Called Rob Barnum, the head of Cyan’s San Francisco office to ask how he and the rest of our Toronto Film Festival delegation were holding up five days into their trip.
“Well,” he replied, “let me put it this way. When I got back from a bunch of industry parties last night, I called the hotel’s front desk to ask them for an 8:00am wakeup call. They said, ‘um, sir, it’s 8:30am.”
Running a film company: not for the faint of constitution.
Despite, as this site suggests, liking to think about myself, I’m not normally a big fan of online tests. Certainly not of the sort that categorizes you into some type. (“The Star Wars personality sorter says you’re C3PO!”)
Nonetheless, on a friend’s recommendation, I took OkCupid’s 3 Variable Funny Test, and was surprised to see the description it yielded was pretty much dead on:
Type: The Cutting Edge
Your humor’s mostly innocent and off-the-cuff, but somehow there’s something slightly menacing about you. Part of your humor is making people a little uncomfortable, even if the things you say aren’t themselves confrontational. You probably have a very dry delivery.
Your type is the most likely to appreciate a good insult and/or broken bone and/or very very fat person dancing.
Ah, very very fat person dancing; I laugh out loud each I time I even read that phrase.
I’ve been getting emails of late asking for more blog posts about disastrous dates. And, sadly, I don’t really have any to share.
It’s not that I haven’t been going on dates. I have. They’ve just been good. And all with the same girl.
Which, I realize, is somewhat out of character. I haven’t blogged about it, ostensibly because I didn’t want to freak her out, but, really, because I didn’t want to freak myself out. Once it’s on paper (or, more accurately, screen), there’s no denying – even to myself – that I actually really like this girl.
But, after having spent the weekend with her in Boston, and having totally not been sick of her by the end, which is weird, because I get sick of everybody and usually need far more time to myself, I’m biting the bullet, and coming clean.
I think I have a girlfriend.
Until I get yelled at for putting this online and then figure out how much I should really be sharing or not, the only description you get is one emailed along, strangely enough, by her mom: smart and intuitive and maybe sometimes a little weird.
Which, basically, is exactly my type. Fingers crossed.