I like to seek solace in escape -- and in the forbidden. Since no such comfort was being offered from any other source, I gouged myself out of the cabin on the hill, drove the Japanese chariot to Crown City, ensconced myself for five hours in a dark theatre and treated myself to images flickering on a large screen.
The story for "Out of Time" was no better than a 2-episode "NYPD Blue" arc -- except that it offered the eminently enjoyable DenZEL. I'd be happy to watch that man pump gas -- preferably mine. I often remember the year I was working on the same lot as he (CBS on Radford in Studio City) during his last "St. Elsewhere" days -- whenever we'd cross paths, I'd wonder from what heaven he'd been dropped.
Got a large bag of popcorn to accompany my viewing -- forbidden in my eating program, but, hey: how often do I drown my sorrows in puffed kernels soaked in faux beurre?
The Diet Coke kicked in in the last act, and I wasn't yet ready to leave Paseo Colorado's movie house...so I got the free popcorn 'n' beverage refill, and on my way to the Ladies', checked for the next available screening. "Underworld" at 7:10, "Under the Tuscan Sun" (which you loyal readers will recall I'd seen at a press screening) at 7:50. Under the influence of caffeine, I opted to steal a seat in "Underworld", and was underwhelmed after 15 minutes. While it had a sexy, dark "Matrix"-like look I liked, it gave me no story to hang onto -- the limp opening voiceover that wanted to pass for a setup sounded very much like so much "Blahblahblah"...after the first vampire vs. werewolf shootout in an unidentified subway system (looking much more like London or New York than, say, the BART), I just didn't care...I was outta there. A good-looking film with no story is as unsatsifying as fucking a hot guy with no brain or sense of humor. Quelle waste of time.
Still too Coked up to leave the cinema sanctuary, I slid into a perfect center seat for my second helping of Diane Lane's luminous, humorous portrayal of a divorcee reclaiming life and love in Italy. Didn't matter that I already knew each beat of the story; the deliciously cinematic, warmly drawn paean to hope and romance turned out to be just what I needed to refocus and refuel.
Except for one more forbidden dip: a single scoop of the best coffee ice cream in this here county, at Buster's on Mission in South Pasadena. The smiling guy behind the counter dished up a little extra for the redhead with the waning blues, and his small kindness -- plus the luscious confection -- did the trick. Tonight's a chilly night not quite right for frozen desserts, but I licked happily as I window-shopped on near-deserted Mission and ducked into the Videotheque, where they display their DVD rentals by director, star, or country of origin. Better than a candy store -- so much I must see, and revisit. I really need a DVD player. And a laptop. Oh, yeah, and an income.
On my way back to the mountain, I had to switch on the heater for the first time since -- when? An evening in April? In a bit, I'll snuggle in my cozies and burrow under the comforter...and dream about what I can chisel out of tomorrow.
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