Soul Thumping

Things I Found Aesthetically Pleasing Today - Day 14 Barefoot in the Park

Autumn is in full force and my favorite autumnal movie is Neil Simon's Barefoot in the Park starring Jane Fonda and Robert Redford.  Today I stumbled upon a picture of a scene in the movie (where Corrie meets Paul at the bus stop after work) and I've always dug the dress that Corrie wore in this scene, so of course, it lands in my aesthetically pleasing bucket!  Shama shama El mal kema ma!

Photo from classicforeverblog

 

--Fortuitous Observer

The Rialto - Raleigh's Gem of a Theater

Poseidon and I met our pals N & T on Saturday afternoon for a matinee at the Rialto.  Why am I blogging about this, and who cares?  Because the Rialto Theater is one of the grooviest, primo places on the planet (truly, it is...should be one of the wonders of the world...I'm still petitioning).

For those not fortunate enough to live in the Raleigh, NC area, I will attempt to describe this theater, though I will not do it justice, that is a given, so you will just have to get in your car, hop on a plane, or whatever your desired mode of transportation may be, and come see for yourself.

First and foremost, the Rilato serves beer, and not crap beer, but realbeer (on tap), and wine.  Yup, many of my friends in other states can't believe that NC is so progressive when it comes to cinema enjoyment.  Well, you won't find beer at the ginormous theaters in Raleigh, only at a handful of hip little movie houses, the Rialto being my fave.

The Rialto has only one theater, so only one movie, usually for a week or two.  Here is the best part:  they only show foreign and independent flicks, AND, they still show The Rocky Horror Picture Showevery Friday at midnight.  Sorry Spiderman 14,  Iron Man 8, and even Harry Potter.  You won't get any face time at the Rialto (no offense to Harry...I'm a huge HP fan).

The theater itself (originally built in 1942), though recently renovated, drips in vintage beauty with nice velvety seats, and even if you arrive late and have to sit in the first row, you won't have to pay the chiropractor a visit afterwards (seriously, I thought I was going to have to do that after seeing the last Harry Potter flick at one of the "huge" cinemas...we were in the first row and I was envisioning permanent neck injury from looking straight up, literally, straight up, at the screen). 

Oh yeah, before I forget, the Rialto is a cash-only venue, so don't forget to knock over an ATM before your Rialto outing.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

The Mean Reds

Remember in Breakfast at Tiffany's when Holly said she had the "mean reds?"  The mean reds are much worse than the blues.  Even for someone like me who has suffered from chronic depression since childhood, the mean reds can sneak up on a person, do a swirling mad tap dance on your face, then go into hiding again, waiting for the next opportunity to slap you around a bit, drag you through the dirt, chew on your ears, then leave you to drown in your own misery.

I've got the mean reds this week, and as it isn't my first time at the rodeo, I know the drill:  take it like a girl, live through it for a couple of days, and everything will turn out just fine (until the next bout with the mean reds).  Uggghhh!  I need a laugh.  Where is Mr. Yunioshi when I need him?

--Fortuitous "Golightly" Observer

Kung Pao What?

Ever wonder how chicken from chain restaurants gets to be so perfectly shaped?  Don't.  Zeus and I ate out on Sunday afternoon, after shopping for our new running shoes.  It was one of those typical chain restaurants that we normally wouldn't desire to go to, but I was hungry, which means I was cranky, and this place was close, so we chose it (I mean I chose it...Zeus just simply followed me).

I ordered a salad with grilled chicken.  Something on the healthy side that would stop my hunger pangs and keep me from yelling at Zeus for things like breathing or talking.  The restaurant was crowded so we had to wait a little longer than I thought necessary, but when the food arrived my irritation level went down a notch (maybe half of a notch).

The salad actually looked better "in person" than on the menu.  I started cutting the chicken with my knife, and it seemed a bit dry and tough.  I bit into it and it tasted more like cardboard covered in glue than chicken.  Hmmm?  I inspected the "chicken" more closely, then I realized it wasn't real chicken.  I mean, it was real chicken pieces "glued" together and formed into the shape of sliced grilled chicken breast.  This wasn't a "pure" grilled chicken breast by any stretch of the imagination.

I ate it because I was hungry.  I've had this cemented and shaped chicken before.  You usually find it in the grocery store in the lunch meat or meat section packaged as "pre-cooked sliced chicken, ready for warming and tossing into your favorite recipe" as if they (the chicken ranch) are doing you a favor and saving you time.  They are saving you time, and they are making sure your bones and muscles stay "cemented together" with the added glue and preservatives, so you should say, "Thanks Mr. Chicken Man!"

I started thinking about the chicken glue later that night, mostly because Zeus reminded me about it, then I started to worry about what is in the kung pao chicken I usually order from my favorite Chinese take-out place.  It is a flat, white piece of meat of some sort.  It never really tastes like chicken because of the spicy sauces, but I just assume it is.  They can flatten a plump chicken breast to the thinness of a paint stirrer using a meat tenderizer, so it isn't the thickness (or thinness) that bothers me.  Maybe it is the perfect shape of each piece of chicken that bothers me.  Let's face it, chicken pieces aren't perfect without help.

I don't want to dwell on this subject too much because I love kung pao chicken and I don't want to ruin it for myself.  It's just something to think about.  Pieces of anything can be glued together and shaped into "food."  Remember Soylent Green?  I'm just saying...

--Fortuitous Observer

Little Ghoul Baby

OK, It just might be official:  I may truly be a freak.  I've always had a vivid imagination, and I tend not to be scared of most things.  I am a horror movie fanatic and I love to be scared.  Truly, I do.  During my early adult years I became entranced with horror movies, especially those made during the early to mid-70s.  I enjoy turning off all the lights in my house, lighting some candles, and popping a scary movie in the DVD player while I sit with my head half under a blanket, watching these flicks that are sure to disturb the normal person.  I'm un-phased.  I don't even have nightmares.

There are things, however, that creep me out (snakes, spiders, roaches, people picking their nose in public, etc.), but I'm not afraid of them.  Let's just say I love to be scared, but I don't believe I ever thought I had an unusual love of the macabre.  That is, until a few weeks ago.

My boyfriend has known from the beginning of our courtship (do people still use that word?) that I am crazy about scary movies and I have a large DVD collection of these flicks, and he has always seemed to think this was cool.  I was "cool" until a few weeks ago.  Now I think I've gone from cool to creepy.

It started when we took a trip to the plant nursery and bought several additions for my front yard (I'm trying to brighten it up a bit in case I have to sell...remember, I'm still unemployed).  As we were digging the 2nd or 3rd hole for our newly purchased plants, I blurted out, "Wouldn't it be grand if we found a skull or some bones in this hole?"  I felt such an excitement flair up in me and as I was basking in this fanciful, disturbing thought of uncovering some sort of remains that I didn't even notice he had stopped digging.

When I looked up to see why he had halted the digging, I found he was looking at me with an odd expression on his face and he was simply shaking his head.  I think he was a bit scared of me at that moment.  I tend to blurt things out that may or may not be appropriate at particular moments, musings that just enter my mind, and I shrugged this off as one of those moments when I completely caught him off guard.

I didn't think too much about this again until we were watching a scary movie--a great Swedish vampire horror flick called "Let The Right One In"--and I made some comment about the movie.  I don't want to give any of the story away because I highly recommend watching it (I would suggest getting the Swedish version with subtitles rather than the dubbed English version - you can check out the trailer here:  http://www.amazon.com/gp/mpd/permalink/m2G0C4LE7XPH5G but finish reading my post first!), but there is a scene where a body is discovered in the snow.  I again made a comment about how interesting it would be to just be strolling along and finding a body in the snow.  That was a mistake.

A mistake because my boyfriend looked at me again with an expression of concern.  He shook his head, patted my arm (he really did pat my arm), sighed, and said, "Ah, my little ghoul baby."  Like I said, it just might be official...I am truly be a freak.

--Fortuitous Observer