A kindly soul has invited me to beta-test the new Google gmail accounts, so now I can finally be rid of that crappy f2o account. It was out every other week for days at a time, usually when attempting to correspond with my editors.

Getting on with it, I am pleased to announce that I can be reached at the following e-mail address from here on out and ever after (let’s hope): brittneyg@[NOSPAM]gmail.com

Remember to leave out the [NOSPAM] part and you and I are in business for a little back and forth communicating, if you know what I mean.

The Nashville Scene asked me to review three films to be featured in the upcoming Nashville Film Festival. They were published today, and though brief, it would be cool if you’d be kind enough to check them out.

Or, if you are lazy, you can read them here.

I parked my car up the hill and met up with E. for the walk down to work. Halfway down I felt a thump on my right shoulder and new immediately what just happened. A bird took a disgusting, huge dump on my shoulder. “Motherfucker!,” I exclaimed, “Fucking great.”

E., ever the optimist, said, “At least it didn’t crap in you hair. It could be worse.” I took her words to heart and agreed that it would have been worse had it gotten in my hair.

Once inside the building M. surprised me at the door with, “Look! I found a four-leaf clover.” I told her that was awesome, but excuse me I have to go clean the bird shit off me.

Once in the bathroom I began mopping up fowl dung when I noticed white-ish brown flecks in my braided pigtails. The bird shit was in my hair.