It’s just after 11pm at the internet cafe and the new Britney Spears single Gimme More is playing. I’ve decided that this is actually a catchy tune. Let me just sound off on this whole Britney/MTV fiasco. Here’s my opinion: She clearly wasn’t ready to perform. She wasn’t in shape. She didn’t know the dance steps and it was horribly obvious that she didn’t know the damn words. Was it Britney’s fault? Honestly….I don’t think it was. No matter what you think of her. Tramp, talentless, bad mother, idiot…whatever. She didn’t deserve this. Most of her recent problems and media trashings were her own stupid fault…but this. Nope. She gets a pass from me. She knows as well as we all do and her record label knows and her management knows that’s she’s just an inch away of becoming redundant and a complete joke. They want her to come back huge and to sell tons of records. So, they pretty much tell her she has to do this. She is in no position to argue either and they know it. If she’s awesome on the show then she’s a goldmine again. If she fails, the media attention will be huge. It will be all over youtube and everyone will hear the single Gimme More over and over and over again. It’s a win-win situation for the record label. That crazy crying shemale is right.

Leave Britney alone for the moment.

Anyway.

My God.

The end has finally come and TIFF has once again left me. She’s a harlot, that one. Gets me all riled up and then says ‘Sorry dude…put some ice on that.’

One last film today, but we’ll get to that later.

Another free Dole Sparkler. Delicious and thirst quenching.

My Orioles are in town against the Blue Jays and once again Aubrey Day is here. Aubrey Huff is the Baltimore Orioles 1st baseman and he might be my favourite active baseball player. Why? Cause he keeps a juice pack in his back pocket when he plays. That just makes me laugh. So…he’s in town and that makes it Aubrey Day. I take the subway to the game and sitting across from me is this crazy looking dude. Bald head, huge beard, shades on and he’s just fucking staring at me. Like, right at me. It was really uncomfortable. Not many people can intimidate me. When I met the Undertaker…he scared the shit out of me….and this guy on the train was just not well. I gave him the slip at Union Station and was satisfied that I wasn’t going to get knifed. I go up some steps on the way to the Rogers Centre and I spot something unusual. You know how I told you about the bathroom pants? Well….this may be worse. There was a used diaper on the stairs. Used. Here’s the kicker….it wasn’t a baby diaper. Did you hear that? That was the collective readership of this blog vomiting on their computer monitor. A fucking used adult diaper. What the fuck?? This makes the bathroom pants seem normal. You really have to be an exhibitionist to dump a used diaper on the busy steps of Union Station in downtown Toronto. That’s not right. Why would someone do that? It doesn’t make any sense. Gah. One of my favourite panhandlers is outside the Rogers Centre on his drumkit. He’s a good drummer and as I walked up with some coins for him, he broke into a wicked drumroll until the coins hit his cup and then he crashed the cymbals and shouted “Thank you”. Very entertaining. All right…back to Aubrey Day. The Jays are bad and the Orioles are worse, but I thought maybe we could pull out a win, but alas, Roy Halliday was on the mound, the Jays started the game with 7 straight hits for 6 runs and it was pretty much over at that point.

I hop on the subway to get to my last film of TIFF. It’s a film called Mad Detective and it was directed by Hong Kong action film master Johnnie To. It’s a about a detective who has unusual ways to solve crimes. The film opens up with the detective folding himself up in a suitcase and then being pushed down 5 flights of stairs. He gets let out of the suitcase and climbs to his feet to say “The ice cream store manager did it.” and boom….case is solved. The next scene, he cuts his own ear off and offers it to the Chief of Police as a going away gift at the Chief’s retirement party. That’s all I can tell you about the movie. I watched the first 15 minutes of the film standing near the entrance. Here’s why: The theatre is very packed when I get there, so I grab a seat on the aisle in the third row. There are 6 prime seats in the theatre taped off as reserves for filmmakers. I ask a theatre employee if the director is coming and she says she doesn’t know. I ask her to tap me on the shoulder if at anytime she’s going to remove the reserved signs. She says okay and that’s that. About 10 minutes later I turn around and the employee is removing the tape. WTF? No tap? I jump up to grab a seat, but they’re all gone. I turn around and some douchebag takes my old seat. Fuck. I go up to the guy and say “Hey man, listen…I just got up to see if there was a better seat. Would you mind letting me sit back in my seat?” He’s says ‘no’. I ask him again and he says ‘Sorry.” Wow. This time I tell him to get the hell out of my fucking seat and the ushers come over and tell me to calm down. I was calm. I didn’t even raise my voice. I just swore at that prick. Fine. Whatever. I’m calm. So, I start watching the film from the entrance way out of sight of anyone when another theatre employee tells me I can’t stand there. I tell them the story and she says “Sorry, you’ll have to take a seat in the front row or leave. We have a policy about standing.” I tell her “I don’t think you do. Yesterday I almost stepped on an employee who was sitting right here watching the movie.” She says that employee shouldn’t have been doing that and then asks me again to take my seat. I respond with “Fuck that” and the next thing I know security is there and they escort me off of the premises. Holy hell….I just got kicked out of a movie theatre. It’s the last day of TIFF and it was my last film and that tramp TIFF found a way to screw me in the end. Again. Like she does every year. Kicked out. Amazing. See you next year, TIFF. No matter how much pain you cause me….I still love you. I love you so much I want to take you around back of the middle school and get you pregnant. I’ll give credit to NT and TJ for that.

So, there you have it. 18 films. 3 ballgames. 8 days. Paris Hilton. Bathroom pants. Unicycles. Corey Haim. Undone zippers. Crying babies. Subway injuries. Salty pretzels. Free beverages. Stupid cats. Ranch dip. Crazy people. Heidi. Paul Haggis. Amato’s. And me.

Greg’s 2007 Toronto Film Fest Report: Day 7
Greg’s 2007 Toronto Film Fest Report: Day 6
Greg’s 2007 Toronto Film Fest Report: Day 5
Greg’s 2007 Toronto Film Fest Report: Day 4
Greg’s 2007 Toronto Film Fest Report: Day 3
Greg’s 2007 Toronto Film Fest Report: Day 2
Greg’s 2007 Toronto Film Fest Report: Day 1

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