It's 4:30 a.m. Do you know where your internal clock is?

Time has no meaning when your schedule is your own. When I'm left to my own devices, which used to only be on weekends, I'm inclined to stay up until 3 or 4 a.m., then sleep until about 11 a.m. I'm going to have to do some serious resetting of my internal clock when I'm back to work.

Up until Saturday I was spending my nights in a theatre at the Edmonton International Film Festival. Check out my review blog for my comments on the movies I've seen. All 1,255 minutes of them. It was nine days/nights well spent. Festival movies are by nature a bit more skewed than wide release movies. Not that I'd care to write a movie about a 12 year old neighbour girl who happens to be a vampire or explore what my bowels would say if I were struck down by cancer -- but I believe such exposure to stories without boundaries did help widen my own creative thoughtzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...*snort* wha - What?!

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A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

Batten down the hatches -- we're in it for the long haul!

Given that the weather reports for Edmonton this weekend are grim grim grim (lows of minus 33, highs of minus 25 -- with wind chills of around minus 35 to 40), I woke up early this morning to get all errands for the weekend out of the way in one fell swoop. I barely needed a coat this morning as I headed out to my car to embark on my mission. With each passing hour, the thermometer dipped a degree or twelve. By time I was done driving around (and paused to catch a movie at the neighbourhood googolplex), it was chill-lay outside. I am now snuggly boarded up in my apartment, with no plans to so much as peek my nose out my window until Tuesday (when the temps shall return to a balmy minus 15). Groceries? Check. Toiletries? Check. Magazines to curl up with? Check. Christmas Presents? Check. Lessee, I got my father what he's been asking for since I was old enough for him to give me his Christmas wish list: And I think my mother will enjoy her bungalow by the stream: For my sister and he...

"I used to think maybe you love me, now baby I'm sure"

I just got my first reference letter to submit with my admission package to film school this fall. And I quote: "I found her grasp of the craft of writing to be first-rate and she has an original voice, a rarity among writers." I'm a rarity. Which is similar, perhaps, to being "special" -- which, yes, people say of me only in association with making quotation marks with their fingers. We all gotta be something.

A Skewed View

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