Saturday, March 05, 2005
Not waiting by the phone. The phone's in a whole other room.
Okay, I've pretty much decided the chuck the "no dating until I know what I'm doing" resolution. Aside from my friends convincing me it's a stupid one, not having much to do Friday and Saturday nights is just boring. And I want to eat out. Not that I can't do that now, but it's no fun to do on your own, and on my salary it's easier if someone else pays for it, anyway. And we've established that I'm a miserly freeloader.
I actually tried to "accidentally" run into Chet again on Thursday, figuring that if he saw one artsy Japanese movie at the Brattle, he'd see the next, but if he did, it wasn't at the 7:45 show. Of course, it's not like there are that many people like me and Kate who go out to four movies a week. For all I know, he hit his limit Wednesday.
Speaking of Kate, I saw her last night. We went to see Be Cool, since we'd both purchased the Get Shorty DVD with the ticket attached, and figured if we were going to use it, we might as well use it on the most expensive show possible (Fridays and Saturdays after 6pm are $10.25 at Loews Boston Common). Not the world's greatest movie, but it should establish The Rock as a bona fide movie star - the dude is funny. Hot, too, according to Kate, but I'm sort of in one of those grooves where I just say, yeah, he's in pretty good shape. It's cyclical or something, because I know there have been times when I have responded to a good looking guy. I guess it's just a case of the hormone content of my brain.
She's still kind of freaked over the whole Alan/Carter thing. She bumped into him in the laundry room the other day, and it was evidently awkward as all hell. She says he did the shuffling forward like he wants to apologize thing, but stopped, because he knows that doing that will just lead to a rant on how an apology is just a pathetic response. Which Kate admitted was exactly what she would have done.
She asked me if I'd had any luck, and I said, well, I did mean a guy at the Brattle on Wednesday, and he said he'd never had any involvement with the transfer of consciousness from one person's body to another. She was like, my god, you actually asked him that. And I was like, sure, why not? After all, if anything were to hypothetically happen between us, better he finds out sooner rather than later. And, besides, wouldn't you remember someone who asked you that question?
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Met a guy yesterday
Not that that's anything terribly unusual; one meets people every day, and statistically half of them are likely to be male. It's the chatting and exchanging phone numbers and stuff.
I met him at the Brattle Theater; I'd gotten off the subway at Harvard Square so that I could do my Wednesday-night comic book run before seeing a movie. Since I had a little extra discretionary income this week, I looked through the manga a little more than usual, eventually picking up the first volumes of Planetes and Cheeky Angel for different reasons. It left me with a sort of in-between amount of time - not enough to get a bite to eat, but enough that I had some time before the movie.
I took my usual seats front-and-center - well, not my usual ones, there were people sitting in those, so I wound up in the second row and slightly to the right. It is, I think, sort of an unspoken rule that if you have a choice the the matter, it's polite to choose a seat such that those seats in the four basic directions are not occupied by someone outside your party. This also makes it easier to read subtitles if you're like me and tend to slouch in your seat somewhat.
Anyway, I had ten minutes to kill, so I fumbled in my bag for a comic to read, and the guy behind me (and to the left) leans forward and asks if I'm a big Japanaphile, since we're seeing a Takeshi Kitano movie and the first thing out was Cheeky Angel. Not particularly, I say, I like movies and comics generally.
Ah, he says. Mind if I use a line?
You're pretty, smart enough that you're seeing an arty Japanese movie instead of Are We There Yet?, and have an attractive tomboyish streak with the Batman comics, so how come you're coming alone?
Ah, I say, that is a line. Quite honestly, I say, my ability to trust is shot all to hell.
I'd just like to point out that I'm eminently trustworthy.
Well, I say, who says I'm talking about not being able to trust others? I realize as it comes out of my mouth that not have I somehow fallen into flirting, but I'm doing so in a racier manner than I'd planned. Great, I think, he's going to look at the smart stacked brunette and figure she's easy pickings.
Fortunately, the lights go down, and I think, maybe he'll forget about me in a couple hours. But, no, I stay through the end of the credits, as is my wont, and he's still there. He says his name is Chet, I say I'm Marti, and we start walking in the same direction. He's actually kind of funny, and good-looking in an unassuming way. He turns one way at JFK Street, though, and sees I'm about to cross, and so we exchange numbers then.
As he's walking away, I call his name. "Chet," I say, "I know this is a really weird question, but have you ever had your mind transferred from one body to another, or been involved with that in any way?"
"No," he says, "is that a problem?"
I give him a smile, like I'm joking, and say it has been in the past.
"Well," he says, "I can see where the trust issues come from." He waves.
I feel good enough to temporarily forget I haven't eaten since lunch, and keep walking home.
Monday, February 28, 2005
At least Kate's talking to me
We did the Brattle's Oscar party thing last night. I was quite pleased to see Million Dollar Baby beat out The Aviator in the big categories; I've got my issues with the former's subject matter, but I think Clint Eastwood made a much better movie than Martin Scorcese.
I was kind of underdressed, by which I ironically mean that I was wearing more than most of the other women. But, hey, it's winter, and I'm pragmatic about such things, so I was wearing sneakers, cords and a sweater, with my hair in a ponytail, while Kate showed up in her Little Black Dress with her shoulders and shins bare. And heels, of course. Okay, I realize that she only had to walk from her subway to the theater, and she had her coat, but I'd rather be ready to deal with the elements should the heat go out or I wind up having to lend my coat to someone less practically-attired. I know, I should expect to be the lendee in such cases, but it's weird finding out exactly which old habits die hard. I like looking good as much as anyone, but I never got the hang of dressing up.
Anyway, the experience showed that even independent film enthusiasts can act like obnoxious sports fans when primed with the proper amount of booze. Hissing Ronald Reagan during the "In Memorium" segment or The Passion of the Christ whenever does not give you the appearance of being smarter or more sophisticated than the "red staters", people. Quite the opposite. And groaning when they cut to the footage of the technical awards ceremony just marks you as ungrateful. The guy that invented that telescoping crane made just as worthwhile a contribution to the movies as the costume designer, even if it's not as sexy an accomplishment.
Besides, really, if you look at it from the right perspective with a dirty mind, that telescoping crane is damn sexy.
Anyway, how girly is making comments over the stars' appearances? Because Kate and I were doing it, and I was cool with it. I realize it's not the sort of thing I would have done (out loud) in my previous life, but there's a little comfort in fitting in with the other girls. Still, I wasn't doing it in quite the way Kate was. Seeing Jake Gyllenhaal without much in the way of hair didn't realy impact how much interest I had in potentially having sex with him, I just thought it made him look goofy. On the other hand, Halle Berry had me licking my lips, although that seemed to mostly be a reflex reaction; there was no accompanying between-the-legs sensation. And, yeah, I confided in Kate that Natalie Portman's dress scared the hell out of me. I would fall out, I just don't trust my command of my own body enough not to.
Which was good, safe conversation, and we mostly avoided the bar to avoid wandering into unsafe areas. Not entirely; she mentioned that she felt stupid for last week and the preceding month, but I said not to. In a weird way, I said, her being attracted to my old body made me feel good, like I would have had a chance with her if things had gone differently a couple years ago. "Yeah," she said, "that would have been awesome. Is that a lesbian thing to say?" I told her that trying to come up with an answer to that question made my brain hurt.
And, though I didn't say it out loud, a little sad. She's a great girl and if she and Martin-me had met... Of course, that's a wacky might-have-been - it presumes me not having my mind moved to a new brain, Martin-me not moving to Seattle, who knows what going on with Maggie.
Still, what-might-have-beens don't have to make sense.