Hot hot hiatus

At last, I've completed another season on ANTM, and I am back in the loving arms of my good friend hiatus. Not that I don't acutely appreciate how lucky I am to still have a job in today's troubled economic times, but I think I would go crazy without these built-in breathers to properly tackle projects like spring cleaning (something I enjoy with our without the participation of spring).

Speaking of spring, LA has been generous enough to actually HAVE one this year, rather than plunging into another cruel summer right after my birthday (January 20) like every other year I've lived here. In fact, the last few months have been a glorious combination of beautiful sunshine with that lingering chilliness that makes me want to spend all my time outside. I got to wear long sleeves. I NEVER GET TO WEAR LONG SLEEVES!

And then, without any warning, BAM. The temperature suddenly leaps into the mid-90s (that's Fahrenheit -- not "the mid-90s" like when Nicolas Cage was still a good actor), and it has to coincide exactly with the first day I'm spending at home with no air conditioning instead of working.

I know I'm lucky to have gotten spring at all, and I'm very grateful for the psychological load off it's been not to feel trapped in my apartment by prohibitively hot weather. But that weather is back, and now I feel like an idiot for spending the last three months thinking, "Maybe this could work... forever?"

When it gets this hot, the cats don't even play anymore. We call them "flat cats." They just melt into fuzzy puddles on the floor, usually in a synchronized fashion that makes me think they're at least intelligent enough to mess with me. (But then I see Bumble licking his cone from the inside and I know they're actually as intelligent as the couch they're sitting on.) I, too, spent my day as a flat cat, sprawled in an unmoving puddle, unable to muster even enough concentration to watch TV.

Right now would be a great time to REM out with some juicy hiatus-style Z's, but that's SO not happening since it's still 88°F in our apartment. However, I should also point out that it's not supposed to stay this hot for much longer, although eventually the heat will come back and stay back. Right now I'm simply suffering from a case of meteorological whiplash.

2 cats, 1 cone

First of all, here are some things you should know:

Dan and I have two cats, Bumble and Tove. Here they are:


Bumble is the orange one. He has a skin condition that flares up periodically, and so far, several vets AND a kitty dermatologist (a dermatologist for animals -- not a cat wearing a lab coat) have utterly failed to identify the cause or offer any permanent solution. But every few months, Bumble will start itching uncontrollably and the result is Bumble Bloodface, as he scratches the skin off most of his face. That's when he gets temporary medicine as well as the following stylish cone:


Since we've more or less learned to control the situation by swiftly applying the cone and plenty of medicine at the first sign of danger, Bumble now spends relatively little of his life as a scabby, miserable creature of darkness. The ear drops aren't his favorite, but fortunately his brain is the size of a peanut so he forgets all about it a few minutes later.

Right now, Bumble is in excellent condition and he's looking cuter than ever in his little cone. But we still don't take it off until he's been healthy for a little while, just to be safe.

All of which brings us to this morning, when Bumble and Tove are engaged in the usual routine: sitting around and looking at us like they're expecting us to say something. But this time I look down and something is different. Bumble is totally heaving, like he does right before he vomits (which he does because he has this adorable habit of gorging himself until he pukes). But this has never happened with the cone on, so I have about 2 seconds to think, OH NO! before Bumble starts filling the cone with barf.

Well I have never seen anything like this in my life. Immediately I tug the cone of Bumble's head, to let him finish blowing chunks. So I'm holding barf cone in one hand, and restraining Bumble with the other hand -- because with the cone off, he's already trying to scratch his face off. Obviously I need to wash the cone and get it back on Bumble's head ASAP. But while I'm WASHING BARF OFF THE CONE, and clutching a struggling cat in my other hand, Tove bounds up and joyfully chows down on the floor barf.

I pretty much had to let him do it. For one thing, he was helping clean up. I have to give him credit for that, because it's more than Bumble does around here. Also, both my hands were occupied, and if I didn't finish cleaning barf cone I was probably going to barf too.

Eventually, I finished washing the cone, cleaned Bumble's barf face, put the cone back on, and Tove got full. Just kidding, I made him stop EATING HIS BROTHER'S VOMIT so I could clean up the floor make Dan clean the floor.

So anyway, that's why we're giving the cats $20 and dropping them off at the Greyhound station. I mean come on. We know each other way too well now -- it's pretty much impossible to come back from this. Nice knowing you, Bumble and Tove!

Where am I?

I keep forgetting what country I live in. You see, I thought America was that place where people are free to live how they want to as long as it's not hurting anyone. People have different values, but America is where people originally came to BE different. Am I wrong?

So how come I turn on the TV and see this documentary about how people think Barack Obama is literally the antichrist? How come people who consider themselves the "most" American just LOOOOVE crapping all over diversity and freedom? Lately I've been less angry and more confused about what goes on in people's heads when they feel so threatened by our differences.

And then, this afternoon, I hear the chants from an anti-Prop 8 rally happening less than one block from where I live. And I can't believe that people have to get together a chant to show that they deserve to get married if they're consenting adults in love. It's embarrassing that this topic is even on the table. Have I said this before? Why isn't this obvious to everyone else?

I'm not telling anyone not to be straight. Why are you telling anyone not to be gay? What country is this where there could be a law taking away civil rights? Is this about religion? If so, how does the law get involved in the first place? If you don't like gay marriage, don't have one. Why isn't it that simple? Why is my love life up for moral evaluation by people I don't even know? How is any of this American at all?

Where am I?

Catching up to Oscar

At the end of 2008, I was totally appalled at how few of this year's "Oscar movies" I had seen. The nominations hadn't come out yet, but I hadn't seen ANYTHING besides Milk, Slumdog Millionaire, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and Frost/Nixon.

This year, no top 10 list.

It comes as no surprise to anyone that this year, for the first time, I saw more bad movies in theaters than good movies: Star Wars: The Clone Wars, The Bucket List, Fool's Gold, Babylon A.D., The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, etc. And believe me, I wouldn't trade in any of our Slow Roll field trips (except for Star Wars: Crunk Wars), which liven up a dull work week like magic.

When the Oscar nominations did come out, I was relieved to find that I'd actually seen four of the five Best Picture nominees. But Dan and I decided to embark on a mission to see every Oscar nominee in ANY category before the winner are announced on February 22nd. We've done a pretty good job so far.

Here is the list of post-New Year viewing, ranked in order of favorite to least favorite (although I actually liked them all):

Waltz With Bashir
Doubt
The Reader
Man On Wire
Tropic Thunder
Hellboy II: The Golden Army
Rachel Getting Married
Kung Fu Panda - Not the throwaway I was expecting. The visuals are breathtaking enough to stand up to Wall-E.
Revolutionary Road
The Wrestler - Dan saw this without me and was not impressed.

We have exactly one week left, and my top priorities are Vicky Cristina Barcelona, The Visitor, Changeling, and Trouble The Water.

I'm guessing we'll only get around to one or two of those before Sunday, but it has certainly been a rewarding couple of months of moviegoing! Soon we'll be fast-forwarding through the Oscar ceremony, feeling awesome that we actually know what's going on, and we can finally feel okay about going on a Slow Roll field trip to see Madea Goes To Jail.

Wordle

This website takes any amount of text you plug in (OR draws text from your website) and turns it into a word cloud based on the number of times each word is used. It's really, really pretty, and ridiculously customizable. You should try it.

Hotel Carter

Today in our office, Jenica and Saterah and I were discussing the pros and cons of our desk arrangement. Last season, Jenica and I switched desks so she could have her back to the corner, because she was getting tired of people commenting on her computer screen when they walked past.

Now Jenica has the most private computer screen in the room. So Saterah jokingly asked, "What do you have on there that you don't want anyone to see?"

"Well," she said, "Right now I'm reading customer reviews for a terrible hotel in New York City."

That was definitely not what I was expecting to hear. But as soon as she started reading excerpts from the reviews out loud, I understood what an AMAZING activity this was! It was like slow rolling a hotel.

You guys should really take a look. It only gets funnier the worse it gets. And here are some of my favorite headlines from the 787 customer reviews (most of which I've read by now):

“The worse nightmare of your life!”
- sunlvr2288

“Horrible hotel!!! Horrible Horrible Horrible....Stay Away If You Love Yourself”
- cvbabygurl617

“HorrondeousDisgustingYuckTerrible!!”
- alysha781

“The worst hotel ever...hospital for 10 days!!!”
- SMETA

“The worst hotel I have ever stayed in”
- carterhater

“OMG don't stay here!!!!!!!!!!”
- Toochi721

“The pictures on the web page are false!!!”
- Hallplace

“omg”
- shabba1964

“the worst hotel I have ever stayed”
- kingkingking2008

“Never again hotel Carter”
- Sallos

“Awful place”
- Sonia_Garcia

“blood slurping bed bugs”
- DinkieDi

“Hotel Nightmare”
- kapanalig97

“absolute filth”
- novotnaquinton

“Someone MURDERED while I was there”
- glowfish59

“The smell, the smell, the NASTY smell!!!!!”
- BeautyK

“stop moaning everyone it's fine”
- nycddddddddddddddd

“I stayed up all night rather than sleeping in the bed”
- theredwonder

“The dirtiest hotel in the world”
- Duffy01

“this place should be condemed”
- ErinfromSR

“a nighmare!!”
- Brianna8

“WORST EXPERIENCE”
- RelSexiAngel04

“The homeless would not stay at this hotel”
- Boosteri

“No, No, No. No!!”
- 5485

“Loveed the Hoel Carter ................................NOT!!!!!!!!!!”
- turtlechick411

“Hell Hole is a understatment”
- fairway1

“Get Carter shut down”
- Vanderlurken

“Save Yourself!! Stay AWAY!!!!”
- Friedgirl

UPDATE: After reading the full text of the "Someone MURDERED while I was there" review, Jenica discovered this.

UPDATE 2: DAN HAS STAYED AT THIS HOTEL. Follow-up entry to come.

The morning of my 26th birthday

It's the morning of my birthday, and in 20 minutes Barack Obama will be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States.

Sure, I'd be happier if Barack Obama was becoming the President AND I was free to marry my boyfriend, but this is pretty frickin' awesome and I am proud of my country all over again.

Thanks, America! This is the best birthday present EVER.

Christmas giveth and taketh away

Every year, I wish for a white Christmas. Not for everyone in my family to be white, because that would be racist. I wish for SNOW.

I guess it's because we don't usually get snow around Seattle, or because I've spent the last four years in a city where the sunshine beats down my soul well into December every year. But I LOVE snow. I still think it's magical. It softens the sharp edges of the world, makes them clean and round and bright. If it snows enough, you can't even leave the house and there is something comforting about that.

This year, it seems like Santa decided to mess with everyone and give them a REALLY white Christmas. Like, such a white Christmas that flights are delayed and canceled and catching fire on the runway. It's magical, yes, but it's messing up a lot of peoples' Christmases. Including my family's.

My brother Andrew lives in San Francisco. He was supposed to fly in the night of the same day me, David, and Dan flew into Seattle. But almost as soon as the three of us landed, they started canceling all flights into Seattle. This is great because Dan almost had to fly in a few days later because of work, and if that had been the case he probably would never have made it (meeting us in New York instead). But it's really sad because Andrew's flight was canceled and while he received a full refund, he couldn't book a new flight until Christmas Day, so we won't see him until 11 PM that night.

In the meantime, we are still trying to enjoy our time as an incomplete family. It's wonderful to be home, and the weather is a welcome change from the blue skies of LA (even though it's raining there now). But this white Christmas has come at a price.

Stuff, things, etc.

Last night I went to a screening of a movie called Nothing But The Truth. It starred Kate Beckinsale as a journalist who outs a CIA agent and ends up going to jail for protecting her source. The movie wasn't very good, mostly because Kate Beckinsale sucks. It was especially painful to watch because her co-star was Vera Farmiga, who is good enough that she dies halfway through the movie and her devastating performance was still the ONLY thing I thought about for the remaining hour of the film.

The screening was at the CAA building in Century City. I haven't been there in almost two years. The last time I was there, I was interning at First Look Pictures, while also interning at International Arts Entertainment, AND working nights logging Deadliest Catch. I was driving 15+ hours a week just to get from job to job to job. It felt so weird to walk into that lobby again. It brought me back to a time in my life when I was much more stressed, and so scared.

Not that I have "made it big" since then, but a lot has changed. Now, I can walk to CAA from my apartment (not that I have much reason to visit CAA nowadays since, you know, not making it big and all). I'm not involved in the film industry AT ALL anymore, and it used to be my life (even though I was just a lowly assistant and sometimes intern).

Also, I haven't driven my car on a regular basis since January. I have only filled my gas tank four times in 2008. Of all the big changes that have reshaped my life in the last few years, spurning my automobile has been my second favorite (after moving in with Dan, of course). It's not just the hours PER DAY I've saved, but my overall stress level has joyfully nosedived since I moved to Westwood and started walking just about everywhere.

Anyway, those are lots of things that have been on my mind, because spending three seconds in the CAA lobby was more profound than Nothing But The Truth. Yikes!

Forgetting Sarah Palin

Sarah Palin interviews while a turkey is violently slaughtered behind her.

Does this video remind anyone else of the epilogue in a Christopher Guest movie? The best part of those characters are the huge disparity between their aspirations and their talents. And in the end, they usually find themselves making the best of it in a position a little more appropriate... and the audience breathes a sigh of relief that they didn't go all the way. Ladies and gentlemen, I present Sarah Palin.

In fact, Sarah Palin's two month whirlwind assault on the intelligence of Americans everywhere has always reminded me a Christopher Guest character come to life. It's one of the only things that kept me from screaming every time election coverage would come on the television. It's just a joke, I told myself thousands of times. It's more inspired than Borat. (Not a Christopher Guest movie, but still.)

All those crunk interviews, revelations (she got her first passport when?!), and generally embarrassing behavior on a daily basis kept me alive for the last few weeks of the election. I know it sounds crazy, but I was comforted every time I saw her stupid face on TV. I thought, It's comedy. It's not real. EVEN REPUBLICANS WOULDN'T VOTE FOR HER, RIGHT? It's... genius.

What I'm trying to say is, Sarah Palin is the best. She's back in her comfort zone, where she belongs. Our brief national nightmare is over. And now we can breathe that sigh of relief, confident that she has already torn up her passport now that she knows you don't need one in order to see Russia from your backyard.

Family

This year's Thanksgiving post.

My parents spent the weekend here in LA. They stayed in our apartment instead of getting a hotel, at my request, because I wasn't working and I wanted to see them as much as possible. Dan and I gave them the bedroom because I couldn't stand the thought of them roughing it in the living room with an air mattress. Meanwhile, David also missed our creators and decided to spend the entire weekend at our place. So we had five adults and two cats staying in a one bedroom apartment.

It went surprisingly well.

My parents are amazing. They wasted no time stocking the kitchen with ridiculous amounts of food, cooking up delicious meals, effortlessly making our home feel more like their home. David and I love going home to mom and dad's house. It's a place of warmth and happiness springing from how damn much we enjoy being around each other. I know it's totally gay. But I mean, 66% of their kids are gay, so what could be more appropriate?

On Saturday, Dan and David and I headed downtown to participate in the anti-Prop 8 rally. It was even bigger than the rally at the LDS temple, and the rally in Silverlake the week before. There were rallies in over 300 American cities, in all 50 states. Again, this is American history and we are proud to be part of it. We marched through the streets and our tens of thousands easily dwarfed the pitiful gathering of Prop 8 supporters who showed up to hold up signs like "GOD DOES NOT LOVE YOU JUST THE WAY YOU ARE."

There is so much anger in the air and it's because this movement is long overdue. We have had amazing success keeping these demonstrations peaceful considering their size, but we are angry. I guess opponents of gay marriage thought we would go down quietly. Certainly, the Mormon church has expressed surprise that the reaction to the passing of Prop 8 has been so extreme -- and I believe them. I believe they're surprised. Even I was surprised, at first. But it had to happen sometime, and after five seconds at my first protest, my only surprise was that this issue hasn't exploded sooner.

I have been surprised, and touched, by how much support we have from non-gays. But why should I be surprised by that? Did I really think that only us homos would fight for our equality? I guess I did. That's pretty sad. We're all people. We live together, we work together, we care about each other. Gays and straights. That's why I can't believe this is a political issue. There is no politics about it. Human decency means having respect for those around you, and believe me, gays are around you. Are there actually people out there who don't know that? Or can they really look their co-workers, friends, and family in the eye after voting away their civil rights?

Sadly, I guess many people forget what a wildly diverse range of households exist in America: different religions, different ethnic traditions, different foods, different parenting styles, you name it. Married parents, single parents, divorced parents. Families all over the country are different. I don't understand how America can justify singling out one kind of family and institutionalizing hatred against it. It seems mean and inappropriate, to say the least. Shameful. Un-American.

I mean... really? Really? We're at war, we're in economic recession, the environment is collapsing around us, and... this is what America is worried about? Preventing gay marriage? REALLY?

Every day I'm thankful for the way I was raised. My parents taught me to have respect for others, but also for myself -- and when I felt that my life partner should be a boy instead of a girl, I had to honor what my heart told me.

Now I am thankful to have a wonderful boyfriend who makes me happy every day, who has easily become part of my family over the last few years. And I'm thankful that I'm free to fight for the right to create my own family, although I'm disgusted that it needs to be fought for at all.

It's easy to still feel homesick even though I've made a home here with Dan. My parents swept in and brought the essence of their home with them to celebrate an early Thanksgiving with us (since David and I are staying in LA for the holiday this year).

Please, to anyone out there interested in "preserving" or "restoring" family, Christian or atheist, by banning gay marriage: Try making YOUR family the best it can be. Let the rest of us do the same. And keep your nosy nose out of MY family. Because we are doing just fine.

Australian invasion

When I was in England a few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to watch a lot of great television. It's one of my favorite things about the UK. Their television is AMAZING. Even their trashy programming is way better than ours. Jerry Springer pales in comparison to Jeremy Kyle sitting on the stage and screaming angrily at his guests.

However, three of the best shows I watched this time were actually imported from Australia. And since one of them is premiering on HBO this weekend, I want to strongly urge you to check them out if you can.

Summer Heights High. Chris Lilley is a brilliant comedian who wrote, created, and stars as three characters in this high school mockumentary. It really is hysterically perfect. Mr. G, the drama teacher character, writes a fantastically offensive musical and one of the songs was remixed and became an actual chart hit in Australia. YOU WILL BELIEVE HE'S AN 8TH GRADE TONGAN BOY.

We Can Be Heroes: Finding The Australian of The Year. Before making Summer Heights High, Chris Lilley wrote, created, and stars as SIX characters in this mockumentary series about a selection of nominees for what I've just learned is an actual award. It's unbelievable just how believable he is, down to the smallest mannerisms. And if you like Summer Heights High when it premieres tomorrow, you might love this show even more.

Kath & Kim. If you think the American remake blows, don't shy away from the original series which is hilarious and strangely mesmerizing due to the way it's shot. It's like raw footage, with long unbroken takes that sometimes makes it feel like THE GREATEST REALITY SHOW EVER.

In conclusion, Australians are funny. And I couldn't be happier that HBO decided to air Summer Heights High as it is instead of remaking it as an American production. Who knows? If it's a hit in the States, maybe we'll be lucky enough to get a second series.

When can we vote on YOUR marriage?

We showed up to the rally a little early. The LDS temple is literally a block away from my apartment, so we could hear people getting started even as we walked out the door.

Very quickly, over a thousand people had shown up. They were angry, but peaceful. We held up signs and marched around the perimeter of the temple. I can't quite describe the feeling, but I'd never taken part in something like this before. It was incredibly moving to see so many people so outraged over this issue.

It's not just me. It's not just my friends. We're not alone, and it's not just gay people. The passing of Prop 8 was such a violation that thousands of protesters all over the state have taken to the streets. Anyone raised with a sense of right and wrong should know this is worth fighting against.

I thought it would be over by the evening, but it only got more intense. After dark, the crowd was still going strong. Plenty of cops had shown up, including a truck full of riot control officers. A Prop 8 supporter showed up to start a fight and spit in a girl's face. A nearby police officer refused to do anything about it. Nice.

After going home, we could still hear the protester's cheers and the endless waves of car honks signaling their support. In fact, almost every vehicle that passed (when we weren't blocking traffic) had a honk, a thumbs up, or a cheer of support to offer out the window. Did all of these people really get out and vote no on Prop 8? How did this happen?

I remember the last of the supportive car honks drifting in through our window at around 11 PM. It was nice to hear a continual reminder that it wasn't over. It still isn't over. Not by a long shot.

A time to protest

The West Hollywood rally against Prop 8 last night was amazing to see. I'm disappointed I was only able to watch it on the news. HOWEVER...

Today there will be another protest outside the Los Angeles LDS temple, located at 10777 Santa Monica Blvd. between Westwood Blvd. and Beverly Glen. It starts at 2pm. Please show up if you can. I will see you there.

This is American history happening RIGHT NOW. In 50 years our country will be ashamed of itself for allowing this to happen... but only if we make it clear that THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.

We did it... sort of

Last night, Barack Obama was elected the next President of the United States. It's the first time I've really paid attention to an election -- in 2004, I was living in Scotland and all I knew was, my country was an international punchline and there was no way the American people would let it happen again. I was confident enough to pretty much ignore the process entirely (after voting, of course). And then this happened.

So, I am just young enough to barely remember the last time our government wasn't a circus of bozos whose main accomplishment was keeping The Daily Show spoiled for Bushism montages. Oh, not to mention running our economy into the ground, lying about multiple wars, and inspiring an Oliver Stone movie. THANKS A LOT, George.

I believe Barack Obama is not messing around when it comes to change. The hope he inspires in us should remind us how long it has been since we felt such a thing for our country. It's easy to imagine him going down as one of America's greatest Presidents just by the way he speaks about working together, healing together, and putting aside our differences to make our nation great. It's incredible what he's accomplished just by getting elected, but we're only at the beginning.

That's the story of how, last night, I was inspired to believe in America again. But it wouldn't last. Because in the same night that we elected the first black President, California voters passed Prop 8 eliminating marriage for same-sex couples. Because at a time when America finally seems ready to set aside our petty differences, and come together to elect a man President who at one point would not have been allowed to vote in this country, at least everyone can agree that we hate queers.

The passing of Prop 8 sours this entire experience for me. Electing a great leader as our next President doesn't feel like a monumental achievement anymore. Many of you, like us, could hear vocal support for Obama up and down the street from our home. Out there, people believed in what was right and I was one of them.

But, as it turns out, most of those people still hate me and my partner. They love their new black President, but faggots don't count as real people yet. Undoubtedly, gays are part of their circle of family and friends. Even Sarah Palin stood in front of America and proclaimed that she had gay friends, but she did not believe in same-sex marriage. First of all, Sarah Palin is lying. She does not have any gay friends. Please.

Second of all, if you have friends or family members who are gay, and you voted to pass Prop 8, you should be ashamed of yourself. And if you don't know a single gay person, you shouldn't have voted on Prop 8 at all because it is obviously none of your business. Same-sex marriage has been legal in California for 4 months -- can anyone honestly step forward and argue that it threatened their heterosexual marriage? We don't put a single iota of effort into illegitimizing your partnerships. It would only be decent to show us the same courtesy, thank you very much.

Last night was indeed historic, and incredibly emotional. I am thrilled and relieved that Barack Obama will be the next President of the United States, and I'm not suggesting that the passing of Prop 8 undoes that victory. But I'm not filled with hope anymore. I have hope for the future, and I believe that Obama will do great things with his Presidency. But this is a harsh reminder that America has a long way to go, and the change we hope for is not actually here yet.

From Orlando to LA: a crunk journey's end

To make a long story short, I'm not at the airport anymore. Nor am I on a plane, waiting to get a on a plane, waiting to get off a plane, or taking my suitcase into the bathroom with me when I need to go. I AM HOME, yo.

I spent the night enjoying a series of 30-60 minute naps that consistently ended when the neck pain was too much to sleep through and I had to lean my head to the other side. Each time, the same thought flashed through my addled brain: NOOOOOO I CAN'T BE AWAKE FOR THE DAY YET! I don't know if this happens to you, but I can reach a point of sleep deprivation where it's almost impossible for me to actually sleep. Plus, theoretically the jet lag should have gotten me "up for the day" around 3 AM EST.

I woke up (for good) around 5:30 AM and it's possible that I have never felt dirtier. When I saw myself in the bathroom mirror I understood why the first thing I saw when I looked around my hobo nest was a woman obviously debating whether to alert the authorities that a crackhead had infiltrated the terminal. It's rare that you literally don't recognize yourself in the mirror, but there it was.

Things started looking up as soon as I was in Delta's hands: I successfully checked in, and it wasn't long before I realized I had an entire row to myself. In a conscious effort to achieve new heights of classiness, I spread myself across three seats and tried to take advantage of this awesome opportunity to snooze away the 5 1/2-hour flight.

No luck there. But it was a pretty easy flight simply for knowing I wouldn't have to play any more "Do-It-Yourself Amazing Race" at the end of it.

Ultimately, when it came to planning this trip, I reneged on one of my two rules about flying:

1. NEVER, EVER deal with connecting flights. If it's not a direct flight, it is not an option. I took a chance this time and it totally screwed me. Lesson learned.

2. NEVER, EVER check luggage. Many have tried to sway me from this one, but the fact is, just the THOUGHT of how much more stressful this would have been with a checked bag in EITHER direction makes me want to anxiety barf, so... GAH.

Now that I'm finally home, having showered for about 45 minutes, probably scrubbing off several layers of skin with all the grime, the rage is finally subsiding. There are two cats in my lap and real food in my tummy. IT'S TIME FOR SLEEP NOW.

From Bristol to Orlando: the day that everything sucked sucks

Fuck you, Virgin Atlantic. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. FUCK YOU. I can’t believe I fell for your shiny red bullshit. In retrospect, I see there were signs. Sure, you fast-tracked me to London sans layover, BUT ONLY BECAUSE THE ORIGINAL FLIGHT WAS DELAYED 24 HOURS. We’re over, Virgin Atlantic, and I will never let you back in my life.

It didn’t start well, either.

3:09 AM. Finally fall asleep for the night.

5:00 AM. Wake up for the day.

5:45 AM. Start driving to Reading.

7:35 AM. Miss the train to Gatwick airport by 1 minute.

8:34 AM. Catch the next train to Gatwick, scheduled to arrive only an hour before my flight takes off.

10:00 AM. Arrive at Gatwick, tear through security.

10:24 AM. Find out my flight is delayed 2 1/2 hours... the exact duration of my layover.

1:45 PM. Flight finally takes off. I am seated next to every crying baby in England, AND in the middle of the center row, not the window seat as confirmed when I purchased the ticket.

Mid-flight. I am delighted to learn we are scheduled to land early enough for me to easily catch my second flight!

6:35 PM. I learn that the clock displayed on the flight has failed to recognize last week’s Daylight Savings change. Which means my second flight takes off in 10 minutes.

7:05 PM. I make it through customs and learn I have missed my flight and there are no more flights to LA tonight.

I’m booked to fly out tomorrow, which will bring my eventual transit time to about 36 hours.

Later, I will probably realize that even the suckitude of these events is no match for what an amazing trip I’ve just experienced... but right now I still feel like setting fire to the next person who makes eye contact with me, so I will fill you in when I get home.

BONUS POINTS
1. Celebrity sighting in London! Rob Brydon walked very close to me on the way to his gate... AWESOME! (Doubly awesome for him because HIS FLIGHT PROBABLY TOOK OFF ON TIME.)
2. Free wireless internet at the Orlando airport.

Boosh Live '08!

Tonight I had the privilege of seeing The Mighty Boosh live stage show. So, um, if you've seen The Mighty Boosh on BBC or on DVD, you don't need me to tell you what a psychedelic, mind-exploding brainfuck it was. IT WAS AMAZING.


If you have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about, I urge you learn more here and here.

I'M DIFFERENT NOW

Horse-watching in Wales

Today I was feeling a little better, so Rosie and I went on a little drive to Suger Loaf Mountain near Abergavenny, Wales. I’ve never been to Wales before, and as a bonus, this was a great opportunity to do some celeb-hunting! After all, everyone has heard of such Welsh celebrities as Anthony Hopkins, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Charlotte Church. I felt the odds were pretty good that some or all of these people would live near Sugar Loaf Mountain near Abergavenny.

The first thing I saw when we crossed the border into Wales was a lot of empty space. This was promising since celebrities are frequently insisting that they would like more privacy. Unfortunately, just from the freeway I didn’t see any celebrities “keeping it real” the way I was expecting. But that’s okay, because I was crossing my fingers for the Sugar Loaf, or Mynydd Pen-y-Fal as we say in Welsh.

As we drove through the town of Abegavenny, I kept my eyes peeled for celebs. I tried to keep in mind that Wales might have some celebrities I hadn’t even heard of, so I continued peeling my eyes for any individuals wearing enormous sunglasses and being followed by a flock of photographers. Disappointingly, I did not see any of those people but I did see some elderly citizens doing their shopping and many signs in the Welsh language that made me think, Wow, I didn’t realize seeing two d’s in a row would be so disturbing.

Rosie drove us up part of the mountain, where I beheld a very pretty view of Abergavenny and a wide open field filled with sheep. There were a lot of sheep. I didn’t want to scare them, but I did creep closer in order to ascertain whether any of them were celebrities. To be truthful, I couldn’t say for sure about any of them because I couldn’t even tell them apart from each other. It’s possible that none of them celebrities... but it is also possible that they were ALL CELEBRITIES. Just to be safe, I photographed each of them keeping in mind that even they weren’t famous now, they might become famous later.


Upon further traveling, Rosie and I encountered a beautiful horse that eagerly approached us. THIS is what I’m talking about!, I thought. Check out this feisty Welsh babe. I immediately starting snapping away and posing in pictures with her. I know the paparazzi aren’t usually supposed to get involved like that, but I like to consider myself a photographer so this was for the sake of art. Think about it.

Anyway, the horse lost interest and wandered away a few times, but she always came back. I thought, This babe knows she belongs in front of a camera. She’s going to be a star!



Of course, with fame comes the inevitable famewhores. After a while, our beauty’s less attractive friend came wandering up looking for some attention. Obviously as a non-celebrity citizen we didn’t fawn over her, but we snapped a few pictures... until Little Miss Glommer lifted up her tail and sprayed a noisy fart in our direction. It lasted several seconds, coincidentally exactly as long as it took for Rosie and I to leap into the car and drive away.

We left Wales with a sense of accomplishment, confident that we had spotted a star in the making, and produced sufficient evidence that we knew her before she went Hollywood. With any luck, Rosie and I can ride her coattails all the way to the top.

Sick on vacation

I'm not sick of vacation, but I am most definitely sick ON vacation.

I woke up horribly, disgustingly sick. I suppose it's relatively good timing, considering that poor Dan was sick the entire time we were in Paris.

Now it is my turn. Rosie is at work all day, so I will take this opportunity to drown my illness in water and vitamins.

Good night. Blech.

From Paris to Bristol: the long morning

- Waking up at 4:30 AM to say goodbye to Dan, and killing time until it was time to leave for the airport several hours later.

- Walking to the train station at 7:30 AM, thinking about how very, very alone I am at this very moment... Dan is gone and I’m charged with the simple task of getting on the right train to the right airport by myself. Suddenly it’s very scary that I don’t speak any French. It makes me feel like if anything terrible happened to me, no one would help. Even though it’s not true, sometimes I briefly think this when I’m alone in any foreign language country.

- Getting on the RER B is not as easy as it should be. When the train pulls up, I eagerly lug my suitcase on board, but none of the other people with suitcases get on with me. Without any time to figure out what the fuck, I decide to get back off the train. I don’t know where to find out which RER Bs actually go to the airport, but I’m definitely not going anywhere the other people with suitcases aren’t going.

- Eventually all my airport peeps seem to know THIS train is the right one, so I get on with them. It’s so crowded that my face is pressed against the glass. Like a cartoon of what a full train looks like.

- At the airport, they try to make me check my little suitcase but I am not having it. HELL TO THE NO.

- My flight is only about 20% full so I have a full row to myself. I make myself comfortable and get some sleep, but it backfires when no one wakes me up to fill out a landing card. The ultimate result is, I wait in line at customs twice.

- The customs agent grills me hardcore before letting me through. She asks about where I’ve been, what I’ve done, how much money I have, how much money I make, how much money I have in my bank account, Rosie’s nationality, Rosie’s address, Rosie’s job, my job, my plans in Bristol, my flight back to America, etc. I understand the customs agent has a job to do but maybe she could learn to do it while KISSING MY TERRORIST ASS.

- At last, Rosie picks me up and whisks me back to her house. I feel like I’ve returned home. Which is kind of sad because in a week I will be on a plane back to America!

3 days in Paris: the highlights

Well, our time in Paris is over. I am not left with many words, but that’s just how wonderful it’s been to spend time here. It’s been a short trip but I have to say, we have made the most of it, every single second... even when we went on a Slow Roll field trip to see Righteous Kill, because sometimes it’s important to, uh, immerse yourself in local culture by, uh, reading its French subtitles.

I thought I would share some of our more memorable moments here...

Tour Eiffel. I have to strongly disagree with anyone who says the Eiffel Tower is a huge disappointment. It took my breath away. We saw it for the first time at night, when it was lit up and performing some kind of light show every hour. It looked impressive from a distance and as we got closer, I couldn’t wrap my head around how massive it was. We all know what the Eiffel Tower looks like from movies and photos, but I guess that’s why I couldn’t believe it was real. I mean, celebrities always look smaller when you see them in person -- the Eiffel Tower was much bigger than I expected.

A few days later we returned to the tower on the most perfectly sunny autumn day you could possibly ask for, and not to sound like a goober but it was EVEN MORE AMAZING. Dan and I sprawled on the lawn and took it in for a while before it was time to buy a cheese-covered hot dog because in Paris, that’s a classy thing to do.

Arc de Triomphe. My camera ran out of batteries almost as soon as we ascended the epid spiral staircase to the top of the arch, but again... you just couldn’t have asked for a prettier day. I won’t forget that view anytime soon.

Seine River. We spent some time each day walking along the river, but there was one day when we hiked from the Eiffel Tower to le Marais along the Seine the whole time. It was really stupendously gorgeous but we were also starving and literally unable to find somewhere that sold food. You’d think it would be easy but we didn’t want to eat anything not AMAZING while we were in France, so we turned down a convenience store and a transit café. Suddenly, we had spent most the day wandering along the river and realized it was one of our favorite things we’d done in Paris.

Champs-Élysées. This is where Dan and I started thinking about going to the movies. We passed several cinemas and one of them was playing an animated film about a pig named “Desmond.” The protagonist looked like he was made of Play-Doh so the movie might have been claymation, but Desmond didn’t look as crunk as Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro in Righteous Kill. I AM JUST SAYING.

Place de la Concorde. Eric: “OH MY GOD! IT’S THAT FOUNTAIN WHERE ANNE HATHAWAY THREW AWAY HER CELL PHONE AT THE END OF THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA!” Dan: “...and this is the Obelisk, which is also an interesting landmark.”

Catacombes de Paris. Well, this was quite a day. After an unpleasant lunch thanks to a stupendously rude waiter who obviously had a huge problem with tourists, we were left with about 30 minutes to get to the Catacombs before they closed for the day. After a lengthy subway ride, we came above ground to find pouring rain and only 10 minutes to find the ticket office. Fortunately, according to the directions, it was located directly across the from the train station.

This turned out to be both true and not true.

After looking around and not seeing anything that looked like a tunnel leading into the medieval bowels of Paris, we spied a sign directing pedestrians to the Catacombs. Wonderful! EXCEPT THAT IT WAS ALL LIES.

5 minutes later, we found ourselves sprinting through the rain counting down addresses from 100 trying to get to 1... and at 61, the street just ended. By then, the Catacombs were closed and it was hard not to blame the rude waiter for our humiliating defeat (just him ignoring our repeated requests for the check easily cost us 30 minutes). I turned to Dan and said, “THIS is why we can never go on The Amazing Race” (not because we got lost, but because this + cameras = worst idea ever).

After another lap around the roundabout, we eventually found the ticket office... not located anywhere AROUND the roundabout... but in a little green shack in the CENTER of the roundabout. Thanks for nothing, sign.

The next day, we made it to the Catacombs and were rewarded with a subterranean stroll through a gruesome tunnel made of human bones. Totally worth it.

Notre Dame. Pretty.

Jardin du Luxembourg. Pretty.

Parc Monceau. Pretty.

Le Marais. On a recommendation from a friend, we ate in this neighborhood a few times. Um, it was a really, really good recommendation. However, the first time I got brave and ordered something that turned out to be raw salmon topped with lettuce, spaghetti, shredded zucchini, and a crunk sauce. It was the most puzzling meal I’ve ever eaten. I still don’t know how I feel about it. It might have been an edgy French culinary risk that paid off, or I might have been punk’d by a chef who could tell we were American.

More importantly, dessert. In one night Dan and I enjoyed no less than four desserts in a single stroll through the neighborhood... mmmm... including a luscious chocolate éclair which we annihilated nibbled on that evening by the Seine next to some friendly-looking drug dealers.

From Amsterdam to Paris: a whole new world

I know it sounds crazy, but this is the part of the trip I’ve been dreading the most. Lately I’ve started asking myself why I thought it would be a good idea to visit France when I don’t know a speck of French. I’ve been to many cities in many countries, but usually I can understand or speak or sorta get by with the language. Embarrassingly enough considering I live in southern California, the only other time this has happened to me was in Spain.

I don’t know a single word of French, except for the words we stole from them like “rendezvous” and “RSVP” (“Répondez s'il vous plait”), which will probably not serve to be very useful unless Dan and I form a Parisian social life toot sweet. Omigawd! Did I just lapse into French? I’m always doing that, how embarrassing! I’m just really worldy and stuff, it’s totally like a blessing and a curse.

Anyway, the idea of coming to France has inspired plenty of preemptive panic in the last several months but obviously not enough to get off my ass and brush up on the language. So I was relieved when Dan and I were visited by an angel on the train ride from Amsterdam to Paris, in the form of a kindly Dutch woman who had been living in Paris for many years. She gave us some information on the area we’d be staying in, how to take the trains there, and did a lot of reassuring that we would have a great time and there was absolutely nothing to worry about besides how quickly our visit would be over.

I mean, at least we’re not as unprepared as the guy sitting across from us on the train, who would lean in periodically and pay WAY too much attention to our conversation. I have no idea what language he spoke, but the only time I actually understood what he was saying it was just one word over and over:

“Paris?”
“Yeah!”
“Paris?”
“Yes.”
“Paris?”
“YES.”

Even so, I experienced a slight shut-down when we were released into the city of Paris and faced with the simple task of reaching our hotel. If I had eagerly taken the lead when we were in Amsterdam, here I handed the reins over to Dan with equal enthusiasm. He knows some French and isn’t as scared as I am, so he will be the leader for this leg of our vacation. Meanwhile, I dealt with my new environment by turning quiet and irritable because I guess I’m a cat.

Finally, two things happened that instantly dispelled my strange mood and reminded me that we are somewhere truly special:

1. We ate dinner. If you have ever had good food in Paris you know that this was a religious experience. The sheer deliciousness of every ingredient, combined to create a meal even more delicious than the sum of its parts... I can’t even talk about it right now. My whole outlook on food has changed and I have a lot to think about.

2. We visited the Eiffel Tower. It really doesn’t matter what a tourist spot it is, because it deserves it. My breath was taken away. End of story.


Tomorrow is our first full day in Paris. Here we come!

Hearting Amsterdam

I don’t heart Amsterdam just because I can do drugs here, or because everyone speaks English. I mean, those things help, but it would be a great city without them. This is my third visit to Amsterdam and every time I step outside Centraal Station, I just can’t believe how damn pretty it is.

Aside from my year abroad in Scotland, I’ve only visited Europe in summertime. I should have known that Europe in the fall would be even more beautiful, especially since I now reside in LA, which has no seasons. Instead, LA features one 11-month-long summer that makes me want to crawl inside a refrigerator like Cherie in Punky Brewster. How have I lived for four years without autumn? There is nothing else like it, and to me Amsterdam has never been more beautiful.

I will say one thing now that I’ve been to this city three times: it doesn’t get ANY easier to navigate, and I’m telling you my sense of direction is one of the most amazing things about me, along with my ability to converse with animals (“Good day Tove, how are you?” “Fine, thanks. WHAAAAAAT”). On our first night in Amsterdam, I led Dan and Rosie on a vigorous walk towards the heart of town, eagerly explaining how well I knew the city and that it was, like, instinct that I didn’t need to look at the map.

Of course, after a long time with no heart of town to be found, I plotted our location and discovered we had marched several miles away from anything and we were located somewhere called “President Kennedy Lane” that was way off the map.

But it just doesn’t matter, because everywhere you go (except President Kennedy Lane) is gorgeous and weird and unexpected. Today we explored the Vondelpark, a large park near the Rijksmuseum where I decided I could easily imagine calling this place home. For how crazy it is, and all the sex and drug culture on display, Amsterdam still manages to feel like it would be a great place to raise a family. There is so much more to this city than its sleazy side, and I’m sad for anyone who comes here JUST to get high and visit the Red Light District.

That being said, if you are going to Amsterdam anytime soon, don’t forget to get high and visit the Red Light District. (But probably not on the same night.)

Eurotrippin'

I’m not going to lie. I enjoy getting stoned, and getting high in Amsterdam is kind of a must. There is nothing quite like going into a coffeeshop and ordering marijuana off a menu.

Additionally, there is nothing quite like eating magic mushrooms in Amsterdam. When you buy them, it comes with plenty of informative literature about using them properly and what to expect.

It’s an activity I would never engage in without that safe atmosphere, but it makes me happy knowing that somewhere, at least, tripping balls is a totally legitimate form of recreation.

From Bristol to Amsterdam: a series of unfortunate events

- Parking the car at Rosie’s parents house and hiking up a ginormous hill with our suitcases, standing around for half an hour, then watching our bus drive by... on the other side of the street. (Right on time, of course.)

- Cool, no problem, Rosie can just drive us to the airport. After like 30 minutes of driving that takes us through a tiny village with only one lane running through it, Rosie muses, “Isn’t it funny how I’ve never actually driven to the airport before?” It’s funny only because she successfully gets us there in the end.

- Going through security in the airport, preceded by a warning about gels and liquids in your bags, Rosie is stopped and her bag is searched by an officer who proceeds to pull every gel and liquid in the world out of Rosie’s little bag. Shampoo, conditioner, lotion, toothpaste, you name it. I’ve never seen so many gels and liquids in my life. I promise I’m not trying to make Rosie feel bad because it was really edgy of her to forget about quite that amount of gels and liquids.

- If you’re not aware, easyJet has a really “awesome” policy of first-come-first-serve seating, and when we’re about to have our tickets scanned for boarding, an entire sports team of rowdy boys totally cuts in front of us.

- Rosie and I book it off the plane in Amsterdam and reach customs with barely a line to wait in. This is pretty amazing until, just before my turn, Rosie can’t find her passport which she successfully retrieves just as I get out of line and the entire flight (including the sports team) gets in line in front of us.

- Everyone talks about how simple and easy it is to get from Amsterdam Schipol airport to Amsterdam Centraal Station, including me when I was talking to Dan, which is why I never actually explained it to him. So I probably deserve the total cluelessness I am faced with as we struggle to buy our tickets and get on the right train. (Although I have to say, half the battle was getting the correct change in Euros.)

- In the taxi queue outside Centraal Station, we’re waiting at the front of the line when people stroll right past us and get taxis. So we decide we’re going to go with the flow and walk out there and grab a taxi out of the line too, but no one will let us in their cab. So we go back and it’s really incredible that we didn’t end up waiting in line behind that motherfucking sports team.

- At last, we’re in the taxi and our driver knows exactly where the hotel is. There’s only one problem: OUR DRIVER IS A MURDERER. It later becomes obvious that this is a finely tuned system that works if you’re accustomed to it, but it is a death race that brings us to the Hotel Kap, not to mention within inches of decimating about a thousand pedestrians and cyclists.

And the final unfortunate event, on this happy, happy day: DUTCH TOILETS. Have you ever used them? Have you ever been presented with a dry shelf of your own excrement? Believe me, the answer to one is the answer to the other.

And of course, the most fortunate event of all (besides arriving in glorious Amsterdam): reuniting with Dan, who flew in from LA on this very day to spend a week of Eurotripping with me!

Hooray for everything.

There's beauty sleep, and then there's this

I may have just broken some kind of personal record, because I just finished sleeping for 18 HOURS.

From LA to Bristol: a series of entries

PART 1: FUCK
written en route from LA to Orlando

I just realized I totally miscalculated the length of my second flight. It will in fact be 8 hours, not 5 as I had thought. (I had forgotten to factor in the 3-hour difference between American coasts.) Eight hours is a long time. Long enough to watch Titanic from start to finish twice, and then the first 90 minutes again. Too bad I didn't bring my copy of Titanic, which means I will instead have to watch a shorter movie more times.

PART 2: WHAT
written before takeoff from Orlando

When we landed in Orlando, they called my name over the intercom and said I should contact ground staff immediately regarding my connecting flight. As soon as I got off the plane, I approached the desk and they immediately knew who I was, and informed me that my connecting flight had been delayed 24 HOURS, but they had booked me a new flight and it was boarding LIKE RIGHT THIS SECOND.

At the new gate, they also instantly knew who I was and wrote me a boarding pass by hand, which I have never seen before, and I started to panic a little bit.

First of all, my computer and mp3 player were completely dead from the previous flight. I had been counting on a 3-hour layover to do some serious charging, especially as I had gone to the effort of ripping an entire season of Dexter to my Zune to occupy me after racing through my computer battery watching Mad Men on DVD. I would be amused for HOURS AND HOURS. It was a perfect plan. And all of a sudden we were about to take off and all my electronics were useless. BOREDOM PANIC.

Second of all, I needed to call the bank and let them know I would be withdrawing money outside the country, and to please not freeze my account like asshole Washington Mutual did when I dared venture as far as Canada. I know I should have done this sooner, but again... totally counting on this layover.

Third of all, and most alarming, the flight information I forwarded Rosie was now useless and I couldn't even email her (let alone call) to let her know when and where to pick me up (especially since I would be taking the train to a different town, a few hours from Bristol, where she would come get me).

Fourth of all, when I got to my seat there was already someone there and their boarding pass was printed with a COMPUTER, so I felt like they had the upper hand. After a walkie-talkie conversation between airline staffers, I was placed in the very back of the plane. This is when I noticed there was no flight number on my handwritten boarding pass, so not only did I have no idea what time it was, or what time we were departing, I had no idea what flight I was on so at least she could look up what time I would land.

So, all of a sudden we were ABOUT TO TAKE OFF and all I could do was furiously text Rosie about this latest turn of events AS THE PLANE WAS TAXIING, which got me busted by a flight attendant, not to mention the fact that my seat is broken and defaults to the "reclined" position, leading to repeated busting from a flight attendant who thought I was simply a bad listener.

PART 3: I TAKE IT ALL BACK
written en route from Orlando to London

Well. Um. All of a sudden I'm half an hour away from London. Screw my 24-hours-delayed flight, Virgin is GREAT. Totally worth the extra $300 for facilitating my total blackout on this 8-hour flight.

After buying these tickets, I idly looked up some customer reviews of Virgin Atlantic, and the feedback was scathing: the service was bad, the flights were delayed, the entertainment system was broken, you name it.

Well, it sucks to be those people because Virgin rocked my world. The staff was friendly and attentive, the movies were free (unlike Virgin America), and best of all, I ended up having an entire row to myself so I was free to lounge about in a variety of positions I learned from my cats. And the food... well, who cares, because it came with a glass of wine that might have had roofies in it because the next thing I remember is RIGHT NOW.

Oh, and I'm wearing the red Virgin socks they handed out at the beginning of the flight. Nothing like kicking off your shoes to get date raped across the Atlantic Ocean. Thanks, Virgin.

PART 4: BACK IN JACK... UNION JACK, THAT IS-- LIKE ENGLAND? DO YOU UNDERSTAND? ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
written from London Gatwick airport

At first, I happily realized that not checking any bags on this trip had probably saved hours of waiting and speculation as to where in the world my stuff might be.

After that, I was rather worried to find that my card was rejected by the ATM, convincing me that Bank of America had pulled a Washington Mutual and frozen my funds, but fortunately I had enough American dollars on me to get totally ripped at the currency exchange and buy my train ticket. I'm left right now with some British coinage, a few American singles, and some apparently useless plastic cards that were supposed to represent all the money I've set aside for this exact situation.

PART 5: I HAVE NOW ARRIVED
written in Rosie's house in Bristol

I am really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really happy to be here.

TIFF journal: farewells

Farewell, Toronto. I know we’ve only gone out twice, but I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you. I’d really like it if we could go steady. So, you know, if you could talk to your government about granting me instant citizenship, that would be pretty cool. Thanks.

Farewell, TIFF. If I thought you showed me a good time last year, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I know there are problems -- horribly managed lineups outside the AMC, Hollywood douchebags texting through movies, Coopers’ Camera -- but the fact remains that I named 10 movies out of 312 that I wanted to see most, and you gave them to me. You even let me make my own mistakes, no uncertainty about it, but that’s life.

Saddest of all, I must bid farewell to Vickie. Thank you for spending time with me and Dan every single day and providing endless TIFF counseling. Thank you for being a ticket pre-folder just like me. Thank you for snacks, Biel-hunting, and photo shoots. And thank you for always wanting dessert.

Another year, another TIFF. It’s not really over (it ends this Saturday), but I’m about to get on an airplane and fly back to the year-long poop festival that is Los Angeles. Last year we shared our flight home with Geoffrey Rush. Cross your fingers that by the time you read this, I’ll have spent the next 5 hours becoming best friends with Jessica Biel and interviewing her about how much she sucks at everything.

TIFF journal: upper of a downer

Today marks mine and Dan’s final day of TIFFing for 2008. We’re heading back to LA tomorrow morning, and saw only one film this afternoon: The Dungeon Masters, a documentary about the everyday lives of “Dungeons & Dragons” gamers.

It was, first of all, an INCREDIBLY good-looking movie, almost distractingly well-photographed and edited (I mean that as a major compliment). The Dungeon Masters begins at an annual D&D convention in Indiana, and follows three gamers through the ups and downs of their private lives in the following year. However, it might be misleading to include the “ups” part of that statement, since their stories are awfully depressing.

The film’s primary mission was to portray these people with respectful interest, as opposed to poking fun at them (which, let’s face it, would be the easy route). And don’t get me wrong, the filmmakers maintain the perfect level of objectivity throughout the movie without losing sight of the inherent absurdity involved... but overall, to me, these were sad stories about people struggling to function in the ordinary world. Their real-life triumphs were touching, but it was a little awkward that the film confirmed (at least in these three cases) what you might have already guessed about the lives of D&D gamers.

Nevertheless, The Dungeon Masters was immensely enjoyable and I truly felt affection for the gamers featured. The director, editor, and producer all stuck around for a Q&A, during which Patton Oswalt raised his hand and asked a question! It turns out he is good friends with Keven McAlester (the director), and his question was totally (and hilariously) facetious. I was just thrilled to bring my TIFF ’08 celebrity sighting tally up to 2.

Speaking of celebrity sightings, I need to mention the fact that, all week, Dan and Vickie and I have been on a mission to find Jessica Biel. Her new movie, Easy Virtue (in which she plays a glamorous American divorcee named Larita Huntington) was having its premiere at this year’s TIFF, presenting a really good chance to get an autograph or punch her in the face or otherwise show our appreciation for her body of work.

Alas, no Biel sightings were in the cards for us this week, although Vickie watched news footage of Biel arriving at the red carpet, and Dan and I visited the very spot where the premiere took place a few hours after it was over (we were seeing a movie when the red carpet event actually took place, so we couldn’t even join the gawkers). Apparently Colin Firth (Biel’s co-star) also attended the screening. He’s pretty cool, but has he ever dressed up as Catwoman in a gay Adam Sandler movie? I don’t think so.

I guess we’ll just have to slow roll Easy Virtue when it comes out in theaters in 2009.