2004-09-12 - 3:27 p.m.
I don't know what it says about my subconscious that twice this week I've misread the word "computing" as "amputee".
The film festival is in town, which means that from my office window I can watch endless streams of Large Important Vehicles pull up at the Windsor Arms, apparently the celebrity hotel of choice in TO, though I don't think I've seen any actual celebrities. And I'm a little embarrassed at the realisation that I actually care that Orlando Bloom is here - I try to keep my fannishness confined to the world of character rather than actor, but in this case I have to admit to a certain amount of girlish squee. And OK, I was excited some years ago to realise that I was sitting only a couple of rows behind Molly Ringwald, who was such an omnipresent part of my teens.
I've seen one film so far - a german movie about an astonishingly handsome and sweet young paramedic with lots of angst and an intriguing scar. Sigh. Everything else I wanted to see was already sold out, so my sister and I are going to have to rush some stuff. It may be a quintessentially Toronto experience to stand in the mulitple line-ups the film festival involves, but the older I get the less patience I have with it and the more I want to make everyone standing near me shut up and stop having pretentious film conversations. I am clearly on my way to cranky old-ladyhood. Next year I may bring an umbrella and start poking people with it - "That's what you get for citing Fassbinder more than three times in any one conversation! If you bring up Herzog you lose an eye!"
On a completely random note, there was a striking man with dreads in kind of a top-knot thing sitting in front of me on the streetcar on my way downtown yesterday. Many hours later, as I was riding home again, I looked up from my book and discovered that he was once again sitting in front of me. What are the odds on that in a city the size of TO and on a transit route as heavy as the Queen streetcar?
