Celluloid Peeps

Like any good sequel, this one picks up with our hero (that
would be me) who’s found herself in dire straits. That is to say, I
was on the couch, pounding coffee like an 18-year-old pounds
Natural Light, while desperately commanding my feet to suck it up
and carry me through another several nights of fabulous Film
Festival fun. My feet ignored my pleas, but a peeper’s job is never
done, so I sucked down a double dose of Ibuprofen, and set off to
get the scoop on Film Fest ’06, Part Deux. Some stars of the
previous edition reappeared, some new characters were introduced,
and all gathered, night after night, to drink in whatever the
Festival was pourin’. We toasted Heath Ledger surrounded by
Harleys, watched as dirt bikes sailed through the air, partied with
Philip Seymour Hoffman, and laughed ’til we cried while watching
Jason Reitman’s feature debut — an unfiltered hit — Thank You for
Smoking. So many parties, so many peeps, and, alas — now for the
cliffhanger — so little space.


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