Tuesday, May 30, 2006
The More You Know
I did a lot of key learning this past weekend that, in the spirit of public service, I feel I ought to share with you all. First of all, I discovered that eating approximately sixteen pounds of gravy does not exactly mix well with sitting in a darkened movie theater for two hours. About halfway through X-3 I really felt my stomach might perform a little mutation of its own all over the mullet of the theatergoing patron in front of me. And I'm pretty sure that wasn't just because of Halle Berry's impressively robotic line readings, although they couldn't have helped. I'm not one of those people who thinks they should start revoking people's Oscars for bad performances, though; I don't see why we can't just skip straight to ritualistic beatings. It's a cleansing blood.
Secondly, I learned that 94-year-olds are surprisingly opinionated on matters of style and fashion. My grandmother not only vetoed my wearing of shorts to Ruby Tuesday's, but also reprimanded me for "touching my beautiful hair." It still wasn't as awkward as when she told my sister that she had "a nice little body," and that all her "girlfriends down at the beauty parlor thought so, too," but it was damned close. And frankly, I'm just not sold on getting a makeover from a woman in a pair of knee-highs and a housedress.
Finally, I found that many strange things pass for entertainment in a small town. After taking a celebratory trip to the new Old Navy with my mother and being filled in on the exciting news that our local high school is doing Les Miserables (I don't know about you, but I'm thrilling at the vision of a pubescent Jean Valjean), it became crystal clear to me. Of course, even if it hadn't, the existence of the St. Mary's Canasta Tournament and the Hawaiian Shaved Ice stand would definitely have confirmed it. I got blue raspberry.
I did a lot of key learning this past weekend that, in the spirit of public service, I feel I ought to share with you all. First of all, I discovered that eating approximately sixteen pounds of gravy does not exactly mix well with sitting in a darkened movie theater for two hours. About halfway through X-3 I really felt my stomach might perform a little mutation of its own all over the mullet of the theatergoing patron in front of me. And I'm pretty sure that wasn't just because of Halle Berry's impressively robotic line readings, although they couldn't have helped. I'm not one of those people who thinks they should start revoking people's Oscars for bad performances, though; I don't see why we can't just skip straight to ritualistic beatings. It's a cleansing blood.
Secondly, I learned that 94-year-olds are surprisingly opinionated on matters of style and fashion. My grandmother not only vetoed my wearing of shorts to Ruby Tuesday's, but also reprimanded me for "touching my beautiful hair." It still wasn't as awkward as when she told my sister that she had "a nice little body," and that all her "girlfriends down at the beauty parlor thought so, too," but it was damned close. And frankly, I'm just not sold on getting a makeover from a woman in a pair of knee-highs and a housedress.
Finally, I found that many strange things pass for entertainment in a small town. After taking a celebratory trip to the new Old Navy with my mother and being filled in on the exciting news that our local high school is doing Les Miserables (I don't know about you, but I'm thrilling at the vision of a pubescent Jean Valjean), it became crystal clear to me. Of course, even if it hadn't, the existence of the St. Mary's Canasta Tournament and the Hawaiian Shaved Ice stand would definitely have confirmed it. I got blue raspberry.
