My Toronto Film Festival structure is already starting to fall apart. I plan and organize and copy and paste like an obsessive accountant before I come here each year, and then it all goes to hell in a kind of tornado-like gale before the second day is through. I know which screenings I want to get to, but the interviews and parties and press conferences just seem to whirl around like debris. There’s just not enough time in the day to see and do everything you want to do and write about it.
I saw four films yesterday (including Grant Heslov‘s The Men Who Stare at Goats) and haven’t tapped out a word about any of them. (Well, I did write about them this morning but the Bell internet re-booted after I’d written about ten graphs and I lost the whole friggin’ thing.) All I’m planning to do now is stop by the Sony Classics dinner at Mirabelle, which starts at 7 pm. I’ll post some fresh photos later this evening, and tomorrow is a new day.
Incidentally…I kind of hate it when I’m sitting alone at a cafe and a couple approaches and right away I start to discreetly eyeball the lady because she’s exceptional looking, and right away the guy starts eyeballing me with an expression that says, “Whaddaya think you’re doing?…she’s with me, we’re in love…look at somebody else!” Whenever that happens I look away for a second or two, not wanting to be rude or provoke anything, but then I resent myself for wussing out. It’s okay to look as long as you’re not obnoxious about it, I think. What’s the guy gonna do?