A funny thing...
...happened at the theatre tonight and on the way home.
I met Scrooge at one of my favorite theatres here in Dallas, the Angelika. I like it because they feature unusual, thought-provoking (does a hyphen belong there?) and well made films.
Tonight our intended feature was "Milk," starring Sean Penn. It was playing in Auditorium 2. It was scheduled to begin at 4:35 p.m.
It was my pleasure to order a cup of $2.45 drip coffee and people watch as I waited for Scrooge to arrive. There was an especially attractive gentleman in the coffee shop whom I wish now I'd had the balls to make up an excuse to speak to. I let fear snatch yet another of life's offerings for an experience from my grasp. But, that is a story for another time.
Upon seeing Scrooge through the wall of plate glass windows I texted him to come buy his ticket from the kiosk. It is much faster that way. Overlooking the time I wasted texting as opposed to just getting up, going out the door, and telling him the very same thing.
Such is the life in this electronic age. Why the preference for virtual vs. personal interaction? Again, another time.
He enjoyed his speedy kiosk ticket purchase. The ticket taker directed us upstairs to Auditorium 2.
At times Scrooge can be quite particular, and it is my nature to nurture and accommodate, so I offered to let him choose the row. He chose the front row. Okay. But, he wanted to sit closer to the center and there were people we would have had to step over to get to it. So we went back, down, and around. I offered to let him have the innermost seat, closet to the center. This either irritated or embarrassed him because he said we should just Sit Down...it didn't matter, and that I should take some initiative.
I pointed out how contradictoryly annoying it can be when people Say "it doesn't matter" when their actions clearly indicate it Does. This experience, among a collection of other recent ones, has taught me to be less accommodating when dealing with Scrooge.
We sat, and sat, and watched previews, while he bitched...about how long the previews were taking, how loud people were munching their popcorn, how loud the sound was until the movie begins and he said, "finally!"
The opening scene displays a rain slick street in what looks like Boston. The credits begin to roll; a film by John Patrick Shandley appears on the lower right side of the screen in white lettering just as a boy, Jimmy, is awakened by his mother telling him to get up he'll be late for mass.
I tell Scrooge we are in the wrong theatre.
He disagrees.
I persist.
"This is Doubt," I say.
I didn't mean his reaction. I didn't say that part. I thought of it just now.
Sure enough Philip Seymour Hoffman's white lettered name appears and I'm vindicated. Much as Meryl Streep's character...ah, I'll let you see for yourself.
We are in the wrong auditorium. We begin to chuckle quietly.I met Scrooge at one of my favorite theatres here in Dallas, the Angelika. I like it because they feature unusual, thought-provoking (does a hyphen belong there?) and well made films.
Tonight our intended feature was "Milk," starring Sean Penn. It was playing in Auditorium 2. It was scheduled to begin at 4:35 p.m.
It was my pleasure to order a cup of $2.45 drip coffee and people watch as I waited for Scrooge to arrive. There was an especially attractive gentleman in the coffee shop whom I wish now I'd had the balls to make up an excuse to speak to. I let fear snatch yet another of life's offerings for an experience from my grasp. But, that is a story for another time.
Upon seeing Scrooge through the wall of plate glass windows I texted him to come buy his ticket from the kiosk. It is much faster that way. Overlooking the time I wasted texting as opposed to just getting up, going out the door, and telling him the very same thing.
Such is the life in this electronic age. Why the preference for virtual vs. personal interaction? Again, another time.
He enjoyed his speedy kiosk ticket purchase. The ticket taker directed us upstairs to Auditorium 2.
At times Scrooge can be quite particular, and it is my nature to nurture and accommodate, so I offered to let him choose the row. He chose the front row. Okay. But, he wanted to sit closer to the center and there were people we would have had to step over to get to it. So we went back, down, and around. I offered to let him have the innermost seat, closet to the center. This either irritated or embarrassed him because he said we should just Sit Down...it didn't matter, and that I should take some initiative.
I pointed out how contradictoryly annoying it can be when people Say "it doesn't matter" when their actions clearly indicate it Does. This experience, among a collection of other recent ones, has taught me to be less accommodating when dealing with Scrooge.
We sat, and sat, and watched previews, while he bitched...about how long the previews were taking, how loud people were munching their popcorn, how loud the sound was until the movie begins and he said, "finally!"
The opening scene displays a rain slick street in what looks like Boston. The credits begin to roll; a film by John Patrick Shandley appears on the lower right side of the screen in white lettering just as a boy, Jimmy, is awakened by his mother telling him to get up he'll be late for mass.
I tell Scrooge we are in the wrong theatre.
He disagrees.
I persist."This is Doubt," I say.
I didn't mean his reaction. I didn't say that part. I thought of it just now.
Sure enough Philip Seymour Hoffman's white lettered name appears and I'm vindicated. Much as Meryl Streep's character...ah, I'll let you see for yourself.
I was sure the ticket taker directed us to Auditorium 2. We turned at the sign for Auditorium 2.
I tell Scrooge maybe this is why the movie took so much longer to begin.
Oh well. He wanted to see this one as well, as did I. Though I am supposed to go see it with my daughter on Christmas Day.
The movie, again, a story for another time, but suffice it to say, was brilliantly made. Of course, the acting was everything you'd expect from Hoffman and Streep.
As we exited the theatre, I pull my ticket stub out of the pocket of my jeans to verify the Auditorium number...definitely #2.
Scrooge looks back at the sign and tells me we were not in Auditorium 2.
Now, it is my turn to doubt.
He walks me back and I see that, unlike most theatres that have double entries to one auditorium, and you'd think with this being one of my favorite theatres I'd know this by now, this one has only single entries, and above the door is the sign...Auditorium 1.
I laugh and make a joke about how unfair that they put them right next to each other. He laughed.
On the way home I encounter a backup of traffic, red tail-lights for a hundred yards, flashing lights from emergency responder vehicles. I begin a tirade to myself how this had better not be yet another instance of rubberneckers holding up traffic. Like that was going to stop it or help.
As I close in on the center of the action - there in the far right lane flanked by blazing flares and a big red firetruck was a HUGE brown cow lying dead on it's right side!
I tell Scrooge maybe this is why the movie took so much longer to begin.
Oh well. He wanted to see this one as well, as did I. Though I am supposed to go see it with my daughter on Christmas Day.
The movie, again, a story for another time, but suffice it to say, was brilliantly made. Of course, the acting was everything you'd expect from Hoffman and Streep.
As we exited the theatre, I pull my ticket stub out of the pocket of my jeans to verify the Auditorium number...definitely #2.
Scrooge looks back at the sign and tells me we were not in Auditorium 2.
Now, it is my turn to doubt.
He walks me back and I see that, unlike most theatres that have double entries to one auditorium, and you'd think with this being one of my favorite theatres I'd know this by now, this one has only single entries, and above the door is the sign...Auditorium 1.
I laugh and make a joke about how unfair that they put them right next to each other. He laughed.
On the way home I encounter a backup of traffic, red tail-lights for a hundred yards, flashing lights from emergency responder vehicles. I begin a tirade to myself how this had better not be yet another instance of rubberneckers holding up traffic. Like that was going to stop it or help.
As I close in on the center of the action - there in the far right lane flanked by blazing flares and a big red firetruck was a HUGE brown cow lying dead on it's right side!
Poor cow. Then I think, poor cow?! What about the car that hit that thing?
A few yards ahead I notice against the guard rail sandwiched behind the firetruck and an ambulance a car whose driver's side looked as though someone crumpled aluminum foil and tried to smooth it back out.
That's all I saw because as soon as the slowass rubberneckers in front of me had their eyefull and started to accelerate...I hauled it.
Besides, I only looked because of the cow.
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