An Indiana Jones Movie and Another One and Three-Quarters Hours of Sleep Later...

... And I am back from Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.


Jen and I both realized that this was probably the first time for many years that we were attending a midnight (actually 11:59 pm, Wednesday, though the movie started about 12:15, so who's counting?) movie premiere. We did argue -- or rather, try to work out -- which movie was the last one for which we had bothered to stay up late and risk our jobs or schooling. She mentioned Episode I of Star Wars, which is the correct answer, though I did try to argue for Moulin Rouge!, which we did see at a midnight show on opening night. However, it was on the far ass-end of opening night, so Rouge! was not actually a premiere. (Why did I not go to such showings of the last two Star Wars films? Because of Episode I, I had given up all hope, even though it turned out I liked the last two far better than the first. Still mostly shiite, though...)

We were fortunate enough to have bought our tickets about two weeks ago, so we ended up with seats in the biggest of the theatres. Even so, since we only got there an hour and a half early, we ended up in the line as it was already wrapped around the first corner of the building. However, Cinema City, the independently run theatre where we have transferred much of our movie business due to their lower pricing and cleaner theatres, kept selling tickets for as many of their screens as they could fill, so we figured out that many of the people in line, depending on when they bought their tix, would not be crammed into the same screening as we. Regardless of this, when we entered Theatre 1, the place was already packed like mad, and the only two rows left with any open seats together were the first two. We started for the second, but then as I was eying the completely empty front row, Jen suggested, "You might as well go for it. This is your chance..." I figured out quickly she meant the seating, and not hers, and so we moved down. Which brought about another small, odd first: the first time since I saw Seven Samurai at the Bear Tooth, and since we moved here, that I sat purposefully in the front row at a movie. The screen was still about twenty feet from our seats, which at first seemed a decent enough distance. But I must say, with my eyes now betraying me as I get older, it was a bit of a strain keeping up with the action at times.

I'll not review the film at this time, since most of my friends back in Alaska have not seen the film yet, and won't until midway through the weekend. So, I will wait until next week to do so. Even if most of those people won't read these words, there are some that do, and I would rather keep certain things a secret until then. (Not that they couldn't read them elsewhere, but that's the sort of guy I am... sometimes...)

And I am soon to head to work this morning, after catching a tad bit more of sleep after the film, though not quite enough to shake away the wooziness I feel right now. Even the shower didn't really take. Perhaps a nice three-mile walk to work (my usual routine) will do the trick. If not, there are going to be some odd errors on our website at work throughout the afternoon. Some kid will load up our site, and there will be my review of Indiana Jones' latest adventure, and all courtesy of some automatic writing that was committed as my nose and fingers tripped over the keyboard as I snoozed deeper and deeper at work in dreamy dreamy dreamland.

The erroneously placed review this kid will read on the company website will be about Indiana Jones' more-than-mancrush on Shia LaBeouf's character Mutt, and the things he does to him with his whip (not to mention the hat), and it will go into great and terrible detail about various and sundry insertions of ancient Mayan idols and crystal skulls and even Indy's college bowtie, unstrung and beaded with six rings from the toe knuckles of an ancient Babylonian king. Because of all this action, LaBeouf's character's colon becomes prolapsed and drags behind him for the rest of the movie, but they are able to use it as a rope ladder later to escape some ravenous giant dung beetles.

The kid will read each horrid thing that I wrote in my stupor, and he will tell his soccer mom what he read on the way to their next tournament, and she will be justifiably shocked and drive off the road, slapping at him from the front seat because of his potty mouth. She will swerve off the road in her rage, and the mother will go through the glass and end up anally penetrated by a fire hydrant. She will live -- because she has a big fat ass -- but her six other brats won't, and the kid who read the review will go mental and will cry every time Transformers comes on TV for the rest of his life.


And then, because my bosses love to play up soccer tragedies, I will have to write about the accident that killed this soccer kid's family and left his mother with intense rectal bleeding. The accident that I caused with my dream-state writing fit because I decided I didn't need to have very much sleep because I wanted to stay up most of the night with an iconic movie figure whose keepers couldn't possibly repeat his earlier big-screen successes.

Which they don't, naturally, but I will tell you about that next week. For now, for the most part, "Mummy's" the word...

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