cheerleading picture over to reveal a black-and-white image of a farm that looked like it had been clipped out of the Dust Bowl chapter of a 20th-century American history textbook. She explained that her daughter had run away from the Knudsen farm, just south of Moorhead, Minnesota.

Then I realized what was going on.

"Actually, I think I might have seen her a few lanes down," I said, trying to suppress a smile. "I think she was in a green bikini."

Still straight-faced, Mrs. Knudsen only thanked me solemnly before turning to show the photo to someone else. It was surreal. I'd been at Lebowski Fest for 10 minutes and already I felt like I was in some sort of self-contained alternate reality. I headed back to the White Russian bar.write. There were bowling pins and there were nihilists threatening castration. There was even The Dude's paunchy landlord in his nymphic dance routine outfit. There was also, of course, an overabundance of Dudes, Walters, Maudes, and Jesuses, all strutting around the premises drinking, posing for pictures, and working quotes from the film into their conversations whenever possible. It was a scene, man.

Part of the reason The Big Lebowski has managed to accumulate such a massive and loyal cult following despite flopping at the box office — it was pulled from theaters after six weeks — is not only how particular its sense of humor is, but how just about every line, inflection, gesture, and facial expression in the film is emblematic of this particular sense of humor. There