VIP!

I went to see Harry Potter last night. That wasn't even the exciting part. For months, Freya has been hyping the VIP seats she secures at Lowes for functions like HP movies. But I didn't press her for enough information, clearly. Let me paint a picture of the glorious experience of sitting in the VIP seats:

I sink luxuriously into the red leather arm chair and recline to just the right angle. My feet don't quite reach the floor, but that's ok because the chair is wide enough for me to sit cross-legged. In each cup holder, carved into the shiny wood arm rests, I have a pint of Blue Moon with an orange wedge foaming in the bottom. On my lap balances a tray of summer berries soaked in melting sorbet.

Movies, beer, and dessert. I felt like I would die of sloth as I pigged out on the contraband chocolates I sneaked in via my purse. I had enough room in my chair that I could curl up in a ball and unbutton my pants, just like at home!

Have you ever enjoyed a movie like that? In a theater? I strongly feel that I can never return to the common section ever again. I was tempted to tip my sorbet platter over the balcony so it would splash all over the heads of the little people down below, just to remind them that they weren't worthy. I am a Very Indulgent Person.

I would have to say that the only negative aspect of the entire experience was the movie-length:amount-of-beer-I-drank ratio. I just had to pee and, in my frenzy to not miss any of the film, ran as fast as I could to and from the bathroom. Unfortunately, on the return trip I wiped out on the stairs up to paradise and banged my knee. Luckily nobody noticed because they were engrossed in the Christmas scene at #12 Grimmauld Place, which I missed rolling around in pain on the sticky theater floor.

Best Present Ever!

I might wave it around while I work out watching Rocky II. Thanks, Mom!!!

Satisfied

Shelbie and I went to see Rocky Balboa. She was initially reluctant, not thinking the flick could be any good at all. That changed about 18 seconds into the opening credits. I'll tell you what. That Sylvester can still write up a tear jerker. I can't decide if I am more enamored by Rocky's undying love for his wife or his never-give-up competitive spirit. What an athlete! Though he would never say things in such improperly phrased English, Pete would love Rocky's "I didn't hear no bell" attitude. I can definitely see this movie (or really any from the series) as a pump up movie before a rugby match. I mean, look what the soundtrack has done for warmup cds.

So anyway, the sixth film was all I could have hoped it would be. I was pleasantly surprised. After Tommy Gunn, I was a little scared this one would be cheesy. But my official opinion is that it was better than Rocky II, not quite as good as Rocky I, and worlds better than III, IV, or V. And yes, I think almost anything at all is better than Rocky IV even though he trains in Siberia. I'm sorry, but chopping wood is nothing compared to one-armed pushups on a basketball when you are 60 years old. Rocky/Sylvester kicks ass.

The best part was getting to gush over it with Shelbie, whose heart was quite won over. I bet she is sitting at home right now watching the others On Demand and exercising in her living room. I know I will be in a few minutes...

Cup da Balls

Today is the day. It's Rocky Day. I desperately wanted to go yesterday to see the film on opening night, but my dad was not returning from his business trip and I couldn't convince any cousins or sisters or friends to go along. So today my dad is home but won't come with me because it's Pizza Night. I am not waiting until Friday. That's just too much. I'm going tonight.

But, to assuage my desperate longing to see the film yesterday I read a fantastic article in Philadelphia magazine written by Andrew Corsello. It's probably one of the best pieces of writing I've read all year. Mr. Corsello seems to incessantly mock Sly, and that's ok, because he does it with such style and grace.

Some of the highlights from the article, for me, are when he quotes Sly giving commands in his trailer years ago. He's getting a bj from a groupie and telling her to "Work da shaft" and "Cup da balls." The dialogue is placed next to a photo of Sly wearing a tweed suit, 70's hair flowing into the photo frame. Irreconcilable images. I freaking love it.

Several paragraphs later, Corsello writes of a prolonged pause, "and in that pause the ramps and levers of that huge mouth begin to move, as slowly and inexorably as those of a drawbridge."

He says Stallone has "mammoth and leathery tonsils" and eyes that are "as large, wet, and uncomprehending as a cow's."

If I ever get to use the phrase "leathery tonsils" in my career as a writer, I will feel enormously fulfilled. Andrew Corsello has mocked my childhood nurturer, but has done it so well that I find myself running around the house screaming "Cup da balls!!!" at my mom and wishing I were the one to have written that honest and wonderful article about the film that is sure to be fabulous, despite negative reviews. Rocky Balboa, here I come.

Yo, Adrian

I love Sylvester Stallone movies. I blame this on my father, but perhaps blame is too strong a word as I am happy with my fascination. I attribute this to my father, who would let my sister and I stay up entirely too late while my mom was at work. We would sit with him on the sofa and watch in fascination as this stubborn underdog would repeatedly defeat everything in his way while crowds of people cheered in horror and disbelief.

Right now, I am on a Rocky kick. I'm watching all 5 of the movies on demand right now. I watch them one after the other. Rocky IV is on in the background right now. He's training to fight the Russian. My heart is all aflutter. Just as Corey watches great cycling races while he trains indoors, I watch the Italian Stallion train as I work out in the afternoons. We do pushups together and I know that one day soon, I will do the one armed, legs spread pushups that he flies through with ease.

Some of the articles I have to read for my literature class attempt to deconstruct the masculinity in the Rocky movies, which I find distressing. Once I start thinking about them in analytical terms I can't stop. I start to wonder why Adrian ever fell for him in the first place, when his big pickup line was "Come up stairs and I'll clear you a place to sit on my sofa." I get worried that she stops wearing her glasses when he tells her she is pretty. How does she see? I freak out that the doctor tells Rocky Adrian is in a coma because she worked during her pregnancy and I get disturbed that Paulie is allowed to talk to her so harshly.

I don't want to analyze Rocky Balboa. I just want to watch him win despite all odds and march around my house dooting the theme song while I do dishes. I can't wait for Wednesday. Even if I have to go to the movies alone, I'm gonna be there when he defeats Mason "the line" Dixon.