Sinless Vegas Bachelor Party started at noon at the Bellagio Buffet’s Champagne Brunch. For more than four hours, we sipped champagne and buffeted to our hearts' content. We had come seeking Alaskan King Crab, but the succulent meat isn’t served until 4 p.m., so we ate, drank, and waited.

Much like Robert Bly’s Iron John, the experience birthed incredible conversation and interaction. 

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Last year I took on a major challenge and journeyed with my mother to Las Vegas for some good ole r and r. Although punctuated by some very awkward situations—namely when Mom met a shirtless Carrot Top at Hard Rock and was then forced into a poolside conversation about boob jobs by our waitress—it was an unqualified success.

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Every winter I pay homage to my Minnesota roots and journey within thirty minutes of Yosemite National Park (this isn’t Southern California anymore) to Mammoth Mountain and SoCal’s Mecca for skiing and snowboarding. A volcanic peak that lives up to its name, Mammoth is nestled in California’s Easter Sierras and is just five hours, or a one-hour flight, from Los Angeles. It ranks regularly as one as the top resorts in the country, with quality snow that extends the ski season into June and some years July 4th. Ski Magazine called the “unbound terrain park system” the best in North America, which can only be attributed to the West Coast’s religious surf-and-skate culture. It’s a place of incredible peace, beauty, and powerful skiing--much like the ice hills of Afton Alps that taught me the importance of a good edge.

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Sundance ’09, the twenty-fifth anniversary of Robert Redford’s ode to independent filmmaking (or what’s left of it), came to an end this past weekend. During my four-and-a-half days as a Sundance first-timer, there was no doubt I drank the Kool-Aid of cinematic innovation and hoopla that descends upon the Park City dance. I’m already looking to next year.

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As Sundance '09 begins to wrap up, No Impact Man, a documentary by Minnesota’s own Laura Gabbert (OK, she’s really an Minnesota expat living in LA), screens for a final time at Sundance today.

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Minnesota’s lodges of Sons of Norway will be proud to learn that yesterday the U.S. distribution rights for Dead Snow, the Norwegian Nazi zombie movie, was sold to IFC Films.

How 'bout them lingonberries . . .

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The days of big, juicy studio buys at Sundance are long gone, but that doesn’t mean films aren’t sold. So far at Sundance '09, Adam, Black Dynamite, Humpday, and Brooklyn’s Finest have sold with the latter taking in just less than $5 million (it’s by the director of Training Day).

So in the next few blogs, I will beseech the studios to consider a few films for purchase. Today’s choice: Paper Heart. 

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I thought I’d catch up with David Carr, The New York Times's peerless carpetbagger blogger on all things Sundance (and former Minnesotan), on Saturday afternoon. He was supposedly hunkered down at the MySpace Lounge, a festival locale where stars and reporters can reflect. And although the only press credential I had was my driver’s license and twinkle in my eye, I figured a little Anderson charm would get me through the front door and at least an introduction with Carr, whom I met during the RNC.

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On my flight from LAX to Salt Lake City for LA Log’s first Sundance Film Festival odyssey, I sat next to a frozen Norwegian Zombie Nazi. No joke.

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