Every so often I like to talk about life. So, this weekend, the following happened:
I went to see the new movie Seven Psychopaths. The first miracle about this was I convinced my mom to go. This is a woman who’s favourite movie is The Sound of Music. Surprisingly, she chuckled at a few parts, but the general blood and gore wasn’t her cup of tea.
Sitting three seats down from me was a homeless guy. This was my first experience with a homeless person in a movie theatre. It doesn’t happen all the time in Toronto, but when it does, it’s… interesting. He cracked open his beer can as soon as the lights dimmed and, when he wasn’t getting up to go ‘somewhere’, he was laughing at every single murdered person on screen. Otherwise, he didn’t bug us. I felt too nice to get up and move and the only odour coming from him was the beer.
I couldn’t help but wonder, what brought him there? How many movies had he seen in the past while and, perhaps, maybe, just maybe, this was one of the first ones he’d been to in a long time. He’d chosen to go watch Seven Psychopaths, a film not necessarily ensured to better the judgement of someone in questionable mental health. Maybe some good Samaritan said, ‘hey, this homeless guy will just spend my money on booze, I think I’ll give him a movie ticket.’ If only I could talk to that person and tell them how much the man truly enjoyed this act of kindness.
Attack of the Doorframe
I broke my baby toe this weekend while innocently walking around the corner at my mom’s house. It really hurt and it’s now changed colours. Nearly impossible to walk to work this morning, I took the subway one stop and limped the rest of the way, not before a fellow coworker, who I enjoy walking with, passed me by.
This isn’t the first time this has happened, and no, I don’t mean just toe-breakage. Literally. I have broken the same toe three times on the same wooden doorframe in my mom’s house. I should know by now, but it always remembers when just enough time has gone by to make me forget the lethal corner. One split second, that’s all it takes…
The Walking Deaf
One of my favourite things is when I send a text with a typo in it. Those few seconds from when the viewer reads my text to when I can convey the correct message are gold. Texting in my haste about The Walking Dead’s fourth (and effing fantastic) episode last night, I accidentally sent ‘The Walking DeaF’ message to my man. Foreshadowing for later on, watching the show, my mom yells at the TV ‘why don’t they all just kill themselves’, instead of living in such misery. Good question, Tanya, I call my mom sometimes by her first name. They must all be deaf to ignore some valuable instructions from my matriarch.
The show last night was a mind blowing doozy of an hour. I won’t give too much away because it was only last night, but watch it, if you can. I have my opinions. Will link this to a future post.
Don’t I love social media? Tweeting my ambiguous comments to work friends during the show got me through…
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