Bat Rant

Saw the new Batman flick the other night.

Meh.*

But more on that in a bit.

So there's a Hispanic couple there, all tatted up - and I mean knuckles, throats, whatever, inked to the gills - with three little girls, including a cute lil'  Shirley Temple look-alike with curly hair and wide-eyes, all in tow.

Shirley was two, btw.

And how do I know this, you might ask? Well...

While they're getting their tickets taken, tattoo boy realizes he's been charged for 3 kids, full price and starts up:

"Oh man, wait. She's just a toddler - she's only 2" he says. "They charged me full price."

"Child starts at two," says the ticket taker, a little guy with an over-sized head and gnarled limbs, sitting atop his Rascal.**

Tat man goes on for a while re: toddler vs. child; meanwhile, I'm not so patiently waiting behind them as it dawns on me they're headed to the same movie as myself...

Batman, a which film has:

1. Graphic violence
2. A recent and extremely disturbing association***
3. And maybe a special place in hell for those who bring their two year olds (no matter how adorable) and inflict them on the unsuspecting populace.

Meanwhile he's holding up the line, arguing she's too young to be charged for this debacle. Awesome.  Finally, he somehow hears what the dwarf's been saying, gives up and walks in.

Only now he's a little wound up and since he's already got everyone's attention, decides to brazen it out, loudly announcing every thought as it occurs to him, under the guise of conversation with his wife.

In reality, however, he's become the narrator of his own life, and we are exposed to each and every inane detail. We find out he is surrounded by women.  How much butter he likes on his popcorn. Maybe how many angels could dance on the head of a pin, for all I know - because at this point...

I walked out. 

(pause)

Okay, not really.
But, man, I thought about it.

I did, however, walk into Theater 13 (yeah, really) and sat strategically in the midst of a crowded aisle, as far away from any 5 seat spot that might accommodate them as possible.

Minutes later he walked in, royal procession in tow, and even from the other side of the theater I could hear him, announcing his presence, blathering on about... whatever.

I sat there, gritted my teeth, and mentally prepared for the worst. Should I just leave? Would there be a confrontation? Maybe go and get the manager?

And then, as the lights went down and the movie began rolling, it happened; from high atop the theater, there in the back row, came the sound of...

Complete silence.

Hunh?

I'd gotten all worked up for nothing.

Weirdly disappointing.



*Say "eh", then put an "m" on the front. 
**A Rascal, for those who don't know, is a Moped/Scooter kinda deal that travels at foot speed - normally for elderly or handicapped with motor skill issues - but often associated with people too obese to sustain locomotion under their own power. Think Walmart in the rural South and you get the picture. Seinfeld did an episode with Constanza fleeing the elderly in a "high speed" chase involving such vehicles. But I digress.
***I'm speaking of course, of the Aurora massacre.

Plane vs. Haboob

On

the

road

to

Orme,

February

2012



HOLGA 135 / 35 mm

The sound of one hand clapping

Excuse me, says this voice from above.

I'd been chugging up the mountain, head down in my own little world, when I heard it. And then again...

Excuse me.

I look up to see this guy peering over a rock outcropping above and to the right; skinny white kid with curly brown hair bordering on a fro, and dark horn rimmed glasses. Reminded me a little of Woody Allen.

Yeah? I responded, slowing but not stopping.

The thing is... I don't get up Camelback much these days (with my semi-bum knee and all) and when I do, I try to make it count. I focus on my breathing, foot fall, and challenge myself on the ascent.

In this manner, the boulder-strewn terrain requires complete attention, and coupled with my breathing, acquires a meditative aspect.

 Can you tell me where the path is?

Came his plaintive (and somewhat intrusive) response.

Crap.

So I stopped.

And, yes, while I was tempted to wax sarcastic*, what I said was, go down that way and then up the crevasse.

Crevice. Whatever.

What I should've said?

You may have to figure that one out for yourself.

*Working on a construction site in my twenties, I'd misplaced my hammer and started asking anyone around if they'd seen it. "If it was up your *ss you'd know," came the response. Good point.