Friday with the Beeth

I spent this Friday evening volunteering at the movie theater up the street. It is a way I have a spent a few Fridays in this past year and a handful of Saturdays, doling out popcorn, talking film and seeing a new indie or foreign film for free. Not too shabby. Here are some observations about tonight:

• I worked with a lovely older woman who looked decked out for the holidays with this beautiful bright red lipstick on. It also turns out that her son happens to own one of my favorite Mexican restaurants in a nearby town. I thought it was too soon but if I volunteer with her again, I'm going to request one of those cards that would allow me free buffalo vegetable quesadillas there for life. They have those cards right?

• People are kinda pigs. Because it is a small, independent theater and pretty much a start up, the concessions are sold at a very cheap price. The popcorn is low budget but it is popped fresh for each showing and it costs exactly $1. That's it. The bag size is what I would call "snack size". For $1, one can't expect the large vats of popcorn available at the multiplex. However, I got complaints tonight. "Can't you find a bigger bag?" and "For a $1 I want more." Um, what? When was the last time you spent $1 on popcorn? I talked in a previous blog post about how much a trip to the movies costs. The last time I bought popcorn it was around $5. So, really? You want more for $1? Bite me. Also, after the screening, I had to go out into the theater to sweep up all the detritus left behind, which, objectively speaking, when you have a room full of sober adults, should be minimal. For some reason, tonight's group left a veritable garbage dump of various bits of crap. I mean, ok, I get that popcorn isn't always the easiest of foods to keep from falling on the floor in the dark. But when you get up and you have left behind three candy bar wrappers and a half empty bottle of water, you are just being fucking lazy.

• The movie tonight was A Late Quartet starring Christopher Walken, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Catherine Keener among others. I hadn't really heard anything about it before hand apart from an excerpt of an interview with Walken on Fresh Air. In this film, he is the most un-Christopher Walken I've ever seen, a cellist and a widow recently diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. There are a handful of actors I would have envisioned in a role like that. But I have to say I was able to separate him in this role from his persona and when you come to expect a handful of quirks from a person, it takes a good actor to help you forget it. 

• A central part of the film is the music, in particular a piece by Beethoven Opus 131 String Quartet. I first heard that particular piece in college, when I still had aspirations to minor in music history. It was part of the textbook companion set of CASSETTE TAPES (now you know how old I am) for a class called "The History of Western Music". I would listen those tapes over and over and over again on my walkman while I shelved books in the college library. This piece always stood out for me because the first time I heard it I had to stop what I was doing to listen. After that, every time I heard it, my mind would wander wherever it wanted while keeping me tethered for fear of not being able to hear it from far away. I can't hear this without recalling the scent of that library, the memory of those endless stacks underground, even the feel of those books as I walked between the aisles and ran my hands along the bindings and all the things I felt at the time. Beethoven reminds me of being 20 which just makes me melancholy. What? I dare you to think of yourself at 20 and not sigh in the remembrance.  Listen to it here, I promise you will not spend a better nine minutes:

Ok I'm wrapping this up. I'm going to do a very un-Friday thing (for me anyway) and sit in my apartment sober, listening to the Beeth. Man, it is just like my wild, wild 20s!

Late and lame

I'm multitasking. Right now I am awaiting my nail varnish to dry and enjoying a gin and tonic. I'm doing some online Christmas shopping and in a moment I will be getting myself ready to go to sleep and there's nothing more multitasking in my life than sleeping what with REM cycles and the slowing of my breathing. It has taken my entire lifetime but I think I've got that down.

What fascinating part of my life should I share today? For dinner I got Indian at my local/only nearby Indian restaurant (side note: there is a dearth of Indian eateries on Long Island and I cannot for the life of me figure out why. I mean, Indian food is fucking delicious and Long Islanders love to eat. Does not compute.) Anyway, two things resulted from the fateful decision to get aloo gobi tonight: 1) the man on the phone who took my order somehow thought my name was "Anderson" and when I went to pick it up there were a few orders waiting. She asked if I was "Anderson" and I said no. Just as they were starting to berate the cook for being slow, I realized that Anderson is as close to my name as some other names and I figured out it was for me. Comedy! and 2) I neglected to tell the person who took my order to make it mild in spice. I"m not a big baby when it comes to spicy food, please don't mistake me. I love spicy food. I often add Tabasco sauce to many, many dishes. But this particular restaurant has different standards of heat and this was an intense culinary experience. By that I mean, I got snotty. Appetites!

I don't really have much else for today. My nails are dry and I have a few more things to do before falling fast asleep and boom it will Friday.

Possibly, the best blog I've ever written. And by best I mean, lamest.

Definitely not a New Year's resolution blog

Watching "The Dark Knight Rises" I'm reminded of my lifelong dream of being a standout extra in a major motion picture. I have always wanted to be the extra that has a line that stands out amidst all the action of a superhero movie or the funniest line in a comedy (think "I'll have what she's having" from "When Harry Met Sally"). What does it say about me that I never had aspirations to be the star, never wanted to be the quirky sidekick, never even wanted to be the first one to die in a horror movie. Just that one line delivery and I'd be done, forever committed to the annals of film history. Do extras with lines ever get invited to the premiere?

Today was a rather hum drum day. There wasn't much to do at work and it was just one of those days when I longed for even a small window in my office. I suppose that would qualify as a first world problem. Anyway, I'd likely be even more distracted than I normally am if there were a window for me to constantly stare out of. Ah, distraction. Did I mention I've been reading the same two books for about two months now? This has to be a record for me. I am almost entirely incapable of finishing books lately. I blame Michael Chabon. Not really, he's a fine writer. I blame myself. And my iPhone. And this day and age. Hold on while I shake my fist at society and go "ohhh youuuuu!"

I'm going to take some steps to alleviate this distraction. Blogging every day this month is one of those steps. Believe it or not (I wouldn't blame me if you didn't actually believe me) committing to myself out loud to write a blog entry every day in succession for a set amount of time actually works for me. And the main result is that I find myself actually concentrating on doing something every day. I know this is a bit elementary but for a brain as addled as mine has become, this is milestone territory.

Another step I'm going to take is yoga. I have an on/off again relationship with yoga but it is the classic story of me being actually in love with something but denying it so I don't have to do the work necessary or risk anything. (This is starting to sound like a blog about my love life.) But in all seriousness, I am going to get serious about yoga. This will necessitate me doing yet another step which is: being a little better about how and where and when I spend my  money. When I had my previous journal, one of the tags I had for my posts was entitled "Money aka the bane of my existence" and it was heavily used. I've never been "bad" with money. I'd prefer to use the term "frivolous". I really truly want to attempt to use my money on the betterment of my soul and my mind as opposed to the betterment of my wardrobe. This particular attempt will likely fail, but I don't say that because I'm a natural pessimist. I say it only because it has always failed in the past.

I'd also love to volunteer somewhere OTHER than an independent movie theater that really isn't volunteering since I get something out of it. I'm not entirely to blame for my lack of being a good citizen on this front. I work long hours and when I'm not working I'm drunk and there aren't many worthwhile organizations that would have me on my off hours anyway. Maybe I could "volunteer" at a bar??

Now today's entry is starting to sound like a New Year's resolution blog. And I don't make resolutions anymore, but that's only because I usually get too distracted to see them through....oh, I see what is happening.

"She's my Rushmore, Max."

You know who I love effing crap out of? Bill Murray.

Yesterday I was reading an interview in the Sunday Times with one of my favorite comedians/actors of all time. (A recent addition to that list, probably right after I walked out of the theater after watching Rushmore, but an addition nonetheless). Here's an excerpt that stuck out for me:

Q: There seems to be so much serendipity in your life. Are you actively cultivating these moments or just hoping that they come to you?

A:  Well, you have to hope that they happen to you. That's Pandora's box, right? She opens up the box, and all the nightmares flyout. And slams the lid shut, like, "Oops," and opens it one more time, and hope pops out of the box. That's the only thing we really, surely have, is hope. You hope that you can be alive, that things will happen to you that you'll actually witness, that you'll participate in. Rather than life just rolling over you, and you wake up and it's Thursday, and what happened to Monday? Whatever the best part of my life has been, has been as a result of that remembering.

And anytime you can answer a question using a Greek myth, lauding the merits of hope and participating in life as opposed to letting it be a thing "rolling over you" and tying all that in to an appreciation of the serendipity of your long string of lucky breaks and well deserved chances, I just end up admiring and respecting you. It doesn't hurt in the least that often when I see his face, I can hear Sigur Ros.

Dirty stay out

Yeah, I'm not sure if it is because I work really long hours during the week (on average I work about 13 hours a day) or if it is just because I am getting more and more and more restless in my old age in general but lately I tend to pack a whole lot of stuff into my weekends. And by "pack a lot of stuff" I really just mean "I drink to excess and that has to stop."

One of the odder things that happened over the weekend was that, as I made my way into one of my local bars, I saw a guy that I had chatted with through an online dating site a long time ago. It was a chat that went nowhere of course but seeing him out, taking shots at 2am was both a little pathetic and also it was a little like seeing an E list celebrity. And it resulted in me wanting to go home immediately. Because I was out at 2am when at this stage in my life there are about a zillion other things I should be doing at 2am. I am too old to be out that late. I reminded myself of a story my friend Lauren told me awhile ago when a bouncer called her and her roommate "dirty stay outs" because they innocently asked him what time the bar closed. That's what I felt like. A dirty stay out. I had, earlier in the evening, had a lovely dinner with some lovely people. I had great conversation and good food and good company. Yet when I got home I just kept thinking in that compulsive way I get sometimes "go out go out go out." Nevermind that I had just been out. I had just spent time with other people after working all day.

 When I am sitting at home with nothing to do and I'm wired and awake and all I want to do is talk to someone, I feel too young to be at home at 2am on a Saturday night. It is really just the most ridiculous thing. I have always been a restless sort but in the past year, my restlessness has reached a pinnacle. I'm not going to suggest that the approaching big birthday on the horizon in four years and my equating said big birthday with the end of my youth and the thin borderline of wandering the streets of an early, early morning (or late, late night) being totally unacceptable and sad will be crossed right after that big birthday and I am certainly not suggesting that seeking out the company of a room of random drunk strangers is somehow fulfilling this vacant spot in my otherwise content life and that that fact acts a springboard when 11pm rolls around and I walk out into the uncertain dark night of small town nightlife. Nope, I'm not going to sit here and suggest that any of that is true. And you can't make me.

I have exactly ten minutes to post this. I don't have anything to say. I spent today in bed mostly and then I spent some quality time with one of my oldest friends but unfortunately that resulted in me falling asleep at 8pm and not waking up until 11:50pm, fully clothed with unfed pets staring at me with accusation in their eyes.

But blog every day December, you know.

Dirty, like a movie theater sock

It is the first day of BEDD! This is a completely random thing I may or may not have made up or heard somewhere or I don't know what all else but I'm challenging myself to write a Blog post EveryDay in December AND to finish a few unfinished poems and stories and to finally start writing something totally new in the month of December. After a year of having both ass cheeks firmly planted on the huge (and I mean huge) stack of laurels, I need to challenge myself. Come along on the journey, won't you? It promises to be both banal and pointless!

Here's a thing that happened:

I had my bag searched at the movie theater, like a proper criminal. Unfortunately, I was not the only one. This is something that is done now apparently in the dirty, crooked world of the multiplex cinema. Let me back up a bit.

The day after Thanksgiving I made plans to meet up with Nancy to view the final installment of the Twilight franchise of craptastic "cinema". Ever since the books came out, Nancy and I have delighted, nay we have reveled in ridiculing the entire franchise from the extremely poor writing, the two dimensional characters to the horrible acting of the film versions and just the general awfulness of the anti-feminist, untenable and nonsensical universe created by Stephanie Meyer.

We agreed to meet in Astoria since I would be coming into the city for my sister's birthday drinks later that night anyway and we most certainly would need to close out the end of a stupid era with a commemorative drink. I've never, ever been a fan of multiplex cinemas due to their monopoly/price gouging/general unpleasantness but for many years now, that has really been the only game in town when it comes to most movies. The multiplex in Astoria is high volume due to the dense population and the fact that it is the last stop before Manhattan. When I got there, I didn't notice much except the mass of humanity waiting on the line to buy tickets. Also, about fifty people mispronounced the title of the Ang Lee movie "Life of Pi". They were saying "one for Life of Pee". I also happened to notice that when I asked for a ticket to Breaking Dawn the woman said "$13.50" to which I replied "I don't want the 3-D or the IMAX." to which she replied "That's the regular theater price" to which I replied by sighing in a defeat assuaged only by the knowledge that I would soon be poking fun at sparkling vampires.

Anyway, after Nancy and I got our refreshments (yes, I paid $5.50 for a bottle of water, nevermind that the bottle was roughly the size of Marianne's newborn baby, I felt dirty at parting from that $5.50) and we made our way to the ticket taker. As we approached, I noticed that she seemed to be in an argument with a man, his wife and their two children. All of them seemed to be arguing collectively. In between that arguing, the ticket taker looked at us and said "Can I see inside your bags?" I said "um what?" She said "I need to see inside your bags. There is no outside food allowed." I know outside food has not been allowed in theaters for a long time, a fact that I've been thumbing my nose at since I've been going to the movies which is basically my entire life. I usually bring my snacks (and if I'm being honest, I usually buy some candy at the theater too, but that's only because I'm a glutton and there is nothing like $30 candy) but still, I used to file that activity under  "tiny rebellions"and I loved every minute of it. Apparently this theater, after overcharging and arguing and doing everything in its power to make movie going thoroughly unpleasant, decided to pile it on by searching bags and confiscating any outside food. Even while being aware that they are likely in their legal rights in doing this....FUCK THAT NOISE. I was livid at this. I pretty much vowed at that moment to never see another movie at that theater or any theater that would search my bag. My resolve was hardened when, upon entering the screening room, we saw a dirty sock on the floor. It may or may not have been surrounded by a halo of old, half eaten popcorn, I can't say for certain. I tried to get everything straight in my mind: I paid almost $15 for entrance, $5.50 for WATER, you searched my bag, and now I have to sit inside a disgusting horrible theater to see this crap? Oh and let's not forget that I also have to sit through almost 25 minutes of commercials for everything from cars to television shows to sport drinks  before seeing the movie I paid for. The only thing that made any of this experience better was the company of Nancy (including her giving me an early Christmas gift, which I'll blog about later this month) and our endless laughter at the movie that did not disappoint at all in the utter ridiculous joy it gave us. Still, they searched my bag! Unclean!!

Dear multiplexes of the world, if bag searching is becoming de rigueur, I'll just create a home theater because I've, just now, had it. I'll use my $20 buying DVDs from the old ladies that come into my nail salon with their stacks of bootlegs. It used to be fun to see a movie at the theater. But that experience just left me feeling dirty, emotionally and physically, just like that used sock on the floor of the theater, which was still there when the movie was over and might very well still be there today. Love, Me.