The Talkies.

Well, Coraline was a bust. Seems it's not playing anywhere near us so we settled for Slumdog Millionaire, which of course was supposed to be great.

And it was... pretty good. i'm happy to say that at least it wasn't the victim of Too Much Hype, which can (and does) happen to some of us, unfortunately... all the Oscar buzz, the actual Oscars (8!), and then the unsettling aftermath involving returning the children to their real lives back in India. Don't even get me started on that whole thing, there are just way too many facets.

No, this particular movie was ruined for me by a chattering threesome sitting directly to our left. It was a middle-aged woman (MAW), seated in our row, and a couple who i can only assume were her sexagenarian parents, sitting directly behind her.

This particular arrangement, as you've no doubt surmised, entailed the sideways-sitting posture of MAW, so that she could better talk to her parents throughout the duration of the film. What were they talking about? i have no freakin' idea. i'm fairly certain it was Fārsi they were speaking, so most of it was completely lost on us, but here and there you could hear words like "slumdog", "game show", et. al. So maybe she was narrating it for them?

Regardless, the noise was too much. And to be honest, we really should have known that this evening was going to head down this road the minute our usher walked up to the front of the theater (it was a Landmark, with a fairly small crowd of about 50 people) and began to give... a speech. Well, i guess it was more of an 'awkward announcement'. He nervously spluttered that Here at the Landmark Theaters, we want you to be Happy, and that if there is Anything We Can Do to make your experience More Enjoyable, to please Let Us Know.

Uhhhh, okay?

He then went on to encourage us to buy the (amazing) soundtrack to the film, and that if anyone had any questions, to please head on out to the concession stand (a ruse!) and someone would be sure to try and help.

My initial thought was "Customer-service Spiel". Nat went with "Soundtrack Upsell". And we couldn't really blame them: in these hard times, people (and companies) are doing what they can to get by. "Standing out" is high up on the list of successful brand marketing, surely. Either way, it fell a little flat, felt too disingenuous. Has anyone else encountered this yet?

So anyway, Nervous Guy finishes his halting delivery and begins to head up the aisle, no doubt to his (and our) great relief. But what's this? Oh, a question! Joy.
i thought to myself: Here we go.

From the Better Half of a white-haired couple ahead of us and off to the side: "Is there a difference in the sound volume of the previews versus the film itself? Because sometimes, you know, they are so loud, that i have almost walked out."

Oh sweet Jesus. You give 'em an inch, and they'll take a mile.

The Poor Lad mumbled a few sentences containing only the tiny nugget of the actual certainty that he did not know, and hastened off to check. While everyone else relaxed their shoulders and exuded their polite, pent-up sighs, MAW and i exchanged a "wow, can you believe the nerve?" look of amazement. Nat chimed in with "well, he did ask." A few minutes later Nervous Guy came back in and announced (not without some pride in accomplishment of his task) that yes, the previews are a wee tick louder but that all they can do is turn down the general volume, meaning the film itself will be slightly quieter.

Yeah, but Really? Come on, Landmark employees, really? Don't make me get all Amy Poehler on your ass. Audiences have been scraping by for how many years now with the eardrum-blasting TDX Super Surround or whatever the hell it is... are we really going to merit this woman's "issue" with some actual direct action? Okay, then what about people such as myself, that are a little hard of hearing? Do you hear me saying anything? In the end, it felt a little like watching TV at home late at night, when you live in a crowded apartment building and are trying not to wake anyone up. Like you had to lean forward and strain your ears a bit.

Anyway, i thought it would be a hoot to go out and complain that it was too quiet, just to drop the other shoe. Nat's much more exuberant idea was to wait until the previews began and then yell out, "My god! MY FUCKING EARS!!" and run into the lobby.


Wow, do i digress much? Here's the end of this story: MAW and her 'rents chat it up merrily almost the whole time. Nat, who in general is sensitive to extraneous noise anyway (i know, i know, we should have just left in the beginning), looks anxiously over his shoulder at them for the first half-hour of the film, which in turn get me all annoyed and riled up. We waffle over whether or not to try and get our money back and maybe see the later show, or just stick it out. Finally, he seems to be able to ignore them and now i cannot. What an ironic twist.

After several passive-aggressive attempts to shush them (i.e. me looking over, holding up my hands with raised eyebrows and a "WTF?" expression), Nat leans back and stage-whispers: "SHUT. UP!", to which i immediately prickle and begin to burn with shame. Yes, i wish i was a tad more normal, but this bothered me. Boldness bothers me. It is something i need to work on. There, i said it.

So, now Nat and i are pissed off at each other as the last half-hour of the movie winds to a close. Before the credits have even begun to roll, MAW and her parents get up to leave. As they pass by behind us, she shouts at Nat "Fuck you– you fucking asshole!", practically in tears. Also, her voice sounded like that of a twenty-year-old. We were totally shocked. Shocked! Look, lady, sorry we sat through more than an hour and a half of your yammering (explaining the movie to her parents, we ultimately decided) and then finally had the balls to say something. That somehow makes us the assholes? Next time, why don't you just stay home?

Or better yet: maybe we will. Yeah, that sounds about right. Last time we went to that theater, we saw Burn After Reading, which should have been called Burn After Watching. Hi-oh! (sorry, i know i'm probably not the first person to make that joke.) And the very first movie we ever saw there was The Illusionist (meh), after which our companion remarked that Nat and i were both idiots for not predicting the twist at the end. Thanks, guy!
Guess it's just our luck with that theater. i vow: no more!

The moral behind all of this: Can't we all just get along? and: People, quit being such victims about everything. Just smooth out. Please.


*Update: Saw Watchmen last night (different theater), which totally made up for Friday's disaster... John Malkovich might have been sitting behind us. Got to eat some Red Vines. It was a good night. Pros: The Comedian, the voice of Rorschach. Cons: the actors who played Silk Spectre (the younger) and Nite Owl. Yeesh. In my humble opinion, the first half hour was top-notch. Not so sure about the rest, thought it was certainly entertaining. Also, Rorschach looked just like Danny Bonaduce, which fucked me up. All in all, a fun watch.

it was not a dandelion.

There was an impromptu rainshower last night. It lasted all of three minutes before hastening off to another clime... it was as if you could hear a director shouting "cut, cut!" behind the scenes. Or like a singing telegram at the wrong person's house... oops! That's San Diego rain for you.

Anyway, we watched it speckle the pool's surface from our back door, just in time to see our downstairs neighbors across the way painting their walls a vivid Chinese Red. The last strip of the previous shade, a bright Coral Pink, was glossed over forever... fun to watch, indeed. And why were our neighbors painting their living room at one in the morning? Just 'cuz. Gosh!


Do you know what i do miss, though? The kind of weather that foxes get married in... When i first saw Akira Kurosawa's Dreams, years and years ago, i was so taken with that story. If i'm lucky, the day that i (if i) get married will be sunny and showering. Please watch this film if you haven't already.

Saw an "S" on the floor of a cafe last night, formed from a frayed and discarded piece of string– a broken shoelace, perhaps? The bike ride home graced me with a "c" (errant black tar spill), and an "m"– not sure about this one, it was probably a straw wrapper or something.
The prevalence of 'S's and figure eights that i find is starting to making me suspicious... i guess they are in that family of shapes that is just generally more likely to occur in nature (like 'V's, and 'T's, for whatever reason). i am also starting to wonder if i should quit reporting on these until i can get photos, which would make it all ever so much more interesting. But for truth's sake, i think i shall continue the chronicle. They are obviously not spelling anything out at this point, although at the beginning i have to admit that i thought maybe they were.
Is it going to be an anagram, then? Or do i fill in the blanks as i see fit? Do i have to wait until the end of my life to figure it all out? And what will it say?


In other news: there was a house, a tiny, skulking house which no person was ever seen walking in or out of, on Raymond Street, around the corner from us when we lived on Alcatraz Ave. This house's singular characteristic was a great gossamer mass of fluffy seed-puffs all over its frontice (yes, i just made up that word, go with it) and all over the monstrous prickly weedy plant in the yard beyond the sidewalk. They would adhere in teeming numbers to this sprawling mass of vegetation from which they (presumably) were spewed, which itself appeared to grow from directly beneath the house. It was weird because they never seemed to actually float away; to get anywhere to take root... it could very well be that this creeping plant was some sort of enchanted organism, designed solely to intimidate and reproduce, and that a Sleeping Beauty of sorts lay within the house itself, waiting to be awoken.
In any case, this choking mass of fluff would appear once a year, clinging quietly to the stucco, the brambles, the crabgrass. We used to walk by and delight in it... i would scoop up great big handfuls of the stuff and fling it into the air above our heads, where they would scatter, startled, and drift lazily down.... it always seemed like they were airborne for an exceptionally long time.
My greatest dream back then was to collect enough of these puffos and place them inside a giant makeshift snowglobe, which proved to be the project's main hindrance– could i find something big enough? Glass would almost certainly be too fragile at that size, but would plastic be pretty enough? And what would the scene be, inside this little world? A girl, playing in a huge meadow? A farmer, endlessly raking up pile after pile of them? A stretch of lonesome highway, depicting a Tumbleweed Attack? Or a simple snowscape, diaphanous and gentle? Could someone my size shake it? Should i go beach-ball sized and keep it tangible, or rent an entire storefront and use some sort of air funnel to keep them constantly in motion?

I never figured it out. Bummed about that to this day.

And i know that that house is still there, sitting quietly between its neighbors, not asking for anything or giving anything in return, except for this wonderful yearly crop. If anyone is ever on this particular block, it is a small, unassuming house somewhere on the west side of the street, and of course i can't remember which time of year it does it's thang- probably summer, but what do i know. Have fun. Hope you find it.


Leaving you with my favorite track from one of my favorite movies... Takes me right back to the glory days of youth. Until next time.