Friday Night, Thirty-Four Years Old: Part III

(I realize it’s been months since I wrote the other two parts.  I just got inspired to write other things, and never finished this.  So here it is!  You can read Part I here, and Part II here.)


After finishing our dinner, we proceeded to speedwalk to the ArcLight Hollywood for “A Most Wanted Man,”–we were running late.  I was feeling competent with my walking, and completely sober.  That’s the plus side of being a wino–two drinks won’t do it.

We got into the theater, and Randy went to the restroom while I tried to find our seats (they are assigned at the ArcLight.)  It was a crowded theater, with couples murmuring to one another.  I found what looked to be our row, “J,” but the “J” was faded to the point where I couldn’t tell what letter it was.

I looked at the next row up, which said “K,” but then I couldn’t figure out if “J” came before or after “K.”  I stood in a swaying stupor, and a nearby smartly-dressed couple giggled and stared at me.  That’s when I realized that two drinks were indeed still plenty for me.

The movie featured Philip Seymour Hoffman as a German spy (the last film released during his lifetime).  In the movie he creepily discusses the looks of Rachel McAdams, his colleague, with Willem Dafoe (a realistic situation) and punches the lights out of another guy (unrealistic situation).

In real life, Hoffman probably wouldn’t be creepy to McAdams, but I appreciated that the movie acknowledged the awkwardness of old men working with young women.  Cop shows feature impossibly hot female detectives running around in stillettos, and their boundaries and opinions are always totally respected.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen in real life.

The movie done, and our intellect thusly stimulated, we returned to the car.

“Let’s open that bottle of Cabernet when we get home!” I proclaimed.

“Yeah, sounds great!” said Randy.

We hobbled into our car, got home, plopped on the bed to talk, and promptly fell asleep.




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