Saturday, January 6, 2007

The Tragic Events of 9-11, etc.

We went to go see Oliver Stone's World Trade Center in a rather awesome cheap-seats downtown (7 pesos for 2 movies! They were pairing WTC with, uh, the Inferno or some kind of devil movie, which is somewhat hilarious, though possibly not as good as my United 93/Stick It double feature idea). Outside: typical semi-sleazy movie house vibe (John said he thought it was a, quote, "peeler joint", unquote). Inside: delightfully spooky, cavernous, kinda sticky old theaters that looked like they should be showing aging vaudville stars and fat burlesque dancers, not Serious Films about Tragedies. We could hear the click-click-click of the projector, which showed the movie in that fucked-up ratio that lets you see the boom microphone all the time. Next time, I'm getting pictures. Of the theater, not of boom microphones.

In other news, John and I spent the day on the bikes going to flea markets. I bought the kind of junk I usually buy, old magazines, old photos, old old stuff, and John, though it will shock you, bought records. Poor John is relying on me to translate for him in his quest for good Argentinean vinyl, but I swear I'm just making things worse. Ususally goes like this: "Spanish spanish spanish spanish I had that record yesterday but I sold it spanish spanish spanish explain it to him." And then some record dude and John looking at me expectantly while I go "uhhhhh..." Also at the flea market: a VHS porno entitled "10,000 Anal Maniacs." BWAH!!! I hope, I hope, somewhere out there Natalie Merchant isn't taking that too seriously. According to the box (snort) it's about a music critic who gets More Than he Bargains for when he interviews the members of an all-girl rock band who are also nymphomaniacs. Sadly, none of them were pale things in cardigans with dark sloe eyes.

Also, summer gym hours mean boxing only twice a week for me. Which means I really ought to go jogging. Which means I'm gonna spend a lot of time carping about how it's too hooooot to jog or it's raining or some bullshit, and then saying fuck it and getting some empanadas instead. Slow news week, kids.

1 comment:

sakistore said...

Ah, Emeline.
Leave it to you to shoehorn porn -- twice even -- into a post about 9/11 and music flea markets. Sounds like you've found your comfort zone there. Thanks for writing!