Let's All Go To The Movies

So Thursday night we saw Final Flight of Osiris, the third Animatrix short film. Jonas and I saw it opening day in Appleton, but I really liked it, so I made Jenna and Manney and Graham pretend that we were planning to watch Dreamcatcher so that they could see and appreciate as well.

Graham saw the short a day before I did, which, as Manney pointed out, makes him more of a man than I.

But Manney and Jenna hadn't, and now they have. It was almost worth getting caught sneaking over to Old School and being kicked out of the theater by both managers.

Our free enjoyment of movies thwarted, we rented Roger Dodger on a strong recommendation. It was a pretty good movie, but really dark, in the sense that I couldn't ever tell what was going on.

Our other option that night was Igby Goes Down, which both Jenna and I had seen.

Anyways, Jenna liked Igby and I didn't, and between that, my boosting of the "incredibly phallic" Final Flight of Osiris, and my stated wish to watch Wednesday's episode of Survivor (which I missed, forgetting that it wasn't on Thursday), Jenna found reason to say that I had universally bad taste.

Blind Date isn't any better than Survivor, for the record.

Anyways, she apologized yesterday, which was perceptive, because for some reason I'd fixated on that comment. I think a lot of people wear their taste as a badge of honor; the uppity types (including an earlier version of Our Bold Hero) who push a few good, relatively unknown movies on people in order to somehow prove their own worth are the best example. I used to tell everyone I met about Pi; before someone on a similar ego-mission did the same to me.

Jenna regalled me with fascinating drunk-talk on the way home. Tonight was a little more exciting than the last few nights.

Well, not really. But the location was different. We hung out at Graham's older friend's apartment and spent most of the evening watching a Tremors: The Series marathon.

It's normally a bit weird, with that group. But tonight wasn't awkward at all, for anybody, because hearing J Loss throw up bad scallops in the next room brought us all together. That and a disgusting hour of Howard Stern. Ugh.

Graham and I officially called off this summer's European Tour.

It sounds like it's going to be a quiet summer. Unless I find a decent internship—and it's a little late for that—I'll be here in Brainerd with whoever else is sticking around.