SIFF. Well. It's all over now. Oh, the sad poetry of it. It gives me a warm and dreadful feeling, the end of a SIFF; like when the cherished cherry blossoms fall, like sunset on the last day of summer, like the final bleach-blond and tremulous moments of a pirated Paris Hilton AVI (when her toes curl up and her face bronzer smudges the pillowcase). Like the death of a jolly, jolly old clown that meant well but was really fucking creepy. Or like watching the free vodka dry up. Yes, that's exactly what it's like. No more vodka.

Dear God! Why do you have to take the vodka? WHY?

In an all-too-brief smattering of final SIFF recaps/highlights: There were millions of red carpets, and I was on most of them (or near most of them—I really can't vouch for my depth perception), including opening night at the Paramount with Jessica Biel (who's not Jennifer Beals), and also at Neumo's Face the Music Rock Party with some guy from Devo (but I was really just there to see Sean Nelson, who wore a fabulous black suit that was fucking immaculate. That's the only way to describe it. FABULOUS and IMMACULATE.) There was also a bunch of movies, I guess, and sometimes there was shrimp. And cheese. And directors. And various cold cuts. And directorish types. And vodka... oceans of cool and embracing vodka. And Grant Cogswell, erstwhile monorailist-cum-politician-cum–horror-film producer, in the VIP room telling me that Seattle can "KISS MY DIRTY ASSHOLE!" because he's packing up said disgruntled asshole and moving it to Mexico or something. But that's vodka.

"Dear Adrian, Hal Sparks was in Seattle with his girlfriend to see Champion's last show. Who knew Hal Sparks was into straightedge hardcore? By the way, after meeting Matthew Lillard, I have determined that he is shockingly less attractive in person. Can you explain this to me?" —Ms. Stevens

Dear Ms. Stevens, Matt Lillard and I just got back from our honeymoon after our gala wedding on Elton John's yacht, and you know? He said almost exact the same thing about you! Isn't that, like, totally bizarre? —Adrian

Lastly, in pursuit of Harry fucking Potter, the world has given its opinion, and most of its opinion is like this: "Hi Adrian, After looking at the evidence (I even signed up for MySpace so I could—ugh!), I'm inclined to agree with you. It's a bunch of horseshit. Love your column!" —A. Victory But there are those who believe in bullshit, and you can experience their hairy side of the Harry story at www.adrianryan.com. DO IT!

Also! Come to the Fools Gold post-Pride party on Sunday, June 25, at Chop Suey and support would-be Independent Congresswoman Linnea Noreen! There might be naked people! So DO IT! ALSO!

SEND! adrian@thestranger.com