Death and the City

I look at the T.V. I look at my wife. I look at the T.V; I look at my wife, uh-oh… Don’t do it, don’t do it, for the love of God please don’t — and there it was. It started as a slight upward curl of the lips, followed by the opening of the mouth, a flash of teeth and finally a faint breathy chuckle. Even before she uttered a word my stomach was rebelling and my mouth was beginning to fill up with a mixture of acid, detest and Mongolian Chicken. I knew what was coming and I was horrified.

“Oh we’re going to see that.” She says looking over her shoulder just in time to see me cup a hand over my mouth and swallow my dinner… again!

I don’t even attempt to respond. I just continue to breath and pray that at some point between now and May 27th the almighty hand of a sympathetic god will either temporarily blind me, or set fire to every movie theatre within a 50 mile radius.

I’ll beg, I’ll lie and I will most definitely try to conjure up some self-inflicted injuries – – but it won’t work. According to “The Movie Rules,” I’m contractually obligated to accompany her to a movie of her choice. There is nothing I can do. So, barring a miracle, at some point during the weekend of the May 27th I’ll begrudgingly walk into a Cineplex overflowing with teams of middle aged women all gussied to mimic the character they most identify with. They’ll be salivating in anticipation. The lights will dim. The cackling will dissipate to a low murmur and the estrogen cloud that has been slowly chocking the life out of me will disappear. Finally the moment will come. The intentions of the screen reveal itself… A shot of Manhattan, the ping-pongy theme song and the words which snap my head back in disgust painfully materializes right before my un-bleeding eyes (Gulp) – – Sex. And. The. City… 2! I cup a hand over my mouth and for the second time in 3 weeks I re-eat my dinner.

I had to know this day was coming. In fact, this day, this miserable miserable day has been 10 years in the making. Explain…. On our first date, Cathy and I spent 2 nauseating hours enduring the gigantic piece of crap entitled Meet Joe Black (her choice). This was followed by an attempt to show my artsy side when we sat down to watch the visual equivalent of a rock-salt enema, What Dreams May Come, starring my nemesis, Mork. On our third date we came up with a set of movie rules. It was a final attempt at reclaiming the dwindling respect we both had for each other’s taste in cinema. We still sorta liked each other, but another bad movie could’ve ended us, thus…

The Movie Rules

  1. Person A picks the movie. If person B agrees, they go see the movie and the power to choose the next movie alternates. If Person B disagrees with the movie choice, move to step 2.
  2. It is very likely (at least in my case) Person B veto’s the movie. If that is the case, Person A will create a list of 3 choices, from which Person B has the power to choose. The list will include the original pick at the 1 position followed by two other choices.
  3. Choice number 3 has to be either a documentary or animation.
  4. If your partner chooses pick 2 or 3, you continue to make the movie list until movie 1 is chosen (Placement and choice are crucial in making the list, I don’t think Cathy picked a single movie from 2002-05).
  5. In the unlikely event that the your number 1 movie turns out to be either visual diarrhea, produced by Jerry Bruckheimer, stars Brendan Fraser and is labeled as “Fun for the whole family,” stars Martin Lawrence and is labeled as “Laugh out loud funny,” or anything that involves interactions i.e. dancing, talking or war between real actors and woodland creatures with CGI facial expressions, you are penalized a turn, andyou have to see whatever your partner chooses. Period.

Now, back to the reason why I’ll be trapped in a wicked theater watching the one movie that may very well cause me to plunge the nearest pair of Jimmy Choo’s into my eye sockets? A couple of months ago, I violated rule number 5. I accidentally or erroneously assumed that Kevin James could carry a movie based entirely on the fact that he’s fat and funny-ish, so I rented Paul Blart: Mall Cop. The joy and anger that Cathy possessed after the credits began to roll was overwhelming. It was as if she won the lottery, but had to split it with the population of Texas. Anyway, she’d been holding on to this chip for quite some time; patiently waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect movie, the perfect revenge for accidentally stealing two measly hours away from her, but I’ll go, cause I love her. I’ll do this with very little knowledge, but knowledge none-the-less. Here it goes… This is what I know about SATC before the preview of SATC2.

Okay, it’s about the Redhead, Horseface, Mannequin and Kristin Davis. They live in New York, buy shoes, have sex, cry, drink delicious Cosmos and occasionally fall backwards onto fluffy beds while kicking their feet in the air, (This is what Hollywood thinks women do when they’re asked out on a date/receive a gift /or just finished reading a hokey love letter by “the” boy. Notwithstanding, this scene is always crucial to the plot and can be played out in a myriad of ways depending on how the director wants to portray the amount of admiration the girl has for the boy. For example, if the girl ends up aggressively hugging a pillow, rolls over onto her belly, then screams into said pillow while pounding her fists into the fluffy bed, well, she really “likes” the boy. If she’s decked out in boxers and an over-sized T-shirt, you can almost guarantee that she’ll begin to jump on the bed while the smash “Walking on Sunshine” is played. This means she’s “in love.” If at any point during these proceedings you can hear the boy’s voice repeating the word “Hello?” from the phone jumpy thought she hung up, you can rest assure that these two things will happen: She realizes her “embarrassing” mistake and in a panic picks up the receiver and utters this line, “Uh yeah, okay.. sorry, (giggle) see you at eight.” This will manifest into itself into an awkward first date at the end of which he’ll end up screwing her best friend). Book it!

Here’s what I know about SATC2 (based entirely on the preview). At one point Mannequin says, “Fabulous.” Somehow big hats and sunglasses are pivotal. That cave man with big eyebrows wears a suit and looks surprised. More than once they will all walk side-by-side in slow motion (with no guns!), The Redhead cries, because of something stupid (like her pantsuit). Horseface Broderick will beyond all logic, find herself in a forbidden love triangle. Kristen Davis will look overwhelmed at all times. Oh yeah, they’ll also be in the desert wearing MC Hammer pants and riding camels. I wish I was making this up; this movie is going to kill me.

I love you all,


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