Thursday, October 6, 2005

I've got my eyes on you . . .

"No one can terrorize a whole nation, unless we are all his accomplices." --Murrow
Last night, S. & I went to a preview of Good Night, and Good Luck, George Clooney's biopic of Edward R. Murrow, defender of truth, justice, and the American way--an "old world" Bill Moyers, if you will: good film, slow but subtle, graceful & right on target without beating you over the head.

We've learned that the [unfortunate] secret to half-way enjoying a sneak preview is to get in line early, which meant I headed for the bus stop shortly before 5:00. Despite the heat--which thankfully has since broken--I didn't mind waiting for the bus. But what is the deal with people stopping and offering me rides?!?! I wasn't particularly dressed well, and my looks have seen better days. Plus I've gained a good 10 lbs. in the past few months. "Thanks, but I'm good," was all I could reply. Perhaps I should've said, "This isn't the Delta, and it's not 1947! I'm 10 minutes from downtown fucking Dallas, and it's the 21st century! I ain't gettin' in your hooch-mobile!"

I arrived at the Angelika--which no longer has restrooms on the "ground" floor but yet retains an ATM that charges almost $6.00 in fees to withdraw any money--around 5:45, placing me very near [and yet somehow not at] the front. Who are these freaks that get in line for a free movie more than an hour in advance? Don't they have jobs?

We were allowed to enter the auditorium around 6:30. The film was scheduled to begin at 7:00, which meant we had a good 30 minutes to endure "those 2 crizzy bitches" [someone else's quote; maybe the quote was actually "crazy," but I prefer the "new" term "crizzy"] behind us, one of which felt it appropriate to plop her painted red toenails on the back of S.'s seat when he went to the restroom. One look and loud exclamation from me was all it took for her to immediately remove them. You'd think being born in a barn or trailer park would have made you disinterested in watching independent films on a weeknight for free, but I guess the freebie gene kicks in no matter what your upbringing.

I hate people. And to think, I used to want to be a minister or a diplomat or a porn star--anything that showed how much I cared for the plight of humans [or the march of penguins [or the plight of [flightless] penguins--who are not monogamous nor particularly bright [it would seem]--if anything that film proved the stupidity of God [if there were such a thing as intelligent design, the fucking birds would've used their wings and flown to the Bahamas! [but this is not an entry about ignert people and their ignert beliefs in pseudo-intelligence ['cause if you want good design, hire a fucking decorator!]]]. Thank g-d I got over that.

[After that little rant, I feel I should wish my various readers a blessed Ramadan, Rosh Hashanah, a late feast day of St. Francis of Assisi, or upcoming Diwali. [Sorry if I left out your own ooga-booga holiday . . . it's just too hard to be political and correct these days.]]


  1. Hating people wouldn't preclude you from becoming a minister--I know ministers who hate entire groups of people. GW's new ambassador to the UN hates lots of people too--so what's the problem?

  2. I remain infinitely better than those people; therefore, I could never bring myself to serve in such a capacity (as minister, diplomat, or porn star) with "hatred in my heart." Amen.