O, Tom Skerritt... did I dream you? Were you merely a mirage? Just standing there, beer drinking, in your oh-so-spunky 'do? (Kenny Loggins called and asked to please dry clean that funky hairstyle before you return it.) You wore wise and slimming black (so chic!) and drank, did I mention, the beer? Was it really you? It's been forever.
And, o, ye darling Posies, with your spunky noise and verve and smart belts and pretty girlfriends... did we hang and maybe kick it, or did I merely dream you, too?
And, you, Miranda July, so fresh, so precious, so underappreciated... did we share, together, a moment, and reminisce of simpler days? All that the experts can confirm at this point is that I woke up the following morning with all of my clothes on and my freezer door wide open (All of my peas had thawed! All of them!), and a single little piece of sad dry sushi sat disappointed on the corner of my kitchen sink. (What madness transpired here? I ask you!) The only possible conclusion is that it was indeed a thoroughly twitterpating SIFF opening night party. Stellar. Gala. Star-kind-of-studded. And SIFF is being so nice to me again. Not at all like last year.
Fear the Adrian!
"Adrian-Maggie Gyllenhaal and Peter Sarsgaard are in town. Maggie accompanied Peter to his SIFF tribute and the showing of his film, The Dying Gaul. He gave her a quick kiss on his way up to accept the award for acting. Both arrived for the gala after-party, at the Terrace Cafe on Fifth Avenue, with low candlelight, jazz, and smoky yet romantic balcony... I don't want this letter to end."-Paula
Dear Paula-I don't want this letter to end either.-Adrian
In less of that: Did you hear that the guy who played Eddie Munster is in town? I didn't. Word.
In everything else I vaguely remember about the SIFF opening: There was a girl who looked like Hilary Duff but wasn't, at least three Mobys (can you pick the real one? I can't!), one faux Dustin Hoffman and an even fauxer Jennifer Garner; there was real Nutella, and the mass realization that Greg Nickels is Mayor Quimby from The Simpsons; there was a white-haired movie announcer-man who said "poop" and "piss" and, speaking of that, there were also the most darling kiddy-scat-themed scenes ever attempted in modern cinema. Of course, Michael Jackson could not be reached for comment. Or possibly he could, but who has the energy to even try anymore? Who?
Viva SIFF! ■
