Bend down the branches

Saw Inglorious Basterds with Janelle last night. I had some passes I wanted to use, so we drove to the mammoth Showcase Cinema in Lowell through late summer mist and joined the throng of moviegoers, young and old. It was evident, once we took our seats, that it was feeding time at the farm. Throughout the entire theater, the sound of chewing, of gnashing and gnawing, the crinkling of wrappers, the grunting and groaning, coalesced into a new sound, unpleasant and otherworldly. No, we were not at the cozy and subdued Somerville Theatre we've grown accustomed to attending. The gluttonous behavior of these pigs at the trough did not abate until well into the film. A snapshot of the America we're slowly becoming.

Despite being grossly outnumbered by swine, we were still able to enjoy the film. Tarantino is a master of his art and it shows. Unlike so many other films, some of them good, he never telegraphs where the story is going to go. He defies convention, at least as it concerns story arc, and that makes for a good time at the movies. Great dialog, acting, score -- everything was top notch. I want to see it again. This time it'll be at the Somerville Theater.

Seeing the movie with Janelle was a treat. Whenever we see one together, we always have in depth discussions about it afterward. To me, it's an essential part of the process, as it is when considering any work of art, but, unfortunately, I haven't found many people who agree. I'm lucky having Janelle in my life; living with her has made me even luckier. She is top of the shelf, that one.

Earlier this evening, I walked down to Starbucks in Davis Sq., purchased a peppermint white chocolate mocha latte, and took a seat in a big, soft chair by the fire place. I read from A Shadow In Summer. Near me were a couple of young ladies with their laptops out on the table, one of them had a helper dog at her side. I love helper dogs and always want to pet and hug them, but I can't because you're not supposed to. It even says so on the the sign they wear on their backs.

The girl whose dog it was kept having to tell her friend not to pet it, but it was apparent she was having difficulty refraining. I knew how she felt. So did everyone else who came walked by the dog. If they don't want anyone petting them, they should allot only ugly, mangy, dogs for the purpose. Sorry, but you're asking for trouble when you employ Golden Retrievers and other utterly cute and cuddly pooches as helper dogs. I'm just saying.

Tonight: music, music, music; A Shadow In Summer; Six Feet Under; laundry, perhaps.