I had an isolated seat, so I asked a party of five gay men and two matrons to scoot down one seat each making way for my ability to sit with my friends. The woman who ended up sitting next to me prattled from the moment I sat down; she was from Monaco, she’s lived in the States for the past twenty years even though her accent sounded as if she’d arrived yesterday, she is an artist (of what sort was unclear), and she had her own public access show titled, Eclectic Television Show For You!. Yes, for all of us, apparently.
She asked me if I was from Ireland and when I told her I was from Chicago, she looked at me like the monkeys looked at the monolith, then the lights went down cutting off any further conversation.
Carrie’s show was clever yet not that funny, self indulgent without the knowing wink of Sandra Bernhard’s best work.
The next morning on Sunday, I met Sean, Matty, Pete, Randy, and Ricky (aggressively LJ-less) to see Children of Men. I sat next to Ricky who pumps his left leg uncontrollably, and I found myself jiggling through the first half of the film until I asked him, for the love of God, to please stop.
The film was beautifully shot, entertaining enough, I suppose, yet ultimately it was a bit shallow. Twenty years in the future, we’ve been such bad Earth people that we no longer can procreate and governments fall in the wake of no new babies.
I guess when I’m pushing seventy, though, that’ll be good news.