Matinee
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 22 April 2005, 8:04pm
Summertime is a wonderful time of year where families all over the world get together to celebrate togetherness like it was Christmas or something. Unless you're in one of those whacky and weird hemispheres like the Northern Hemisphere where all the seasons are reversed and the toilets flush backwards and people get eaten by polar bears on the way home from school. At least, that's what I hear from other people who, like me, have never visited that particular hemisphere because it's really, really far. I mean, it might as well be on Neptune or something, because I hear these days interplanetary travel is more convenient and hassle-free than a trip to the Northern Hemisphere. Anyway, here's what happened:
-If you're a clean, neat and sensible 'family' guy (and I know you're not) you probably think that going to a movie with your family on a weekend is a wholesome and fun-filled thing to do. This is true, provided that the year is 1956 and the family you're going with isn't mine. If you do not fall into one or both of these criteria, the movie-going experience will be a terrible one akin to being locked in a concentration camp with Rowan Atkinson. Whatever happened to that guy? I haven't seen him in anything since "Johnny English", where he played the 'unscrupulous' detective; laughing the ass out of everyone who dared to even walk by the movie halls that played it. Is he dead or something?
-The existence and well-being of crappy comedians aside, I thought I'd warn you that if you have the guts to go to a movie with your aunt (heretofore referred to as "my aunt") and her little kids and (to add to the misery as if this wasn't enough) my own little brother, be prepared to be the only family at the theatre. Families don't go to movies anymore. Now only guys (and girls..of course)on dates go to movies. And the guy, attempting to impress his zit-encrusted girlfriend who's wearing a "Stop Staring at my Chest" or "Site Under Construction" baby doll t-shirt, will laugh and point at you as you walk into the mega-multiplex with your aunt, her kids and brother as if in a tow. If you live in a particularly unrelenting neighborhood (like my native city) then the guy may even throw a few kernels of popcorn at you as you walk by. But my Aunt will be completely oblivious to all of this, because we're GOING TO A MOVIE; GODDAMN IT!! AND WE'RE GONNA ENJOY OURSELVES EVEN IF IT KILLS US. Ah, Summer!
-Many people may have noticed that the cost of purchasing a meal at a movie theatre is often comparable to the cost of constructing a major suspension bridge across Brahmaputra. However, if you are dumb enough to go to a movie with your family, you are probably dumb enough to pay Rs 25/- for a bag of cold, stale popcorn. I bet some theatre executive got paid a lot of money to come up with this brilliant marketing strategy: "Hey, if we charge more money at theatres, we make more money!" We must find this theatre executive (I'm sure he'll have his name embedded in the pack, somewhere)and bludgeon him to death with his own Nobel Prize in Economics..
-After spending your next year's whole salary on food; that even homeless people would think twice about before eating; for the 'little' brother, you will proceed into the theater proper. There, your family, into which you were praying, you were adopted, will insist on sitting in the front row. Now, here's the thing: 10 years ago, the front row was a coveted theatre position. That's because all the seats were directly behind each other, like you were on some kind of bus, and if someone who was over 4'7" sat anywhere in front of you; you would lose approximately 50% of the total viewing area. And back then, let me tell you, viewing areas were a lot smaller. The TV in my den is bigger than what a movie screen was when I was a kid. Boy, those were the days. When things were done right and you could get a glass of nice non-flavored mango juice for a rupee. Never mind.
-Now that I've effectively finished up writing the rather unstructured rant part of the blog, I wanted to tell you that modern theatres no longer cherish the front seats. Modern theatres implement what's known as "stadium seating", which means that the back row is 400 feet up, directly in front of (and often blocking) the projector, while the front row is no more than 3.5 inches from the actual screen. But my brother wanted to sit in the front row, which was cool, because it meant that while the movie was going on I could actually see the characters' individual DNA strands.
-Remember when you were little and you went to the movies and before the movie started you just kind of patiently stare at a blank screen for a half hour like some sort of a monk? Well, the movie industry decided that people were getting bored, so they decided to put something on the screen for you to gaze at before the movie starts. This is, of course, a PowerPoint slideshow for a Honda Accord. Oh boy! That's so much better than a blank screen! Do you know what a PowerPoint slideshow looks like from the front row of a movie theatre? Remember 'Asteroids'?
-Quote of the Moment: A guy comes up to an empty seat beside me, asks "Is this seat taken?". I say "No". He says "Of course it isn't! It's in the front row!" Then he walks off, laughing maniacally, no doubt to go make out with his date. Hey, girls love a guy with a sense of humor. I should know; I read about it in one of the Friday supplements.
-The average movie is two hours long. That's twenty minutes of movie, and an hour forty minutes of previews. There will come a time, mark my words, when people will pay 50 bucks a head, to just sit down and watch previews for the entire two hours, without even having the pretense of a movie to see. I'm not saying this is a bad thing. I'm just saying "Be ready"!
-At some point during the movie, your brother is going to have to go to the bathroom. Maybe it's because his bladder's too small. Maybe it's because he just drank 6 liters of watered-down coke. I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Whatever be the reason, you're going to have to get up and miss a good portion of the movie standing outside a bathroom stall looking like a registered sex offender despite the fact that your brother is fifteen years old, because your aunt, who is, in no offense, quite overprotective, will not have it any other way. That's OK, though; You're probably only missing the previews.
-As I left the theatre, family in tow, of course, I realized I was probably being a little immature. I mean, sure, it's embarrassing hanging out with my aunt, her two kids and my little brother on a weekend. And sure, all the tough neighborhood guys with their dates will probably beat me up the next time they see me, but Gosh Darn it, I'm twenty-five odd years old and I can be pardoned for doing something nice with my family every now and then.
And, hey, I know hanging out with your family isn't 'cool' or 'hip to the groove', but neither is writing over 1500 words complaining about it...
Current Mood: Heroic
Current Music: Tales of Brave Ulysses - Cream
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Wear Your Attitude..Really!?!?!?
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 8 April 2005, 10:03pm
Help!! I'm all surrounded by fashion elitists!! According to them, I am to fashion what Donald Trump is to hair. I walk among these elitists, talk with them daily, eat with them, drink with them, even inhabit in the same dwellings as they do. They are my friends and I am the fashion enemy.
The elitists I speak of don't come from the high-class fashion districts of Paris or NY; not even from the brazen Bombay fashion scene. I'd like to say that they mean well, but what they mean is far from well. They stand for all that is evil and uncomfortable with their odd shaped wide-for-feet shoes and their skin-tight torn and oily t-shirts. Most of my crimes of fashion these days, like the failure to know the difference between casual jeans and dressed up jeans, are of the forgivable kind. Accordingly, the elitists insult me in a joking, friendly manner. Had they known me before; in my college days, I guess; a friendship would've been impossible.
School Days - Sweating it Out
I've got a history of bad fashion choices dating back to elementary school when I fought my Mom daily on outfit choices. I was miserably proclaimed to be the one (in the family of 8 school going kids; include my cousins here!) who refuse to wear anything that even resembled 'neat', Nothing really mattered; the color, the style, the shades, the state of the buttons...Nothing! My poor Mom never ever had a chance to get me into those unheard of things called jeans, acid-washed for whose pleasure I don't know. I also used to sport some kind of gargantuan, shade glasses that spanned my brow to the middle of my nose. I still refute the claim that these frames were my choice, mainly because the sun glasses were the root of my everlasting emotional scars. It's possible they're even the cause of my unfashionable style today. At that point, it didn't matter what I wore because all anyone noticed was the huge alien force that had landed and taken over my face. I was a hopeless wreck.
Middle School - Neon to Normal
With my glasses far behind me, I started off middle school with high hopes for a new reputation. I remember my first day of sixth grade well. I had more than enough things in my mind; forget about choosing out of brown or blue shirts . Finally some white trash that I picked up to wear had 'gone out of fashion at least 10 years ago' according to my cousin. In eighth grade I began hanging around with the "elite" clique and started dressing normal for a while. But normalcy was just the brief phase before "gangster."
College - G-Funk Era
My gangster phase came with its own line of floor-scrapping, baggy Jyncos that were always at least three sizes too big, a variety of No Fear t-shirts, and 'cool' shoes. The clothes and the attitude lasted into my Inter days when I realized that girls didn't like guys who looked and acted smarter than they did. I attempted normalcy once again but faltered occasionally as in the day when I wore two completely different shoes and failed to notice for the major part of the day. From then on I thought I had it together but the elitists continue to accuse and prosecute me for fashion crimes.
After College, at Work - Guilty as Charged
It's painful getting ready for a day out with the elitists. My first choice of any outfit is always a no-go, sealed by a disgusted look and the simple phrase, "No." A shirt change is the most frequently suggested provision, so I venture back to try again. I grab a more daring piece: To my dismay the elitists were "never a big fan of Reds" Now I'm too tired to try anymore so I go with a basic, pre-approved blue v-neck with a black jeans. The boring, predictable, and most importantly, safe choice.
If I've got any nice shoes, it invariably is because of some accident (refer the post that describes SHI for more details). I used to pry over various footwear stores day-in-day-out and finally manage to buy one that was 'decent' looking according to me, and present them proudly to prove my attempt at improving my fashion sense, only to be told that I've got a characteristic "grandpa style" to my shoe choice.
"My uncle would love those shoes. In fact, he probably has a pair of the exact same ones!" one elitist proclaimed. I couldn't argue because my uncle loved them, too; he was the one who suggested I get them. To me, "grandpa/uncle style" is better than forcing my foot into something so dangerously designed it may mould my foot into a legitimate weapon.
I also don't understand the whole matching thing. I'm forbidden to wear anything but black shoes with a black jeans. Why?! How can I be expected to constantly change shoes bcoz my jeans have started fading. And who said navy or midnight blue can't go with black? Half the time I can't even tell the difference between black and midnight blue because it's midnight, and everything's dark anyway. Belts can really get ridiculous. The whole premise of a belt is to keep your pants up, right? Not only does the belt have to match the shoes and the pants, but it needs to be exact, scientifically exact. If my belt happens to be a little darker than my shoes, the whole outfit's a joke to the elitists. But I wear it anyway.
As I continue to defy the laws of fashion I can't help but wonder if I'm really so deviant. The elitists are the ones spending all their money on clothes, constantly revamping their wardrobe. They are the ones that must stay on top of the trends, never satisfied with their current attire.
No thanks, I'll just keep the shoe on the same foot.
Current Mood: Confused
Current Music: I am still alive...
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