I don’t sleep well after a night of boozing which is fine because I like to get up fairly early on Saturdays and/or Sundays and hit the movies. I’m a huge film buff and see several back-to-back-to-back every single weekend, starting early so I’m done with my double or triple feature in time to get home for sports. I typically go alone because I both see oddball movies that no one else wants to see and because I like the solitude. Sitting in the dark gorging on soda and candy, feeling my hangover dissipate as I drift away into a hopefully good film. I also go to very early shows because I hate today’s cinema crowds. Loud boobs that seem to enjoy spending $12 so that they can have a dark room to text in and gab with their friends.
I always sit in the same seat, the absolute back row, right underneath the projector. I hate having any people behind me and I like hearing the whirl of the film reels, the flickering of light catching the dust in the air. Today I went to see a double feature and upon getting to my theater I found a women sitting in “my” seat. Though this doesn’t happen often as most people reject sitting in the back row it was still unusual for another reason: it was another solo film goer, and one who appeared to be a smoking hot women too. Flowing Playboy blonde locks and nicely dressed in a turtleneck sweater, a bubble skirt, and with black tights. An undoubtedly fetching yet classy look. Though I was surprised that she was never joined by a boyfriend or husband fetching the popcorn, I paid her no mind.
After the first film I headed across the hall to see my second movie of the day “Slumdog Millionaire.” This time, I was first in the theater and got my coveted back row seat. Then, not two minutes later, who should enter the theater and head straight for the backrow but the fetching blonde! With me in “her” seat she was forced to sit two seats over. With such kismet I wanted to talk to her and the gods quickly conspired in my favor. With “Slumdog” being one of the hottest flicks in town right now the theater quickly filled and after several “Is that seat taken?” and “Could you scoot over?” negotiations, the blonde was forced to hop one over and was soon sitting right beside.
I made light of the rudeness of people, arriving seconds before the film and then expecting us early-arrivers to move for their every whim. She agreed that it was indeed rude. I goofed on all the old people at the screening, loudly chomping on food and talking about their bone density depletion. We began chatting. It was quite dark so I could barely see her, just the glamor lighting corona of light surrounding her mass of blonde hair. She was so sweet and had a tender accent.
I wondered if she was a tourist.
“Not exactly. But I just moved here last year.”
“Yet you already hate tourists, correct?” I remarked.
She embarrassingly admitted that she did. Once you’re a Manhattanite it’s impossible not to.
And where was she originally from I wondered.
My heart melted. I love blonde Kentucky women with an ever-so-slight accent. Neil Diamond was surely right and I made her know this fact.
She explained that she had gotten her undergrad degree at the University of Kentucky and her doctorate at Northwestern. She was a child psychologist and helped orphans with coping. On weekends, always alone, she liked to spend either the whole day watching movies or at Barnes & Noble reading historical biographies.
I was fucking smitten.
As the lights dimmed, I had no choice but to go for it:
“My name is Aaron Goldfarb. After this movie, would you like to join me for coffee? Or, if you’re in the mood, perhaps something stronger.”
She smiled at me. “We’ll see.”
You would think it would be hard to focus for the next two hours, wondering about my future, but “Slumdog Millionaire” was so goddamn good that I was instantly drawn in. You know how blurb whores–lackluster film critics that LOVE ever movie just so they can get their name on the advertising–will sometimes say, “People were cheering in the aisles!” in order to note how great a movie was? Well, I certainly had never seen that literally happen until today. “Slumdog” is so life-affirming, so touching, that, yes, I saw several people actually pump their fists, actually stand up and celebrate in the aisles.
Once the credits began to roll she turned toward me.
“I loved it!”
I remarked that I did too. Perhaps the best film I’d seen in ’08 in fact.
“I think I will take you up on that drink offer. Let’s go have some bourbon,” she said as she anxiously grabbed my forearm.
We headed across the dark aisle and down the dark stairs to exit the theater. Once we got into the light we turned to each other and our giddy smiles instantly became shock. She was tons older than I thought she was and I was tons younger than she thought I was. Damn the darkness!
“What are you?! Like 30?”
“Close. 29. You?!”
“Remember those ‘old people’ you were making fun of earlier? I’m one of them. Just turned 50 last week!”
I have to say, she was twenty to twenty-five years older than I thought she was in the dark, but she was a fantastic-looking 50-year-old. Glowing and lustrous blonde hair, minimal wrinkles, a damn good-looking gal. Why…she could easily convince people she was…43.
“You still want that drink?,” she chuckled, clearly expecting me to say no.
Well, you’d certainly be my record, I most certainly DID NOT say. But I did surprise her by saying, what the heck, and accepting the date. Variety is definitely the spice of life.
We headed to a nearby hotel bar and each had a $15 Blanton’s Old-Fashioned. I wish I had a funny, surprising, unexpected ending to this story, but when you write about true life, you sometimes don’t get those endings. After our drinks we laughed about the weird events of the day and parted ways.
“Maybe I’ll run into you again on the back row,” she said as she sweetly kissed me on the cheek.
As I said earlier, variety is the spice of life, so I was quite excited when I arrived at my friend’s house in Philadelphia last weekend and his wife had picked up a variety case of Victory brews for me to drink. What a sweetheart she is. Almost enough to make me consider marriage.
Victory HopDevil Ale
In this author’s opinion one of the most underrated IPAs around. Why does this beer get so little credit? It’s damn good. Nice balance of hops and malts and very drinkable. I plowed through the six in the variety pack.
Victory Golden Monkey
A very respectable American version of a Belgian tripel. Creamy and sweet with some great yeastiness. The spices tingle as they go down your throat. Pretty drinkable too for the ABV. I finished all six of these too.
Lagers are a most lackluster style of beer, so you can’t expect much better than a C or so. And that’s about what this is. More interesting than a macro lager but nothing special. I only handled these after 2:00 AM when the Philadelphia bars closed and I was already loaded.
Victory Prima Pils
One of Victory’s most highly-regarded beers which is weird because next-to-nobody regards pilseners as anything special. They’re the dumb twin brother of the lager. I don’t see what the fuss is about, I found this to be just a typically boring pilsener. Far too skunky and bitter. I certainly wasn’t dancing in the aisles drinking it.