Does eating a smoked salmon sandwich at the restaurant/bar of the Irish Film Centre count as checking out their cinephile culture? Well, it did for me! I was starving after only eating some carmelized chicken-type product shaped like turds and stale yellow rice on the plane last night. And let me tell you guys, Aer Lingus, with their WINE THAT YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR ON AN INTERNATIONAL FLIGHT and rude flight attendants who attempt to admonish you constantly in the friendliest way possible and even if you wanted another glass of wine they wouldn’t let you have one, cause they only do bar service ONCE so MAKE SURE YOU GET YOUR DRINK BEFORE THE DINNER SERVICE STARTS. And then they play “The Bucket List.” That said, I had a lovely morning and day. We rolled in a bit early, around 9 a.m., but customs and finding my misplaced luggage took over two hours, so I didn’t get on the bus to the city centre until after noon, at which point I was too late for my meeting with Alan Maher, head of the Irish Film Centre, so we had to reschedule for the 24th (post-Cannes for him; post-Helsinki non-film fun for me). So I got out, walked a bit, and grabbed a huge filter pot of coffee at some very famous place on Grafton Street (I think it’s called Bewley’s??). I’ll have to check on that. You know, it’s famous and big and like, James Joyce used to sit there all day, drink 17 coffees and 10 Guinesses and write maybe one word. That sort of thing. The I wandered into the “hip” neighborhood of Temple Bar, with the sole intention of checking out the Irish Film Institute, which I remember very fondly from my last trip to Dublin, 10 years ago. It looked like it is still a great, thriving place. They were playing PERSEPOLIS, the JOY DIVISION documentary, and a few French films, including one starring the immobile protagonist of THE DIVING BELL AND BUTTERFLY. There was no film that fit my time frame, so I went wandering to St. Stephen’s Green Park, which was completely packed, and was soothed to sleep by a bright sun. When I woke up, I had no idea where I was, but the accents quickly cut through my misty consciousness. And after more walking, i had to catch the bus back to this airport, where I now await a short flight to Donegal and check in with my (hopefully) future pals at the Guth Gafa Documentary Festival. My panel is on Saturday, so between hiking and absorbing nature, I will be brainstorming. If anyone has advice on what I should say on the “Future of Distribution”, I welcome your emails. More soon.