luminaire

If at a glance, this entry seems too long to thoroughly read, Ill sum it up in one word: Epic. Motherfucking Epic.

Tonight, I went to the movies by myself. While this in itself is not epic, the events that transpired within said evening, are indeed worth remembrance.

The night started, as usual, with someone mumbling. His capacity for unintelligible conversation is only out weighed by his ability to sleep, at the slightest whim. So the plans that consisted of nothing in the first place, did indeed come to fruition, for nothing actually happened.

Unwilling to spend a good, although cold(more on that later), Friday night at home, I told myself, I decided that I would try and make the best of an otherwise slow day, and go to the movies. A swell idea, if I do say so myself. But as a few of you know, foresight and planning are not on my list of virtues.

This is one of those times that I really wish Id checked that exhaust bolt. Note to self, loud noises from the front of the car are bad.

Now, realizing that I didn't in fact, have a ride to these moving picture shows, was a revelation I was not prepared for. "Well," I said to myself, "Its not that far to the theatre...". Much like Mumbles, I also have flaws. My inability to think ahead, is outweighed only by my inability to measure distance. I realized whole new meanings of the phrase "Over the river, and through the woods." We haven't even gotten to the "cold-as-fuck-outside" part yet, but Im guessing you get the idea.

So, to save words, I walked. I smoked. I listened to my new Perfect Circle CD. I crossed the river, hiked through woods, and summited a large hill, to find myself in glorious yuppiedom. I have never been so happy to see a Starbucks. Eh, who am I kidding. Ive never been so happy to see five of them.

My quest as yet unfulfilled, and my wanderings still aimless, at least to a point, I stumble into the first Christmas themed Starbucks I came upon. I came, I ordered, I read the paper. I almost felt like a yuppie. I would have been a satisfying, almost relaxing cup of coffee, if I wasn't instantly reminded that this is still Kirkland. Gone was my happy Christmas tune, echoing around the festively decorated coffee shop, only to be replaced with the cellphone-ringing-little-girl-giggling-squeal of the largest pack of, well, children. But with more money than me. Calling them teenie-boppers would be an insult to teenie-bopper kind. These girls could have made the Devil himself break out in ringtone-induced song.

And they sat right next to me. Funny, one of them asked if I was using the chair at the table I was sitting at. Even keel, I said no. You'd think, since no one else was sitting near the punk with Red hair and a grumpy looking mood, they'd get that, but I digress. But, no less than four more of their troop asked me if I was still using the remaining chairs around me. Individually. They exhausted the chairs at my table, and moved on. I really should get that angry twitch checked out.

So, I put on some more APC, drowned my sorrows in vanilla-flavored slave labor, and did my best to delve into the paper sitting in front of me. At least they didnt take my table. Fortunately, others around sympathized with my cause, and they too, did not appreciate the invasion of pop culture into our sacred coffee shop. With time to kill before any potential viewing of the cinematic arts, I opted for some more cancer, judging that the cold and smoke was less dangerous that sticking around there.

Braving the sub-Lum-acceptable temperatures, I basked in the heat of my Zippo, enjoyed the company of my pal Marlboro, and decided on a brand of entertainment for the evening. Given a options list containing such amazing entries as "Bad", "Worse", "Already Seen It", and "Worse: Resurrection", I opted for National Treasure. Nine dollars, a few cigarettes, and a run in with the literally retarded security guard later, I went inside. Wading through the families of 5 or more, just exiting "Worse", I spotted a opening on the far wall, near the bathroom, where I could stand, without fear of Mr. Rent-a-retard, or the "Worse" crowd.

Tuning out the giggling once more, to the rhythm of the war drums, I bode my time. That means I waited for a while. I surmised, that the underage cleaning staff, while certainly able, was not willing. Where was their zeal; their gusto? I did the impulse buy thing, got my snacks, and procured a seat on the end of a row. I spilled a little in respect for the house gods, or at least thats what I'll tell the cleaning staff. "I wont clean that up, its against my religion." Yeah.

The crowd started to fill out, and as seats became sparse, the latecomers longed for the seats near me. Guarding the entrance to this citadel of movie seats was difficult, but paid off eventually. I even got to tell a dumb white kid(is there really any other kind?)with a du-rag to "Fuck Right Off", as he tried to usurp my no-stupid-people zone. That was satisfying like you wouldnt believe.

The lights dimmed, and for once, I was amazed at the absolute lack of commercials. I take for granted the small town theatre ethic. The previews began with something I'm sure you've all seen before. The next, I must confess, I really want to see, despite its oddball category. The Pacifier, is enough of an oddball though, that it just might be good. Vin Diesel starring in an actual comedy, as opposed to an accidental one. Should be interesting. Throw in "Worst", and the obligatory sequel, and you've got a good mix.

Onward to the main even, we cried. There is much to say about this gem of the screen, National Treasure. I liked it, there, we got that out of the way. While not an amazing movie, it should be required viewing for elementary school children, if only to point out some very well researched back story, even if the tale is a little tall. This movie fell somewhere in between Mission Impossible, and Indiana Jones; somewhere in between "Good morning, Mr. Phelps", and "This belongs in a museum!". It lacked MI's smoothness, and Idiana's fists; there were no Nazis either. Add some Bruckheimer money, and a blockbuster shall be had. There was a trace of Pirates of the Caribbean, but that film was oozing, veritably dripping with star power. This film is not so lucky; although Nick Cage, and Sean Bean do a relatively good job of making a conspiracy theory a two hour movie. Oddly enough, Mr. Phelps is in this movie as well, serving as an annoyance as ever. Its not his evil plan that gets foiled this time around.

But dont let my jaded-ness fool you; it is entertaining to say the least, and that, at least at some level, is still why we pay to see this crap. Having accomplished, somewhat, my objective for the evening, I got up, released the Coca-Cola Id been harboring in the proper receptacle, put my headphones on, and started the long journey home. I contemplated stopping by a tree for a walking stick, but the watchful eye of Kirkland was out in force this evening. I opted out.

Across the hill, through the woods, and back over the river I trudged, jumping one last fence, to settle in for the remainder of my waking hours right back where I started. Here.

And there you have it. Epic, if at least in the telling.