Hopefully, it’s an indication my luck will soon turn. I’m not holding my breath or anything, but the odds have to fall in my favor sometime, right?
I had another interview today, applied to about five other jobs (including a part time one) and have a call in about some temp work. I’m stalking jobsites all day long. Basically, I’m at a loss as far as what else I could do.
So to kill time, I’m checking out movies. Not necessarily good ones – right now “Home Fries” is on, courtesy of Netflix, and Luke Wilson isn’t enough to save it – but the quantity is there.
My father hooked up the Netflix to some new electronic equipment, and now he can run movies directly through the TV instead of putting a hole in the wall and hooking his keyboard up to the big TV. (The hole’s still there.)
Kocur and I watched “Where the Red Fern Grows,” and yesterday I saw the classic “Diner.” Holy crap, Kevin Bacon looked like he was 18, and I realized Steve Guttenberg – remember him? – looks a lot like Paul Reiser, who’s also in it. I could barely tell their characters apart.
Although I’d seen “Diner” one time before, I really didn’t remember it. I definitely appreciated it more this time around, although to me, it was just an all-male “St. Elmo’s Fire.” Yes, I know “Diner” preceded “Fire.” Heck, the film was made when Mickey Rourke looked like he was from Earth.
The find of the week, though, was this little documentary called "My Date with Drew." It was some aspiring filmmaker's journey to get a date with Drew Barrymore. He'd won $1100 on a game show (to which the answer of the winning question was "Drew Barrymore") and decided that he'd find a way to ask her out.
He wanted to see if, essentially, a nobody would be able to find and meet her in order to ask. He gave himself 30 days (he rented a video camera with the intention of returning it), but it wound up taking longer.
Using degrees of separation, he gave it a shot but didn't succeed. After returning the camera, he made a website and eventually got some attention from media. And Drew found out and had her people contact him.
It was just a cute idea. Netflix has some bizarre stuff.
In the non-Netflix film category, Zippy and I cashed in some My Coke Rewards and got movie passes.
My choice: “True Grit.” And luckily as well as unexpectedly, Zippy is a Coen Brothers fan. We had watched “Fargo” in the log cabin in Utah and “Burn After Reading” a few weeks ago. She disavows any knowledge of ever seeing John Malkovich before; I don’t understand how that’s possible.
I will have to dig up my copy of “Raising Arizona” to show her at some point. That’s still my favorite. And Nicolas Cage’s best work, by far.
Anyway.
Tuesday at the almost-abandoned Tallahassee mall isn’t the most popular time to see a movie. (Although Belk’s was a place to be, with Zippy nabbing two pairs of pants for $10 each.) We sauntered in with our free movie tickets and super-sized Cokes courtesy of My Coke Rewards, taking a mid-level middle seat.
There couldn’t have been more than 20 people in the theater, and that’d be padding it a little. Everyone was seated in groups of two, and we watched the usual coming attractions.
Note: I honestly don’t think there are any new movie ideas out there. Another “Transformers”? Seriously? I can’t remember seeing anything – even Johnny Depp as a gecko/iguana/whatever – that remotely interested me. (I suppose by that assertion it’s obvious they didn’t show a preview of “Pirates” 4.)
I’d never read the book True Grit, and even though I am confident I saw the John Wayne version, I have no memory of it.
I swear, I laughed throughout the movie, even at the hanging. I don’t know who the actor portraying the third criminal – the condemned Indian – was, but the voice was John Redcorn from “King of the Hill.” (Jonathan Joss - I looked him up.) He only had about half a spoken line – no one in the West, of course, cared what the Indian had to say so he got bagged and hung quickly – but I know that was the guy.
I laughed so loud so many times I thought everyone else must think I was some sort of mean-spirited individual. But the whole thing was just so funny. I loved Mattie Ross’ style of speaking and bargaining, etc. “Well, one would be as unpleasant as the other.” “I do not care a thing about guns. If I did, I would have one that worked.”
And no one else laughed. Ever, I don’t think. But I figured it out. Everyone but me was in the “older” category and I don’t think they kept up with the rapid speech, nuances, speech patterns and the digs. I tried to explain the “f-e-u-d-a-l” instead of “futile” to my mother afterwards and she didn’t get it. She didn’t get a lot of it, but she did enjoy it.
It sucks getting older. My brother, who hits 40 this year, texted Zippy to ask the time of day he was born. Zippy assumed it had something to do with his philosophy class (which, I think, is the bane of his existence right now) but when she asked him he said no, he just wanted to know exactly how much time he had before he hit 40.
And we’re all inching up there. Proof of age pops up when you’re not expecting it.
Sunday, I went to church. It’s only my second Sunday and I don’t know anyone, so I planned on slinking in unnoticed. I timed it to come in during the singing, which is traditionally after the “Find someone you don’t know and make them more comfortable! spiel, which really makes me more uncomfortable.
I got there during the last song, which meant I stood in the stairwell (the balcony is less conspicuous) so as not to walk in during the singing. This is common in sports – well, it SHOULD be common in sports – and apparently, this church respects the etiquette, too.
As I stood in the stairwell, another man came up. He was a tad older, with salt and pepper hair and distinct Indian features (the Asian kind, not the American kind.) Not bad looking. At all. We nodded at each other and proceeded to wait out the extraordinarily long worship song.
A bit later, a family of four came up the stairs to wait, too. Apparently coming in late isn’t restricted to uncomfortable guests. After the obligatory nods hello, I stole another glance at the really good-looking guy.
Just as the newly arriving husband shook his hand and asked, “So, how’s the grandbaby?”
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