Fact from fiction

I really love the movies.

I love that feeling I get after I leave one. Afterward, I always end up walking like the character I most relate to. I walk awesome. And it feels gooooood. See, there's a residual patina that film leaves on me (i just learned that word "patina" in lit class today. kick ass that i could actually use it). I think it's because I spend 90+ minutes so identifying with the character and their story that I end up feeling like them after the movie is over. It's kinda weird but it's kinda cool.

I remember the first time it happened to me. I was seven, and I saw The Matrix for the first time. After that I was convinced that I could dodge bullets, do kung-fu and my mom kept yelling at me because I would always hide the spoons before dinner time.

Even though I've matured some, I still feel that way after I watch movies. Especially in the theater. I don't know why it is, but I do know that I just don't want to let go of the movie experience after the credits roll.

Today my besterestest friend in the whole world, Jenny, and I made up. And I can tell you, I walked a lot more awesomely than I ever have after any movie I've ever seen when it happened. It felt gooder than gooooooooood.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're all thinking, "So...was, like, Third Eye Blind playing in the background and did he say some sappy words that, at the onset, seemed like he was reinforcing the point he made that pissed her off in the first place and then turned them around in such a way to show her that the thing that he was actually saying was the sweetest thing anyone could ever say to her, and then she ran into his arms and and they spooned and cried and the soundtrack switched to Mazzy Star and they lived happily ever after in a Calvin Klein commercial?"

No.

Jenny...has...a moustache.

I like hot chicks. I'm on a strict hot-chick diet. I can't stomach girls who sport facial yetis. I don't dig girls who need to epi-dude their face.

What I did do was sit next to her in English Lit class and set an apple on her desk. She looked at the apple and then looked at me and said, "You know I fucking hate apples."

And I replied, "Yes. But that's not an apple. It's a canary."

And she said, "Izzawhuuuut?"

And I was like, "Ancient minors from, like, the 1940s used to carry cages with canaries in them to tell them when the air was too thin in the shaft, or when they hit a pocket of methane or some shit. If the canary died, they knew they needed to get the fuck out. This apple is a canary. I know how much you hate me right now, and you have every right to. I also know how much you hate apples. I'm gonna sit next to you this entire period. If you can sit through Lit with that apple on your desk, it'll show me that you mind that apple's presence less than mine and I'll know where I stand and get the fuck out. If you throw it away, I'll know that we have a chance of patching things up and I should apologize for being the biggest dick-face in the world."

And then she bit into the apple. I wasn't expecting that.

"Maybe you should just apologize for being the biggest dick-face in the world," she gagged through her mouthful of apple, pieces of it getting stuck in her grotesque lip-ferret.

"Oh. Alright. I'm sorry. I was a dick-face. We cool?"

"Yeah. We cool," she said, spitting apple chunks into the aisle.

"Good. You wanna see a movie tonight? My treat!"

"Your treat? No. I want to see three movies tonight." She insisted.

I couldn't help but notice that there was a bit of apple stuck in her moustache. I rubbed my finger across my upper lip and said, "Uhhhhh...Jenny. You got a little apple right he-"

"DON'T YOU START!"

"You're beautiful. You look perfect. BEST FRIEND EVER!" And shut up.

And so we went to the movies. Three of them. If you've been keeping score, that's three different walks for me in one night. For a guy who usually just meanders aimlessly, that's a lot of different walks.

The first was the bad-ass, don't-fuck-with-me walk of Clive Owen's "Smith" in Shoot 'em Up. After the movie was over, Jenny was all like, "Go get me another Diet Coke while I find us seats for the next movie." I and was all, "Fuck yeah, I will! I buy you a Diet Coke! I'll buy the shit out of that Diet Coke!" And I went.

At the concessions counter, there was too much of a line. So I took a handful of complimentary, butter flavored topping and I smeared it on my chest. Then I slid across the counter, length-wise, and stopped perfectly face-to-face with a teller who was absolutely agog (well...not really face-to-face. i suppose i had to scootch back about a foot and a half. but the teller was still agog). I then stuffed a crumply $5 bill into his pocket and said, "Diet Coke. A hard top. And make sure it has a big trunk."

I know I got bad-ass Clive Owen films mixed up there, but I was in the moment. Deal.

Either way, the concessions guy knew what I meant and gave me a large Diet Coke.

The second walk was modeled after Andrew Garfield's character in Lions for Lambs. Basically, I walked around like a nonchalant and spoiled white kid with a winning smile. I stood in the coffee line for 15 minutes, and then when I got to the counter and the barista asked me what I wanted, I just stared at her...not speaking...for a long time...and then walked away.

I think, really, I was pretty much any character in that film. Not just Andrew Garfield's. Ineffectual and impotent. Kinda like the film.

As a movie that preaches the evils of passivity, should it like itself for being the most passive film ever made?

Finally, we got through 30 Days of Night. And you know what I walked like after that? Take a guess.

I walked like a fucking zombie. That's what I walked like! You know why? Because there was absolutely nothing with which I could relate!

Let me get one thing straight right now: vampires don't exist!!!

At all.

Period.

Never.

And I really don't understand why you livers are so fascinated by them. They're faggy. They can't dress. They're fucking mean. And yet you romanticize them like they're the next fucking coming!

You know what a vampire is? A vampire is a zombie on a liquid diet.

THAT'S IT!

That would mean my fucking mom is a vampire. I haven't seen her take down anything but Maker's manhattans in years. You want to make a movie about her?

No? I thought not.

30 Days of Night sucked.

Pun fucking intended!

Alright. I'm gonna stop now before I get too emotional. In the end, Jenny and I had a good time at the movies and I'm glad we made up.

Alright everybody. Have a good weekend.

Just remember: VAMPIRES DON'T FUCKING EXIST

What a ridiculous concept.

Until next time.

phhpbbbbbbptptptptpttt...vampires