Ah, core dump. Like an old friend. An old, demanding, sort of paranoia inspiring, getting more complicated everyday with no clear sign of a reason why, friend. Ah.
Where was I..
The tiny details of the past week are not particularly forthcoming. Probably a good thing. It's generally the same story: home, work, volleyball, beer. Often in that order. Sometimes sleep. Oh, and eating, lots of eating. Can't get enough of the food. Bits of reading from time to time, a little walking and talking, some socializin', some philah-so-phizin', the occasional snack. And don't forget buying stuff, you gotta have the stuff, and the stuff that goes inside the stuff. Cables for the stuff. Batteries.
I went to see Monsters, Inc this evening. I recently remembered how much I like going to the movies by myself. It's great to be able to see any movie you want, without having to reach a consensus. Don't get me wrong, it's nice the other way too, but every now and then, it's nice to go it solo. Goes for sex, too.
Upon remembering my feelings about going to the movies by myself, I was promptly reminded of why I don't like going to the movies at all much anymore: The people. Now, I like people and all, usually, okay, sometimes, but I think they've all gone crazy. It's hard to imagine the ravings of a mind that would talk loudly in a movie theater. I know we tend to focus on the people who walk around muttering about claw hammers and bleu cheese and Eva Gabor when we think of crazy people, but those people are often on the right track. It's the people that can sit there and just talk to the screen, as if the images of the actors can hear them, and actually give these characters advice. They're nuts, and we just sit there right next to them shaking our heads and doing nothing.
While I'm on a roll, I'll go on to say that terrorists are one thing, but it's the movie theater talkers and their ilk who are the real threat to our civilization. Their ilk would include: the cashier who talks on the phone while "helping" you, the guy on the subway who defiantly keeps his legs spread 2 inches wider than his seat moldings would indicate, the happy-tune cubicle whistler, and Britney Spears. We're hiring Air Marshals and people to read our email and tap our phones; we should get some guys to hang out in movie theaters and nab the loonies who talk. Or have the admission ticket on a sliding scale: I knock off a dollar every time someone says something so clearly that I can detect their heritage from three rows away, three bucks for talking to the screen, at any volume, and I don't pay at all if the focus is messed up and the sound keeps cutting out. That would be more fair.
Oh, the movie was pretty good. It was sweet, clever, and entertaining. Go right ahead and see it, you have my blessing.
