Tuesday, June 25, 2002

My Jell-O is Judicatin' a-l-l over the place

Right back atcha, Possum. And many congratulations on being named one of the "Top 100 Best Unknowns," a honor only slightly more prestigious than being named among the "Top 10 People Who Have Stopped Beating Their Wives."

Ya gotta watch what you say to people. I read the "Top 100" blurb somewhere, and given that he's probably going to be my only guest at the Alabama Blogger Meetup, I thought I'd drop him a line. Next thing I know I'm getting some delightful emails, discussing among other things, his reason for blogging:

one was that I wanted to show people from other parts of the world that a Southern, openly heterosexual, gun-owning, conservative, God-fearing, old-school-dad type guy could write stuff that was simultaneously thought-provoking, logically consistent, and funny, without sounding like some sort of creepy nutjob (which is what most people would
think of someone as I've described myself).

To which I replied:

Ha! I know what you mean! My best male friend (who is probably my soulmate and I'd marry him if we had the slightest bit of physical chemistry, which we don't) is just like that, and I'm anything BUT. Not that I'm a lesbian gun-control liberal atheist New Age massage therapist or anything. It's just that where most polarizing occurs, I back off. I can see all the pros and cons of just about any issue, and I can usually see the merit in every side of any conflict. This whole Arab-Israeli thing has my head in a spin.

And dang if the dude didn't blogroll me then and there. Dadgum roadkill.

I like the term "Alablogger." Much more so than say, "Bamablogger" because that would sound too redneck. Visions of red and white Chevy pickups with U of A license plates. (shudder)
Don't you just love creative landscaping?
Just what constitutes "outside food or drink" anyway?

My boy Lawrence has hit me where I live: movie theatre concession stands.

I started carrying a bottle of drinking water with me everywhere many years ago. It fit just fine in the inside pocket of my purse or backpack. Since movie theatres at that time didn't sell bottled water, I carried my dirty little secret with me to see tons of flicks and nobody knew or went bankrupt or had a hissy fit over it.

One day I wasn't carrying the purse for whatever reason and just stuck the bottle in my jacket pocket. I paid for my ticket and as I was going inside, the ticket person pointed to the bottle which was clearly visible and said, "you can't bring that in here." I was pretty miffed about it, so I asked him what he would have me do. He told me I could drink it, right then and there, and then I could come in. I drank it all, right there and then and went in to see the movie which at this point was going to just be an experience in me steaming and seething. I don't even remember now what film I was there to see.

Point is, where was the logic in making me drink that water? I was still "bringing the water in," so to speak. Was he concerned that I might not be hydrated enough to last two hours through the film? Did I miss the rule that states one is required to pee upon exiting the theatre? And so forth, and so on, rant, rant.

From that point on I made it My Movie-Going Mission to push the envelope everytime I go to see a flick. Big Purse has by now carried the following: a sack of tacos (soft ones -- one doesn't wish to disturb the fellow cinemaphile), cartons of chinese food, pizza, sub sandwiches, whatever. Take THAT, Mr. Theatre Ticket Nazi Man.