I am standing in line to buy a movie ticket and I consider seeing Maleficient. I, like the rest of the country am totally mesmerized by Angelina Jolie. I see the parade of pink and purple eight-year-old debutantes filing into that theatre and I think, perhaps not. I am not attracted to anything appreciated by one small part of the population, especially if it's all one gender. Do you think Jennifer Anniston ever attends movies starring Angelina? I wish someone would research that issue. I really want to know.
So I ask the cute young man selling tickets, "Um, how is the X-Men movie? Would an old lady like it?" He has a touch of African-American blood and those fabulously dazzling white teeth all young people seem to have. I flutter my 62-year-old eyelashes. "You're cute," I say when he stumbles over the answer. I am at ease saying this now but I didn't when I was younger. What a shame, perhaps I should have, my life could have been interestingly different.
I sit through six or seven movie trailers. We all know those short clips match the movie and I become slightly alarmed when they flash names like Schwarzenegger, Gibson, Stallone, Cruise, Ford - all actors whose movies I actively avoid - okay, I do like Harrison. Those movies tend to have a disproportionate amount of gun fights, car chases and male bonding behavior, grunt, grunt. Jesus, where is the intelligent dialogue and character development I so desire. Woody Allen, make an appearance already.
I apply too much butter to my popcorn as usual and find the theatre overly populated by alpha males. Still I become intensely involved in the story line, never getting bored with Hugh Jackson's knuckles sprouting sharpie things, is that bamboo or bone or what? My first X-Men movie and I am a convert. I wink at the young ticket-seller as I leave the theatre. I can dream old lady dreams, it's all I have left . . .
So I ask the cute young man selling tickets, "Um, how is the X-Men movie? Would an old lady like it?" He has a touch of African-American blood and those fabulously dazzling white teeth all young people seem to have. I flutter my 62-year-old eyelashes. "You're cute," I say when he stumbles over the answer. I am at ease saying this now but I didn't when I was younger. What a shame, perhaps I should have, my life could have been interestingly different.
I sit through six or seven movie trailers. We all know those short clips match the movie and I become slightly alarmed when they flash names like Schwarzenegger, Gibson, Stallone, Cruise, Ford - all actors whose movies I actively avoid - okay, I do like Harrison. Those movies tend to have a disproportionate amount of gun fights, car chases and male bonding behavior, grunt, grunt. Jesus, where is the intelligent dialogue and character development I so desire. Woody Allen, make an appearance already.
I apply too much butter to my popcorn as usual and find the theatre overly populated by alpha males. Still I become intensely involved in the story line, never getting bored with Hugh Jackson's knuckles sprouting sharpie things, is that bamboo or bone or what? My first X-Men movie and I am a convert. I wink at the young ticket-seller as I leave the theatre. I can dream old lady dreams, it's all I have left . . .
1 comment:
If you think "It's all I have left" I should introduce you to a Scottish aunt who never stops talking about a) her `toy boy,' b) the lifetime supply of cigarettes provided her as part of her pension from the cigarette company she worked for.
What a brilliant idea for the cigarette company. Providing a speedy death, lower pension payouts, under a health care plan paid for by someone else's (National Health) money.
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