Okay, before any of you quit reading this because I wrote it, I have to get in my individual addresses first so that you'll know I am talking to some of you individually. Kyle said that the Blog is about dead, and so I nearly cried, and if this is just a fancy ploy to get me to give up on the blog, you guys have a lot of waiting ahead of you because I'm a squatter who's found a home (and it's not in the depths of your hearts now that you're reading this, is it?), so anyway, last things first:
Kurbis, I know you don't usually get this far.... what am I saying. He's given up already.
Lynnea, I don't know if you find my blogs to be the Wal-mart of our small town blogger, but I wanted you to know I want to hear more about your grad experience, because my only seems to worsen as time goes on. I went two weeks sure that I would never successfully complete this semester and only got out of that funk because of a B on my past paper. Whether you want to be or not, you are our fearless leader, and if you must tell me to curb my ranting diatribes, say so and they will be shortened to an amiable length for all. I realize this is random, but I also wanted to say the sort of hi I missed saying to you everyday in class. Here I realize how much I took for granted having fabulous friends share my classes with me. Sorry to get sentimental. I'll address your blog later in this one.
Josh, I wish we could have spoken longer, but everything I left in that message stands. Just to let you know, I'm still a bit out of wack. I may respond to your response of Lynnea here further down, or not, I don't know. Hope all is.... good.
Chris, you were right, you are a blog prude, not freely giving yourself to all of us. Let loose. I'll try not to be such a blog slut anymore. I just want to give myself to everybody on here way too much, huh? You should name your new dog after me. Of course, that might be awkward with company over, calling to your chocolate lab, "Here Blogslut!" Yeah.... we'll Golden Tee sometime. Come to Montana, it's great (except for loners like me).
Shoot, I forgot to do the whole numbering thing again so that you guys aren't put through a bunch of writing you don't want to read just to find "hubka" at the end and a lacking sense of satisfaction concerning the time you spent trying to find something worthwhile in endless words. Hmmmm. Oh well. The following story is rated R because it involves a rated R movie, but will not reference anything of a rated R nature, unless that is to say blogslut again just to make you smile.
Kyle told me to go see the movie Garden State, mostly because my future wife had a starring role in the movie. For those of you who don't know (and yes, I'm going to tell you), Natalie Portman is my soulmate, born exactly 364 days before me (June 9th, 1981), and she loves smart men (I'll trick her), and the point is, I went to this movie the other night. The only place it was showing in town was at the Wilamet Theater in historic downtown Missoula, so I ventured downtown, this time not to end up at bars for no more than two minutes, but so I can go into this theater which I had never visited before. I bought my seven dollar ticket (I got a little used to $1.50 at the cheap theater, but they also were prone to having the film melt and tear, so when in Rome...), turned to my left, and headed toward the back of the theater doors. There were several sets of doors leading into a gigantic 40's style stage-bearing and balcony overlooking theater that I am sure could seat over four or five hundred in beautiful red faux-velvet seats with crimson curtains twisting down in front like evenly built intestines winding forever to the ceiling. Needless to say, this place was unbelievable, but it was not my movie theater. The sign over the door said some other movie, but not Garden State. So I took the stairs (in my hometown, the old downtown theater has a second movie screen built into the balcony, making for its own unique movie-going experience, so I thought this might have been normal). No other theater, but I did use the unlabled bathroom (I was pretty sure it was the men's side because it had urinals and I didn't run into any girls, and the opposite bathroom had an 8 1/2x11 sheet saying "women" stuck to the entrance also clued me in). So back down the stairs I went, and finally asked the man who sold me the ticket where this other theater was. He pointed straight in front of him. He smiled when he saw the puzzled look I gave him. There weren't four doors leading to this theater. There was one normal sized door, and I could see the fire exit on the other side, not twenty feet from the first door.
(Intermission..... you're getting up, stretching, looking around for somebody to talk to, then you noticed your old high school girlfriend and hope she didn't see you, and she screams and runs over to you and introduces her fiance` [one "e", right?] and you keep looking at your watch while she tells you about her last three jobs, man when is the second act going to start, yeah, you remembered that time your parents caught you making out on the church front lawn - oh, here, the lights are going down, yeah, good to see you, blah blah blah, we'll have to do something - it's starting, wounded, but still alive, you sit and away we go)
This "movie theater" was a room the size of a large living room with seventy-five seats arranged in nine rows, some of them old movie theater seats from the fifties and others looked like they were stackable church chairs somebody took from some unsuspecting congregation, either way, I counted ever single one. There were risers, or steps, or something towards the back, and if I stood up against the back wall, I could have blocked the entire movie with my body- my torso that is. I've had bedsheets bigger than this screen (though I don't right now - I'm running the single, and that's not changing until somebody... I said no rated R content, so I'll quit there). So I sat in the back row on the far side (I could have long-jumped to the other end of my aisle) and leaned my head against the wall to enjoy the movie. The theater is half-full it seems, and you can count everybody that came in on both your hands. I did. The movie, though, was wonderful (Natalie can do no wrong... let's forget about Mars Attacks!). Maybe it was wonderful because I felt so cozy, like I could touch the screen if I put my feet up on the seats. So if you're in town and you want to see the world's smallest rip-off of a theater, venture down Higgins Street and find the Wilamet Theater down by the Clark Fork River. Oh, and see Garden State, Natalieophile or not, unless you don't like good movies like Eternal Sunshine or Napoleon Dynamite.
I had written a blog twice this long, commenting on Josh and Lynnea's discussion, but I'll leave it be, now that I think about it, since I am passionate about the issue without holding my aims and bitterness in check, so maybe if the discussion continues, I'll say something more, but for now, I'm going to cut this thing short (you really should have seen it before I cut it to this length). I've got another 30-some essays to grade by tomorrow, so I'll bid you all farewell, and wait for more people to write so I can get my blogging fix. It's really just me seeking affection, I know.
Kurbis, I know you don't usually get this far.... what am I saying. He's given up already.
Lynnea, I don't know if you find my blogs to be the Wal-mart of our small town blogger, but I wanted you to know I want to hear more about your grad experience, because my only seems to worsen as time goes on. I went two weeks sure that I would never successfully complete this semester and only got out of that funk because of a B on my past paper. Whether you want to be or not, you are our fearless leader, and if you must tell me to curb my ranting diatribes, say so and they will be shortened to an amiable length for all. I realize this is random, but I also wanted to say the sort of hi I missed saying to you everyday in class. Here I realize how much I took for granted having fabulous friends share my classes with me. Sorry to get sentimental. I'll address your blog later in this one.
Josh, I wish we could have spoken longer, but everything I left in that message stands. Just to let you know, I'm still a bit out of wack. I may respond to your response of Lynnea here further down, or not, I don't know. Hope all is.... good.
Chris, you were right, you are a blog prude, not freely giving yourself to all of us. Let loose. I'll try not to be such a blog slut anymore. I just want to give myself to everybody on here way too much, huh? You should name your new dog after me. Of course, that might be awkward with company over, calling to your chocolate lab, "Here Blogslut!" Yeah.... we'll Golden Tee sometime. Come to Montana, it's great (except for loners like me).
Shoot, I forgot to do the whole numbering thing again so that you guys aren't put through a bunch of writing you don't want to read just to find "hubka" at the end and a lacking sense of satisfaction concerning the time you spent trying to find something worthwhile in endless words. Hmmmm. Oh well. The following story is rated R because it involves a rated R movie, but will not reference anything of a rated R nature, unless that is to say blogslut again just to make you smile.
Kyle told me to go see the movie Garden State, mostly because my future wife had a starring role in the movie. For those of you who don't know (and yes, I'm going to tell you), Natalie Portman is my soulmate, born exactly 364 days before me (June 9th, 1981), and she loves smart men (I'll trick her), and the point is, I went to this movie the other night. The only place it was showing in town was at the Wilamet Theater in historic downtown Missoula, so I ventured downtown, this time not to end up at bars for no more than two minutes, but so I can go into this theater which I had never visited before. I bought my seven dollar ticket (I got a little used to $1.50 at the cheap theater, but they also were prone to having the film melt and tear, so when in Rome...), turned to my left, and headed toward the back of the theater doors. There were several sets of doors leading into a gigantic 40's style stage-bearing and balcony overlooking theater that I am sure could seat over four or five hundred in beautiful red faux-velvet seats with crimson curtains twisting down in front like evenly built intestines winding forever to the ceiling. Needless to say, this place was unbelievable, but it was not my movie theater. The sign over the door said some other movie, but not Garden State. So I took the stairs (in my hometown, the old downtown theater has a second movie screen built into the balcony, making for its own unique movie-going experience, so I thought this might have been normal). No other theater, but I did use the unlabled bathroom (I was pretty sure it was the men's side because it had urinals and I didn't run into any girls, and the opposite bathroom had an 8 1/2x11 sheet saying "women" stuck to the entrance also clued me in). So back down the stairs I went, and finally asked the man who sold me the ticket where this other theater was. He pointed straight in front of him. He smiled when he saw the puzzled look I gave him. There weren't four doors leading to this theater. There was one normal sized door, and I could see the fire exit on the other side, not twenty feet from the first door.
(Intermission..... you're getting up, stretching, looking around for somebody to talk to, then you noticed your old high school girlfriend and hope she didn't see you, and she screams and runs over to you and introduces her fiance` [one "e", right?] and you keep looking at your watch while she tells you about her last three jobs, man when is the second act going to start, yeah, you remembered that time your parents caught you making out on the church front lawn - oh, here, the lights are going down, yeah, good to see you, blah blah blah, we'll have to do something - it's starting, wounded, but still alive, you sit and away we go)
This "movie theater" was a room the size of a large living room with seventy-five seats arranged in nine rows, some of them old movie theater seats from the fifties and others looked like they were stackable church chairs somebody took from some unsuspecting congregation, either way, I counted ever single one. There were risers, or steps, or something towards the back, and if I stood up against the back wall, I could have blocked the entire movie with my body- my torso that is. I've had bedsheets bigger than this screen (though I don't right now - I'm running the single, and that's not changing until somebody... I said no rated R content, so I'll quit there). So I sat in the back row on the far side (I could have long-jumped to the other end of my aisle) and leaned my head against the wall to enjoy the movie. The theater is half-full it seems, and you can count everybody that came in on both your hands. I did. The movie, though, was wonderful (Natalie can do no wrong... let's forget about Mars Attacks!). Maybe it was wonderful because I felt so cozy, like I could touch the screen if I put my feet up on the seats. So if you're in town and you want to see the world's smallest rip-off of a theater, venture down Higgins Street and find the Wilamet Theater down by the Clark Fork River. Oh, and see Garden State, Natalieophile or not, unless you don't like good movies like Eternal Sunshine or Napoleon Dynamite.
I had written a blog twice this long, commenting on Josh and Lynnea's discussion, but I'll leave it be, now that I think about it, since I am passionate about the issue without holding my aims and bitterness in check, so maybe if the discussion continues, I'll say something more, but for now, I'm going to cut this thing short (you really should have seen it before I cut it to this length). I've got another 30-some essays to grade by tomorrow, so I'll bid you all farewell, and wait for more people to write so I can get my blogging fix. It's really just me seeking affection, I know.
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