I am back, safe-and-sound, from the opening night party on Argyle Street. I am simultaneously receiving a foot-rub, drinking a big, detoxifying mug of Fujian green tea and slouching in front of the trusty iBook in clothes that no longer bind me. (I still have markings from the tight pants I wore out.) All in all, a great end to the evening.
Stray thoughts about the night:
Very crowded, which is a great testament to the popularity of the Fest, but a hinderance if you need the lady's, a drink, or a place to sit, stat!
Don McKellar is kind of short. I think, I may think this about all celebirities when I eventually see them in the flesh; it is like I forget they are actually human. Mr. McKellar was relative height to, one, Mr. Carsten Knox, whom I spied interviewing him, and , probably, about relative height to my date. (I'm not dating Michael Phelps, or anything.) I really should get over my belief that all celebrities should be eight-feet tall.
All right, time to sober up and get professional! The Fest is off and away tomorrow!