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It occurs to me from time to time that I've got way too much invested in film and theater and HBO. After all, there are only so many hours in a day. I've got X amount of daily shit I have to accomplish. There's duties and hobbies and friends and recipes (and my Wii—got to get my bowling stats up to Pro, man!)
Time I look at the listings or check out the promos for shows and weigh and measure what's out there, but I don't know as I can say that I take the lead; my partner is a major filmophile so we're Netflixed up the wazoo with stuff that stayed a week on the big screen and disappeared to DVD. I get home from work and find his retired ass all ready to be talked into going to something on the List.
I have to ask myself: 'Why not a museum? Or square dancing? Or cards?' The first, I don't honestly know. I like museums. The second, his bad ankle couldn't take it. The third, easy: cause his dad was born with a deck in his hands; we only do cards on airplanes. Let me think what I would do if he weren't around...probably more stuff like maybe a book club or women's group.
It's not like we don't do politics, either. I loathe pretty much the same ratfuckers he does and we always hit the streets when they need bodies, rain or shine. I love Gandhi and he's a pinko commie with an FBI file. Sometime we may get arrested together.
But I got all jittery the other night before a showing of Nair's The Namesake. It had nothing to do with the film we were about to see; maybe it was the INTERMINABLE previews that ground me down, but I felt very close to jumping up and doing the whole Landmark Theater thing: "Le cinema est un langage universal...El lenguaje del cine es universal...Paha des filmz es ooneeverzel...Egano! Kotobowa! Sukyteki!...El linguaggio del cinema è universale...The language of film is universal..." and then the 20th Century Fox Fanfare "Pamp dadada! Pampam pampampam dundundun dundundun, dundundun dun dun dun, dun! dadada!, etc.," You know what I mean, you've heard that thing so many times; on this particular occasion I was feeling like I was on something—maybe I was...maybe the aloo gobi fried some synapses—but I was too restless to enter into that world.
You know what made our weekend: my son Ryan finally came through with episode four of The Wire. We already had gotten caught up on the first two seasons, racing along at a dizzying pace—wait! they can't get rid of Bubbles! Whoa! Stringer's out...that was harsh—but we blew our programming somehow, got number 1, missed 2,3 & 4, and recorded the rest. So there they sat. Not going to read any damn summary! and Ryan flaked on us twice, gave us everything but 4, so we got a taste, then his disc burner died on him. Yaaah! We watched the mail every day...and on Saturday, there it was! We savored that episode 4, said we would pace ourselves, but before Monday morning we were on number 8. Now we have to slow down, take our time.
Got to see how it turns out.
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