Two weirdly theatre-related things happend to me recently: a dream and a regret.

The Dream:

I am sitting in a large theatre just left of the screen with Sharkboy. The theatre is filling up and suddenly there’s a cartoon short playing before the main feature. I love these. I wish they’d bring them back or at least make trailers more like them. Would you not remember a clever short film about a movie better than your usual cookie cutter trailer that starts with “In a world…”? I use the hard-done-by sabertoothed squirrel from Ice Age and Ice Age 2 as an example. Recently Apple Trailers have been releasing the first 5 minutes of certain movies as teasers, which totally rock.

Anyway. In my dream, during the short, people are still milling about and talking in the theatre, ignoring the film. I yell “Get down!” and “SHHH!” a few times but to no avail. I’m getting pissed. Sharkboy is getting pissed. Out of the blue a woman sits next to Sharkboy and hogs his arm rest. With a flourish, he gets up out of his seat and says “If we get seperated, I’ll meet you by the entrance.”

He makes his way through the people wandering in the isles, up the incline to the back of the theatre. Pause. “BLAAAT! BLAAAT! BLAAAT!” The fire alarm has been pulled.

Brilliant. If he can’t see the movie, nobody can. I wake up smiling.

The Regret

During The 40 Year Old Virgin, there was a young couple down and to our right who insisted on talking through the movie. That was sort of ok because they were too far from us to actually bother us. It was the phone call she made during the midway point in the show that got a crowd of people yelling at her. Me included. “Shaddap!” “Sssshhhh!” “Do you mind?!” etc.

She finishes the call and looks over at the couple sitting directly in front of us. “What are you looking at?” she whines, like a 5 year old school yard bully.

“A rather stupid young girl,” the man says.

She remains silent until near the end when she opens her phone again close to the climax (ha!) of the movie and makes like she’s going to make another call. She doesn’t but her blue glow made me miss a couple lines. Damn her.

Now here’s the regret: I worked out in my head that I was going to get up early and run down to management and tell them that there was a couple in the theatre recording the movie, give her description and sit back and watch the fun. “We could clearly see the blue glow from their camcorder!” Given the current sketchiness of theatre managers these days, they would have stopped her on her way out, detained her and checked her purse and *precious* phone. But she left before the movie ended. Dang!

I ate a bug this morning while walking Sharkboy to work.

It flew into my mouth before I knew what was going on and bypassed my tounge and went right into my throat. I could feel it bounce off the back of my epiglottis and instantly I swallowed out of habit. Wiggle. Cough. Swallow. Gone. Over in seconds.

Yeah. Slow blogging day.

The Beeb has announced an “adult, sexy” spinoff of Dr Who to be aired late night after the boozers come back from the pub. Called Torchwood (an anagram of “Doctor Who”), it will showcase Captain Jack, the omnisexual character who gave The Doctor, Rose and The Tardis a big wet kiss last season. The Beeb reports it will take place unabashedly in Cardiff. Just near the moors. And Stonehenge.

(from Slashdot)

I’m taking things to the Dry Cleaners this morning.

I AM AN ADULT NOW!

I have recently discovered that I can make chicken soup. I’m pretty darn good at it. Its the only thing I know how to make that involves boiling the crap out of all your ingredients. How very English. Now if I could only make Nachos soup. That would be cool.

90% of all my underwear have a hole in it somewhere. I am comfortable with that.

I kill plants. Last night I went to bed with my orchid soaking in water. Squishy was only suppose to soak for 15 minutes and wound up swimming for 7 hours. When I took him out of the bath this morning, a leaf fell off. Not good for an orchid. O’Reilly, the shamrock, looks incredibly ratty for some reason and I don’t know why. Dad has moved to South America for a month and was the only person who could save him.

I am totally in love with Devil Girl from Mars. It is like The Day The Earth Stood Still meets Coronation Street meets Mars Needs Women, but the alien is a woman, she’s evil and the pub she frequents is bigger.

And I have to agree with Ms Notwellplanned. Corrie suddenly got very very good. I’m loving Katie’s blurty guilt freaks. And the hypno-ex-boyfriend. HAWT!

Reminder to Sharkboy: we need to make vacation anklets and gay crap like that.

Me ‘n the boys decided to check out Hooters before the movie last night. Before you go all Camille Paglia on me, we were vindicated for our bad judgement in restaurant choices by the bill at the end: $35 for two orders of wings, onion rings and pop. I guess we were paying for the view, which was totally lost on us.

When we arrived, I had to use the loo pretty bad. I dump my coat and head over to the mens, avoiding the waitresses doing their best “Windowlicker” poses at me. I do my biz in a stall and as I am zipping up, I turn to find this scrawled in fairly fresh marker:

“TED HEELY SUCKS DICKS IN HELL”

Not the exact spelling of my name, but unsettling none the less. Since I was the first of our group to venture to the john and none in our group were the tagging types and I had not ever set foot in a Hooters before, I sussed that the author probably meant some other Ted.

Briefly I thought maybe my old boss might had done it, since Rogers iMedia old offices were close by but no, that was nearly 4 years ago. I went through my list of paranoid suspects and came up with nothing.

Still that was pretty close.

I go back to the table and the guys are picking out gay people in the bar, including bisexual women dragged to the restaurant by their boyfriends.

Steve Buzcek’s Onyx Ball was, as usual, a bearful place to be for hirsuit and the affectionate who love them. While there was your slightly less than average twink population, the crowd was still diverse and the music wasn’t offensive (MLT contest was still better). A good mix of leather and denim, shirtless and thankfully clothed. The staff at the Opera House genuinely seemed to be happy to be serving you, not like the Government where the droids you hand your money over to don’t thank you for your tip or crack their perfect faces with a smile.

It was your usual decor of balloons and dollar store streamers. The drag show rumoured to start at 1am never happened by the time we left closer to 2am. Will I get a discount on the next ball?

In all, I’d give it a 3 out of 5. Not super, not bad, just familiar. It was satisfying but not a “Ball” in any sense of the word.