Dearly Beloved shook his head when he read yesterday’s post about the iPhone saga.
“I’m a freakin’ buffoon,” he said. “I used to think you were a good writer. Heck, you’re just a stenographer.”
“You may as well start calling me Arlo,” he continued, referring to the Arlo & Janis comic strip with which he often identifies– when he isn’t feeling like the old fart in Pickles. He polished off his poor pitiful routine by looking around the room for imaginary hidden candid cameras.
Later, we went to an evening movie–unusual for us since retirement, but this theater has no matinee. There is one showing for three nights only, Monday through Wednesday, because it’s mainly used for plays. It isn’t used in the daytime because there are city offices around it within the same building.
It’s a very unusual theater.
The theater has been around since 1858 and another one stood on the same site 50 years before that. They show films that don’t make the mainstream theaters.
(This one–Mao’s Last Dancer– was truly wonderful. Both of us enthusiastically recommend it.)
We sat on the first row, left side, in the balcony. (That’s DB there on the end in the first photo.)
I took along my latest knitting project–another sweater– because I knew we’d be early and I’d have a little time to knit. I’m trying to make a sweater for each of our five grandsons and I’d like to do it as soon as possible because the smaller the boys are, the less I have to knit.
The lighting was good, so I was able to complete a few rows before the feature began. Since I was in the middle of a sweater row when the film started, I kept on knitting. DB leaned over and whispered, “You’re NOT going to do that during the movie, are you?”
I finished the row and dropped the whole project onto the seat beside me. Unfortunately, the yarn ball dropped in the crack between the folded seat and the seat back. I leaned over and picked it up, but it had caught on the fittings that join the seats and I’d apparently picked it up on the wrong side, making it even worse. Throughout the movie I kept trying, unobtrusively, to untangle it, but doing the opposite.
When the movie ended and the lights came on, I immediately dropped to my knees in the small space between the seat and the balcony railing to see if I could unsnarl it. DB was astonished at my dip. As the other theatergoers filed out, I lay with my butt in the air and my face against the floor, trying to see the mess I’d made. My husband stood in the aisle, his ass on his shoulders.
The reason I pointed out the age of the theater earlier is that the space between rows is tighter than in regular theaters. The only way I could really see it would have been to stand on my head. My knees were already up to my chin and my arms with squinched up against my body.
DB couldn’t resist offering a few words about the wisdom of dragging my knitting around with me everywhere. With a decisive yank, I broke the yarn. It would have been a more impressive gesture had I not needed his assistance in pulling me up from my wedged position.
As we trudged up the aisle, DB gestured toward an anxious woman who was practically dragging two ushers with flashlights over to where he husband stood mid-aisle. He was apparently marking the spot where they’d sat.
“She probably dropped a knitting needle,” my husband wisecracked.
I limped down the stairs and out to the car without a word.
Arlo, however, seemed to have added a bounce to his step.