"Doggie Days and Doggie Nights," the on-going comic saga of Frollie and Simon, each competing for the warm, treasured place in the big-dad chair next to their beloved master in the living of our old house.
Speaking of comic, that reminded me of our trip to the movie several days ago. There was, fortunately, only one other couple in this theater, sitting in the first row. Mary was alone in the middle of the third row, though I must say I was a bit miffed that she didn't wave to let me know she was there.
Having picked her out in the dark, I struggled up the theater stairs, really. I made my way down the row of empty seats, inched my way past my still-seated wife, and began to shed my rather bulky weighty coat. I was about half in and half out (of the coat) when I reached down to the theater seat to steady myself, balance not being one of my old age skill sets! I touched the seat, half in and half out; much to my surprise the damn seat moved! I moved as well, facing the back of the theater, and slow-motion sliding over the arm rest, twisting my body clock-wise to turn myself around with as much agility as I could muster at the point, only to drop unceremoniously into the theater seat next to the one I was aiming for. My momentary loss of dignity not withstanding, I plopped uninjured, half in and half out of both seats, with one leg draped over the offending arm rest, the other solidly on the floor! I hauled the draped leg into the aimed-for seat and waited calmly for the beginning of the movie, St. Vincent!
The movie theater, "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly." The "Good" regarding the movie theater is its sublime presence near at hand. The building is good, with its many interior theaters for showing movies, 3D and/or digital, its comfortable seating with almost no danger of being impeded in your viewing, the almost always clean rest room, and of course the concession stand. What would the movie experience be without tasty, slightly buttery and salty popcorn?
The "Bad" part of the movie experience in a crowded theater is the cell phone! "They" warn you to turn them off and sheathe them, and still people will haul them out, flip them open, blinding all their neighbors, checking whatever it is they check, and then close them. I had a woman in front of me a while ago now, who would not put the offending machine away. I warned her I would get an usher! She told me to go ahead. I went ahead and brought him back, and took no great pleasure in pointing out to him the offending beast, her demonic device and her embarrassed daughter. He threatened her with expulsion. She muttered something under her breath but put it away!
The "Ugly" aspect of the movie experience, I am somewhat ashamed to say, is me eating popcorn. Consider: I love movie popcorn. Mary divides her enormous medium bag of popcorn with me, giving me about a third. Consider that my hands have lost the sense of touch, mostly. What follows then is an engineering problem of how to get the tasty popcorn from the paper bag to my open mouth. The solution is not a pretty sight. In fact it is "ugly!" I put my hand in the bag, grab whatever I can find there, and cram it in my mouth. In can tell when I have achieved popcorn since taste is still working, but on the way to my mouth, some of the popcorn falls on my shirt, some falls into my shirt, some falls on the floor, and some just disappears into the dark. Me eating popcorn is not a pretty sight. It is, in fact, ugly!
Frollie and Simon? Perhaps tomorrow.
The picture? The Three Amigos, the movie-going buddies: Martie, Mary, and Me. That sounds like a title for a stage play: "Martie, Mary, and Me." For many years the three of us achieved fifty movies a year, truly, I keep records, but then, alas, one of us retired and moved away, and all of us are saddened.