Friday, April 23, 2010

The One Where Despite All Of This, I'm Not Nearly As Neurotic As Elaine Benes.

Dear Lover,

I'm one of those people that has to get to the movie theater well in advance.
Or I have a slight anxiety attack.
I'm one of those people that wish movie theaters were classy establishments still.
A place you get all dolled up to go to, with regal marquees and red velvet plush seats.
I'm one of those people who enjoy popcorn and soda and strawberry Twizzlers, and yet has been known to sneak in burritos into the theater.
Which makes me wonder if I'm also one of those people that caused the de-classy-fication of the antiquated theaters of lore that I imagine dreamily about.
I'm one of those people who will be quite happy catching the next big blockbuster.
But still look really really forward to my screwball comedies and over-indulgent period pieces.
I'm one of those people who whispers comments during the upcoming previews.
But doesn't like to be bothered during the actual film.
I'm one of those people who'll go see a favorite move a third time.
Just to watch the other movie watchers' reactions.
I'm one of those people who fantasize about working as the film projector handler at a one screen theater that only plays Classic films.
Sitting there on a stool, all alone, listening to the murmur of clicks of the reel playing behind Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid's banter.
I'm one of those people that firmly agrees with Alfred Hitchcock's belief that "the length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder."
And wish every theater was like the one in Cayman -- which had a 10 minute Intermission for every movie.
But since they aren't.
And since they don't.
Would you break my rule on what I wrote earlier about not wanting to be bothered during the film?
And whisper to me what I've missed, when I return from the powder room?

Love,
Me.

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