Trampled by an Avatard, or Why I Hate Everyone

Last night, I had a ticket for the Writer's Guild Beyond Words Nominees Panel. It was beyond words, all right. Then I went to bed, my anger subsided, and now I'm calm enough to sift through the ordeal.
And I am at work, so I should be able to maintain a socially acceptable level of calm to retell the horrors of a room full of egos, maniacs, and humanity's proverbial dregs.

My evening started innocently enough. There was a group of five poorly and overly dressed 18-20-somethings standing in front of me sounding stupid. Probably from USC. No offense to any USC students, especially since the wonderful Scott Brown wrote and directed Blue Movies (www.watchbluemovies.com - GO THERE), but that's my guess. I chalk up my annoyance with them as me being hungry and teething.
So we go in, everyone sits down. The event starts nearly a half-hour late. The room is set up poorly - cameras front and center so no one can see, microphones for the Q&A set up in the middle of the aisles so EVERYONE is inconvenienced. These mics are wireless, by the way, and could easily be carried to anyone with a reasonable question within the theater. Like those of us who wanted to ask legitimate questions but did not want to sit on the floor in a skirt. I need to do laundry. I wore a skirt. Sue me.
Judd Apatow is a lovely moderator, and the evening begins interestingly. The writers all have interesting answers, they joke, they respect each other, and Geoffrey Fletcher, who wrote Precious, isn't a comedian. Big surprise. The writer of PRECIOUS isn't FUNNY. I'm fucking shocked.
So people don't like him. Writers, unproduced, skeezy writers don't like the guy who lived our lives struggling to make it for years and years and finally got his big break. Because their jealous, don't possess empathy, and probably suck at writing so they're going to keep struggling.
One woman clapped during one of his answers as though she were going to stop him from speakning. This woman, who smelled, was sitting in front of me. I whispered for her to stop. Fuck it - I wanted to hear what he had to say. He's coming from teh most familiar place, so he's probably got some of the best advice. Right? Oh wait - that would be LOGICAL. And half these people were there to see Cameron, so clearly logic is not high on their priorities.
God bless James Cameron, though, for shutting up the stupid nerds with stupid questions. He managed to tell people to stop talking while complimenting his fellow writers in a way that was sincere and showed his respect and love for film making.
And he made it very clear that he makes films for audiences, and it's really obvious to me now why he is so successful. Not that True Lies wasn't enough - it's just cool to see it in person.
Jason Reitman, on the other hand, loves himself, his overblown facial expressions, and his pie chart. Fuck that pie chart. I'm going to start keeping my own chart of how many times Reitman mentioned it. Ungrateful basterd. I'd love to be in a position where people could ask me questions, even the inane, ridiculous, and borderline retarded questions that he must get asked over and over and over again.
Poor poor baby.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, the evening ended, most mercifully, and people milled about. I got shoved into a cupcake, got frosting on my hand, so I decided to escape into the theater to try and meet either Scott Cooper of Crazy Heart awesomeness, or perhaps Lucas or Moore of Hangover fame since they came into speak to my class and I had an original draft of their script. This did not happen because I was pushed repeatedly and then trampled by an Avatard chasing after Cameron. And when I say trampled, I mean he stepped on my foot, but it still hurt and my toe bled a little.
When I tried to talk to other people waiting in line, when they weren't literally shoving their way in between me and the writers, I got asked what I did for a living. I suppose that's normal small talk. Only when I say I work at a production company, it immediately turns into "I have this script..." networking. I don't care if you have a script. So do I. Why would I put yours, which is probably crap because you're unrepresented and pandering to me, an assistant, in my boss' inbox?
Yeah, I can't figure that one out either. But again, logic was in short supply last night.
By the time I got home, I was too upset to do anything but cry myself to sleep.

I did meet Judd Apatow, very briefly. Not only was he an awesome moderator, but he's a pretty neat dude with a funny nose.

So, with a new respect for James Cameron, I still really hate LA, people, and this industry sometimes.
Why can't we all behave like animators?