Whats up with the whole Bartoli jazz, anyway?
’round ’86, when I was still in film school, I was a pretty hardcore zinester. One of them included a fictional true-life confession of an ex-mobster in the witness protection program as a priest. On the off chance that *any* of it was true (this was around the time I was reading a lot of Robert Anton Wilson, so I had a healthy dose of paranoia running through my veins), I decided to pick a pseudonym. Spying a bottle of Bertolli olive oil on the stove, I thought ‘Bartoli’, researched in the library and found no instances of the name…figured it was a good red herring. Well, it stuck among my writer friends. Meanwhile, being in the budding auteur program at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, I decided to at least give writing credits to Dan Bartoli so I didn’t have EVERY onscreen credit. Flash to 1992. My film friends from Milwaukee and a couple writer friends from Chicagoland are at a party together. They’re talking about the film by Dan Wilson, written by Dan Bartoli, and some fo
