I don't much want to toot my own horn, but I just wrote the best fucking thing ever. Or at least, of all the things I've written this year, it was the one that most precisely hit the mark of what I was going for. Man, I've got a fucking physical rush on right now, just from reading the measly paragraph I just spat out. Hot diggity. Between this and finishing my really, really, really overdue Terra pages yesterday I'd say the pieces are falling into place rather nicely. If I can just finish my Portrait storyboards now, it'll be game set match, or whatever the tennis metaphor is. What? How would I know tennis?

Hot Docs is pretty much done. Last night I walked out of Super Amigos - it wasn't bad, it just wasn't very good, a mighty example of a documentary subject (Mexican wrestler superheroes!) fully failing to live up to their concept potential ("superheroic" only in that they organize rallies and shit). I might go see Call of the Hummingbird tonight to top things off. (How can I resist a "full frontal eco-manifesto"? Can't, that's how.) And yesterday afternoon I saw a flick (Garbage Warrior) about a guy who's experimenting with self-sustainable housing in the New Mexico desert. Building houses out of Coke bottles and tires and shit. My grandfather would have loved this guy, and I thought about Grandpa a lot while watching the movie, which was nice because I rarely get opportunity to bring the old dude into my daily life any more. Anyways I'd nominally put something here about how I'd love to live in an earthship-style house perched on a rock in the wilderness that generates all its own heat, power, and water, but I suspect it's irrelevant, as the survivors of the coming apocalypse will inevitably end up living in such structures anyway, and I fully intend to survive the apocalypse. So we'll table that for now.

Teen Girl Squad (plus one) is sunbathing in the back yard even now. It's good to be alive.