When I first heard the shocking story of the trapped Chilean miners, the song that immediately popped into my head was that old Bee Gees song "New York Mining Disaster 1941," as it so perfectly fits this, and any similarly tragic scenario. The song was recorded and released in 1967 as a single and was the first hit by the Australian sibling group, then in their Beatles-inspired, harmony-driven, sixties rock band phase. This was a good decade before their phenomenally successful disco phase, spurred by the mega popular Saturday Night Fever soundtrack that they were featured heavily on.

The poignant song's lyrics impressively were written and recorded when the Bee Gees were only in their teens. The lyrics include, "I keep straining my ears to hear a sound. Maybe someone is digging underground, or have they given up and all gone home to bed." Until just two weeks ago, when they miraculously discovered the miners in Chile, authorities in San Jose had actually given up ever finding these trapped men. "Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones," sing the Bee Gees. Their song was actually not about a New York mining disaster but, according to the liner notes for their box-set Tales from the Brothers Gibb (1990), was inspired by the 1966 Aberfan mining disaster in Wales.

This week is the 10th Annual Nevada City Film Festival, and it promises to be the biggest and most exciting yet.

Ten years ago, a group of local ne’er-do-wells (counting me amongst them) decided to throw a film festival at our tiny, beloved art-film theatre, The Magic Theatre. Originally we showed only submissions from the surrounding communities. Times have changed, and now the N.C.F.F. showcases films from around the world.

Boner.

I am especially excited to meet and hear from this year's special guests, Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim, best known for their disgusting, whimsical and lovable TV show, Tim & Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! (A lot of people don’t know this, but the last word in the title rhymes with “robe” and is a dedication to me.)

I’m grumpy. Not hella grumpy, mind you, just regular grumpy. I suppose it’s from a week of drinking booze and eating varieties of delicious, weird, snack food that Trader Joe’s is always inventing, getting you hooked on, then discontinuing. (“Dark chocolate covered, rosemary-seasoned aspirin, anyone?”)

Maybe it’s because the weather just became truly warm here in L.A.; the kind of warm that makes you hate wearing shirts and leaves you wanting to bear-hug an electric fan. Most folks here love this weather – in fact, many moved here specifically for it. I am not those people. I like the north aspect to North America. And if it is going to get hot, I want it to smell like baked oak trees and wild grasses – not car exhaust and Beyoncé’s Heat.

No amount of orange juice makes this stuff taste good, FYI.