An employee of a small town "liberry" chronicles his quest to remain sane while dealing with patrons who could star in a short-lived David Lynch television series.

Sunday, December 21, 2003

Lord of the Rings

Caught a matinee of LOTR: Return of the King on Saturday. It was a damn good film and a lot more faithful to the book than the last one.

Our viewing was only marred by a couple of teenagers on a date seated directly behind us. Three and a half hours of "That's just retarded" and "Oh, that's disgusting." In fact, I think the girl half of the dating couple said "Oh, that's disgusting" no less than fifty times during the course of the film. And their ongoing commentary was of a nature that could only aspire to the heights of wit and observational skill of the great critic team of Beavis and Butthead.

The only time they ever shut up was toward the end of the movie, when all the disgusting stuff had ended and the girl was too busy crying at the sad bits to say anything. The guy, of course, had no idea what to do about his girlfriend crying so he shut up too.

The incident made me realize something, though. I almost hate to say it, but I think I've now become one of those old people who used to turn around and stare at me and my friends whenever we got talkative during a movie. What's more, I now understand we were in the wrong then and those whippershapping, drugstore soda-fountain drinking punks behind us were wrong Saturday, by gum!

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