Nobody told me that Toronto hates left turns.
After an eight-hour drive, following sketchy directions from Expedia, the last thing I wanted to do was wander around in traffic, screaming in frustration and exhaustion all through the hour I spent traversing the same six blocks looking for a way to get into my hotel that involved a street onto which I might actually be able to turn. As if I needed a reminder of why I don't do much city driving. My car is parked and it is going to stay where it is for the next eleven days.
But you know what? Everything is going to be okay, because I'm at the Toronto Film Festival and my New York City experience has given me plenty of wherewithal to walk and/or ride the subway to whereever it is I need to be going. So here's my statement of purpose:
My name is
Steve Carlson, and I'm a first-time TIFFer. Normally, I hang out in my own backyard at
The Ongoing Cinematic Education of..., but Nathaniel was nice enough to let me post my coverage here. I have a Festival Pass, tickets to twenty-four screenings and a whole lot of open slots. My schedule is fluid in order to allow for rush screenings and last-minute buzz magnets. I don't have a computer, but there's an Internet cafe near where I'm staying, so I'll try to post daily updates.
Now that I'm on foot, I'm ready. Bring it, Toronto.
