This part happens later in the post, but...I couldn't wait!

Yesterday was one of the most eventful and event-filled days I've had in a long time.

It started with a mid-day screening of I Love You Phillip Morris, a movie that should net Jim Carrey a Best Actor Oscar nomination (should, but may not; a Golden Globe nod's a fait accompli) and that is one of the few movies hyped as quirky that really is genuinely offbeat and unexpected. The broad tone seems perfect for dealing with the larger-than-life shenanigans of Steven Jay Russell (Carrey), the gay con man who fraudulently worked his way to briefly obscene wealth and who staged numerous ballsy escapes from prison, all to demonstrate his undying love for a fellow inmate, mousy, gentle Phillip Morris (no relation), played by Ewan McGregor. He was as passionate as Cry-Baby in the "Please Mr. Jailer" number!

Carrey embraces his role with gusto, never shying away from even the script's most out-there demands: Explicitly fuck a guy in the ass on screen? No problem. Slip out of maximum-security lockdown dressed in women's clothes? A piece of cake. But hijinks aside, Carrey's most impressive commitment is to the cock-eyed optimism of Russell's adoration. This movie is filled with shocking moments, but the most shocking aspect is that in spite of it all, it's a sincerely affecting love story.

The supporting cast is mostly excellent, including a soft-spoken McGregor and a convincingly flamboyant Rodrigo Santoro. Unfortunately, Leslie Mann (as Russell's wife and then ex-wife) doesn't seem quite up to portraying a well-meaning Jesus freak; she wears her disdain for the character all over her performance, something Carrey never gives in to, no matter how ridiculously short-sighted Russell's behavior becomes.

The movie's poster at Cannes

The movie never shies away from the gay angle. From the moment a pre-pubescent Russell spots a "man's weiner" in the random cloud formations overhead to the ultimate result of his insistence on spotlighting the holes in state of Texas's security (yes, we can even blame George W. Bush for Russell's fate), I Love You Phillip Morris is so about its hero's homosexuality that it almost becomes beside the point. Trying to argue it's not a film about the gay experience would be like arguing that Precious is not a film about the black experience; neither film is only about these things, nor does either pretend to encompass all aspects of these things, but neither film would make a bit of sense if the sexuality or race of its main character were altered.

The ole ball and chain

I loved you, Phillip Morris. The movie opens in limited release Friday, December 3.

The hairy club for men (though we hide it well)

Next up, I was invited to a low-key, high-class cocktail party at Bottino (10th Avenue between 24th and 25th Streets here in NYC) to celebrate the success of The Kids Are All Right, one of my favorite films of the year. The Independent Spirit Awards agree with me, having just nominated it for best film as well as recognizing its screenplay, direction and the performances of its stars Annette Bening and Mark Ruffalo. (No Julianne Moore, which was a bummer.)

As soon as I walked in to give my name, the superfriendly guy at the front recognized me and complimented me on my blog, which is a good sign things will go well since it almost never happens. Inside, a hilarious and fun Focus employee engaged me in conversation, which loosened me up and emboldened me to ask if I might get pictures with Julianne Moore and Mark Ruffalo. After chatting about moisturizer with Moore's charming rep, I closed on the deal and was introduced to her.

Julianne Moore is one of my favorite actresses if not my #1 favorite actress, so it was a thrill to meet and speak with her. I'd group-interviewed her twice, but this was different and better. She's gorgeous in person, too, willowy and elevated in shoes even a footwear layman like I could see were amazing. She warmly greeted me and consented to our photo—one of my best pics-with ever, thanks to my indentured photographer VJ—and I told her I'd found her great in everything since and including...Body of Evidence.

Yes, please give me balls credit for saying those words to Julianne Moore!

She laughed and said she was awful in that and remembered that director Uli Edel was so mean to her and nobody would talk to her on set. I told her if she could be good in a movie that bad, that is the mark of greatness, then went on to mention some of her presumably prouder moments on the big screen. Then we spoke for what seemed like 10 minutes (I felt like I was monopolizing her) about her co-star and my pal Josh Hutcherson, who missed out on Spider-Man (she agreed he would have been perfect and we worried about Andrew Garfield), and about the state of Broadway. We talked about how so many shows are just entertainments with nothing going on, but she did enjoy American Idiot even if it was more a concert than a proper musical with a book.

I practically blew her kisses as I tore myself away, chatting with one of Karpel Group's seemingly endless supply of cute young guys, who made me feel good by knowing quite a lot about the teen market, which is my day job.

Bearly dressed

Next, Mark Ruffalo was brought over to me. For someone used to having to physically grab Justin Bieber to get a word in, having someone whose stardom actually impresses me (no offense to the Biebs, it's just an age thing) dragged over to speak with me is much appreciated. Continuing with my tactic to say the least likely thing, I thanked him profusely for his recent GQ shirtless photo (see above) on behalf of both gay men and hairy guys. He liked this a lot—such a good-humored, earthy guy. He confessed he could only think, "Am I really that hairy?" upon seeing that photo and implored me to run a poll among teenagers asking what they thought of it. (I could tell him in advance the results would be "icky!" but that a similar poll on a gay blog would be much, much more open-minded.) He pondered shaving if the results were bad, but then decided he's too far gone.

(Hairy) body of evidence—Ruffalo with Naomi Watts in We Don't Live Here Any More

Ruffalo was ruffled by Moore not getting nominated for an Independent Spirit Award, and his reaction was just another example of how much he and the others seem to genuinely adore having been in The Kids Are All Right, and how happy they seem to talk about it and promote it. He told me it makes a world of difference being in something good. "There's nothing worse than trying to convince people to like a bad movie you just made, and I have had my share of those." (I can't think of any offhand, or maybe he's just good enough that the best is what comes quickest to mind.)

She's the boss

I got my Ruffalo pic and was totally satisfied, but then had the bonus of talking with the film's co-writer and director, Lisa Cholodenko. She asked my outlet and for a second time (the previous time being at the roundtable interviews a while back), I had to confess I was embarrassed to tell her "Boy Culture." I had to promise "we" love girls here, too. She was not concerned that I might be a misogynist pig and graciously accepted all my praise for her film. She seems to be taking her time on what comes next, but mentioned a possible HBO series of some kind and also a film based on a book. Mysterious!

I asked her if she were taking her time because something like The Kids Are All Right went so perfectly that she feels pressure to get the follow-up right, but she said she hasn't felt that since after High Art, and that she feels free to do her "signature thing" without fear of failure. Smart—cerebral, even, yet not pretentious—woman who has a pretty damn good shot at being Oscar-nominated for her work on this movie this year.

It was a great cocktail party and a memorable night for pics-with...but the night was not yet over.

Didn't take many; felt they'd accuse me of going up-the-skirt!

I cabbed over to take advantage of an early Christmas gift—a Learning Annex appearance by Arianna Huffington, the Zsa Zsa of political media, over at the Hilton.

I squished myself into an empty seat in the front row and we waited (some more patiently than others) for the show to begin. It was scheduled for 7pm to 9pm, but Ms. Huffington—the charmingly inept introduction referred to her as "Mrs."—didn't go on until 7:30pm and wound down an hour later.

The moderator tossed Huffington a variety of political questions (especially about the meaning of the last election) as well as queries about the success and methodology of HuffingtonPost, all of which she seemed to take in and then tackle through a screen of prepared responses. I found her to be charismatic in a regal way and to share Eva Peron's lust for populism (she spoke at length about what we can all do to help others, and about not waiting for President Obama to fix everything—or anything), but I would also say she had a tendency to produce some canned answers and to finish her thoughts abruptly, keeping the moderator on her toes.

The oddest part was her inability to even put down her cell at the beginning, and then her failure to turn it off until mid-way through. "Turning it off, guys," she promised as it beeped for the millionth time...but then she became engrossed in some breaking news about WikiLeaks and didn't power down for a minute or two!

I had the first question, so I asked how HuffPost has changed from her original concept in response to its users' input. This has been on my mind a lot regarding Boy Culture. She didn't really give me much, but instead stressed how much her blog thrives on suggestions, encouraging us to e-mail her at Arianna@HuffingtonPost.com. She also took a question on Sarah Palin, which resulted in an answer diplomatic it was impossible not to see her as a future candidate for elective office herself. (She famously fan for Governor of California versus Arnold Schwarzenegger.)

When it was over, I snagged a guy seated near me to be my photographer, even making sure he and his wife were in line in front of me for when we got to Huffington. Bizarrely, the guy took off without taking my picture, but I did find another helpful hired hand (my companion had left early). One on one, Huffington was very kind. After my question and a few others, she'd insisted all queries be preceded by some kind of personal information about the asker, so I volunteered, as she signed for me her book Third World America, my name and that I am a blogger.

Right away, she wanted to know about Boy Culture, what I blogged and if I tweet. When I said of course, she offered to retweet something for me if I'd tweet it at her. We'll see if she follows through! She was happy to pose for a picture, and probably would have kissed a baby for me if I'd brought one. She's very slick but also very ingratiating; it's easy to see how she's come so far.

Ve vill, ve vill retveet you!

Finally, the big day was complete, and was a complete success. Now if I only had the time to do the kinds of things that generate these sorts of events I write about...