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Occupation: Girl

Please close the door and switch on the fun without fail.

Much excitement in Cleoland
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cleolinda

So I get this email last night:

Dear Cleolinda,

In the spirit of the "short attention span" era, might you consider reviewing/commenting on one minute films and sharing your thoughts with your audiences? FILMINUTE is the international one-minute film festival launched this September 1st and running until September 30. The FILMINUTE 2006 collection of one-minute films (shortlist of 27) has accumulated a quarter of a million page views in 15 days.
Exciting! I haven't watched any of them yet, and it might be challenging to do anything with something that short (movies in fifteen seconds? On the other hand, I might do it more in a recap style), but at least the films are short enough that you could do it in a task-oriented fashion and knock off two or three at a time.

Best part: Talk Like a Pirate Day is on Tuesday. Theoretically, I may be writing some of these up in piratespeak.

And then, my mother comes upstairs and says that we've won best yard in the neighborhood, as decided by a council of florists or something. They sent us a pot of sunflowers and everything (which I totally took as a sign, as the story I'm working on has sunflowers as a major plot point). You may not understand how hilarious this is, however, until you realize that we've put off re-landscaping the yard for two or three years because it was the yard or the pool, and we chose the pool. So the front yard, as it stands, has some crepe myrtles and low-lying juniper ground cover around the edges, but is chiefly dominated by two raised circles, surrounded by rocks, front and center. Each circle used to have a tree. And then, in the great storm of 2004 while I was off in New Orleans, one of the trees was smote...n, yea verily. (It just doesn't seem right to say that the tree was smitten, you know? It wasn't in love with the oak across the street or anything.) So we ended up chopping down that tree and... the other tree, which was perfectly fine; I don't know what was up with that, but one day my stepfather went out there with a chainsaw and that was the end of that. Maybe the trees really were smitten and the other one couldn't face life alone or something. Anyway, two years later, here the yard stands: two tree stumps, except that the plants that used to sit in neat rings around them have since gone feral and exploded into jungly masses. I think I saw some baby oak saplings in there, a swath of poison ivy, at least one stout succulent weed that I thought was a milkweed, but it doesn't have any kind of flowers, so probably not, and some tenacious hostas clinging to the territory that was rightfully theirs.

The florists' council apparently loved that. Specifically, they mentioned it. I don't know, y'all.

Meanwhile, I asked my mother if she'd seen my Van Helsing DVD (the one time we opened it, some two years ago, we were downstairs). "No, I don't know where it is," she says. "Why, do you want to watch it?" No, I thought I'd bronze it. You know, as a symbol of my shame.

(Are you sure you still want me to write about your short films, FILMINUTE? This is the kind of taste we're talking about here.)

Also, hair: still fantastic.



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