Finished

Done. Totally done. Unpacked at the loft. Last box made it to the recycling bin. I am now completely moved in.

The first act of celebration? A ride on Mr. B to the Indie Café, where I encounter students, the more serious ones, congregating early Sunday evening to get their assignments in order. Me, I am done, finished, exhausted. No one will force me to crack anything tonight that would require effort, textbooks included.

A latte, leisurely sipped, nothing more. Done. Yes.

sushi, sex and chocolate

In the movie the 40 year old virgin, the protagonist flashes back to unsuccessful attempts at sex in his younger years. Circumstances (or, as Althouse argues here, powerful religious conviction) cause him to remain a virgin at 40.

It reminded me of Tonya, Ann and I setting out to see a show together. Our attempts were foiled by fate each time. The most dramatic illustration of this was when Ann decided to have a full blown collision, totaling her car on the way to a showing of Sideways last January.

Were we destined to never sit in a theater together? To demonstrate to each other who laughed the loudest? (Ann claimed earlier that she was a “laugh leader” in movie theaters. Ha. I say ha to that.)

Yesterday we made yet another attempt to join forces with the multiplex crowds of suburban Madison.

At first it did not look promising. One person picked a showtime at a theater on the far South side. Another argued that the crowds were likely to be more with-it on the West side of town. To which someone responded that we may as well fly to another city, as the crowds in Madison tend to be dead, regardless of which side of the compass you find them at.

That seemed extreme. We stayed in staid Madison.

Still, it was not a straight-shot to the comfort of plush chairs. When we arrived at the specified time, not a minute late thanks to the expert driving of the Person With the Leased From a Friend Car, it appeared that the show had started a good half hour earlier.

Did we give up? No!

When all is failing and you think fate is slapping you down once again, you, of course, go have sushi. It’s seductive, it’s sensual, it’ll set you in a giddy mood. (It was also close by.)











Our waiter, far from 40 and I’ll bet anything himself not a virgin, sings high praises for the movie. That’s a good sign. I wish he were in the theater raising the mirth levels to above tepid.

We make it to the theater. I manage to bring in a Godiva chocolate bar and a latte. How can you watch a movie about the pursuit of sex without filling your mouth with the creaminess of a solid piece of chocolate?

Maybe it was the chocolate that did it. Certainly it was not the tentative crowd. I haven’t laughed so hard in a movie in along time.

Mostly though, as for the Virgin in the movie, the spell of foiled attempts and no-shows for us was broken. Already, seconds ago, Ann sent this email: We should see "The Aristocrats" (recommended by our waiter).