Believe it or not, I’m blogging on air
So. I went to Drag me to Hell as planned last night. But first, a related story. Actually first a little more about me.
I’ve always considered myself a big brother type to those around me. Women have been known to say they love me like a teddy bear, and the guys know I’m always there to help out. Moving on.
Yesterday, as previously mentioned, I went to help my buddy Colin. He was stuck in front of Curra’s by St. Ed’s with the front end of his car sticking out onto Lamar. I mean Oltorf. I’m always confusing the two. I ran out of the house to jump his car. We connected the cables, started my car, and he went to start his. Nothing. Let it charge for another 10 minutes. Nothing. Then another, maybe, 25 minutes. He kept telling me I was a super hero. I told him if I were a super hero, his car would be fixed and he would have been home by now. The car finally starts and I follow him home. The car dies on 1st and I leave my car in the middle of the road so I can help him push his around the corner into a neighborhood, then run back for mine. We let it charge off of mine for another 25, while he keeps reminding me I’m a superhero and I keep denying. I felt his pain, I really did. At one point, I think he would have broken down if I weren’t there. So I told him, to help cheer him up, I would take him to see Drag me to Hell. Obviously we didn’t make it that night, so I told him we would do it the next day-last night. He could bring his car to my place (if it would start), and we would let it sit with my car charger thingymajingy (I think that’s how you spell that) while we were at the movie.
Now Drag me to Hell. First off, when I go to a movie, although I prefer the Alamo Drafthouse experience, I sometimes go to Metropolitan, I like to get a movie hot dog. A moviedog as I fondly call them. I get in line and see the moviedogs dwindle in number. When it gets to my turn at the counter, I ask if there are anymore. The concession attendant (how’s that for PC?) tells me they just ran out, but he can microwave one for me real quick. Listen here, Captain Jackass. If I’m gonna pay SIX bucks for ONE hotdog, it better damn hell not be from a microwave. I want my full moviedog experience. I want it fresh and sweaty and greasy from that little hotdog sauna you’ve got running that hasn’t been cleaned since Chaplin made his first movie. So instead I just sigh and say I’ll go with a popcorn/soda combo, not wanting to look at what my other options are, since the movie was starting in less than a minute. I get medium, pay a ridiculous amount of money, and go watch the movie.
Drag me to Hell was great. Sam Raimi was on form with this one. I’ll warn you, as my friend Kristin warned me. Be ready for a loud movie if you go see this one, folks. After playing Ghostbusters for the past few days, or at least trying to, I had the mood set right. BTW, Ghostbuster can actually be scary at some points, so that’s cool. So with that mindset already in place, this movie scared me real goodlike. After the movie I walked out glad that I had to work that night, I sure as hell (HA! movie reference!) wasn’t gonna get to sleep anytime soon. I barely ate any of the popcorn, FYI, so I was a tad annoyed.
What did Colin think of the movie? I dunno. I forgot to call him.
That’s not something a superhero does. That’s more like a big brother.