*blue balls not included.
My goal was ten films this year at CIFF. The last few years, I have seen just one or two during each festival. By Sunday night, I was at nine. With one unused voucher.
It was a great effort, considering the bulk of my work week and extra-curricular activities. Regardless, this year’s CIFF was full of excitement which was reflected by the community’s response with record-breaking attendance and donations.
Regardless, I got to see: Harvest, Love Hurts, Black Box, Ingredients, Out of Place, Chameleon, Do It Again, Mid-August Lunch and My Year Without Sex. For an international festival, I saw several US-bred films. My favorites though were Hungarian contemporary thriller “Chameleon” and the extremely different, psychological drama, Mexican “Black Box.” “Harvest” reminded me of the moral story behind “Garden State” (one of my favorite movies), so I imagine that was why I was equally pleased with it. I was really looking forward to “Sex,” but it was my only choice of the festival that was disappointing (and that I ruled as “Fair”).
I REALLY wanted to see the quirky “Paper Man,” and probably could have stayed in the standby line last night, but was just exhausted by my whirlwind weekend. Next time, Ryan Reynolds. NEXT TIME.
For certainty, next year I will have to devise a new viewing plan.
In the midst of deadlines, and coordinating that with my new roller derby passion, my friend I took a mini-road trip to Columbus Saturday afternoon to see OHRG (Ohio Roller Girls) and the Naptown Roller Girls (Indy) bout it out. I definitely need to create a derby name stat, especially if I’ll be traveling around meeting and learning with these girls. “Mel” is just not cutting it in the derby world.
Beyond my better judgment, I joined AB and his friend for a night out in Lakewood. I mean, after a few drinks, I suppose anyone could enjoy the Spazmatics regardless of location, but I just cannot handle the people in these bars anymore. At all. I might be a full-of-it conceited bitch for saying so, but perhaps I just grew the fuck up. (And maybe you should too). And I can handle my alcohol. Just sayin.
Saturday night at McCarthy’s sure has a way of putting life into perspective. TOO MUCH. Being in “those bars” seriously makes you think about how far one has come. Ten years ago I was hanging out in these cheesy ass bars feeling a serious deprivation in suitable males for dating. I complained about Cleveland’s dating pool based on these knuckleheads? Yikes. Looking for love in all the wrong places is definitely cliche, and I felt a certain sorrow for the requisite “too drunk” girls looking for a little companionship.
On that note, McCarthy’s scares me. More so that I am TEN YEARS OLDER than the average drunk in that bar. And I used to be complacent with my Saturday Night (or Thursday or Monday) life there. *shiver* Eck.
Thankfully, so much has changed.
How many films did you get to see at CIFF? And, have you ever visited one of your old haunts, only to be left feeling incredibly haunted?
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
