For those
of you who have read from the very beginning (and if you have, you need to get
on heavy psychological medication), you’ll probably realize that I’m not the
most refined human being on our fine rock here.
I’ve never looked at a piece of art and had it change my life, nor have
I ever been brought to tears after looking at a painting of a soda can. I had always just sort of assumed that those
who did appreciate those sort of things had spent too much time at art museums
or attended too many poetry readings (heard one the other day about the Easter
bunny origin though…now THAT was a classic). So imagine my genuine surprise
when I found myself truly moved (and not in a bowel sort of way) at a recent
trip to appreciate an art form.
My wife
had been trying to get me to go see a movie with her and our daughter. I had
come up with ways of avoiding it, from having stomachaches and headaches to
believing I had a collapsed uterus (which as a guy, was exceptionally difficult
to pull off), but finally I had run out of excuses. She decided that we were going to go see the
new Lego movie (about blocks of plastic that stack on each other, presumably).
I remained quiet and simply practiced being in a vegetative state as we
travelled to the theater. I was not
thrilled with the current status of things.
My wife
bought the tickets and asked me where I wanted to sit. We were still standing
at the ticket counter and I began to wonder if perhaps she was a little too
excited to see a movie since we were not even in the theater and she was asking
where we were going to sit…Silly girl.
But of course, I was wrong. On a screen right in front of the ticket
counter was now displayed a seating chart and I was asked to select my
seat. I just shrugged and pushed a
series of buttons in an attempt to get some sort of video game to start. My wife, having come to her senses, stopped
me from pressing buttons and selected the seats. I handed over my credit card and the
ownership papers to my left kidney (the prices of movie theater tickets seems
to have increased dramatically in ten years).
My attitude towards the situation had not changed.
So I sell
my right kidney at the concession stand in exchange for popcorn, a hotdog and
drinks and we march into the movie theater. It was at that moment, ladies and
gentlemen, that I fell in love with art. For we arrived at our seats and there,
like seeing the image of the holy grail on a piece of toast, I collapsed and
wept. The seat upon which my unworthy but was about to rest was, in fact, a
recliner. All the seats were. And a
small table that moved and adjusted location depending on your every
table-moving whim! I had seen my salvation…and it was good.
The movie
itself, was inconsequential. It was some
story about everything being awesome and a Lego construction worker having the hots
for the same girl as Batman and a super duper sofa or something. But the chair…oh the chair, was the single
piece of architectural advancement that allowed this cynical, old, and
warped-minded fool to appreciate art in all its faux leather and wooden
glory. I now am excited to go to movies…well,
not driven to immediate fits of “I don’t wanna”-ness. Yes, friends, movies are
art and I am now an Art-Lover! Bring on the paintings of tin cans and ugly people
screaming. I will appreciate it…providing I can sit in similar chairs, maybe
with cup holders and perhaps heat and a massage button. Dare I dream?
Well, off to the movies.
I heard they have a new movie about some kid who can use magic while attending
some wizard school. I wonder if he’ll…
Be Good or Be Good At It!
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