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Down With Love
I was telling Miss J at the video store/art gallery, "you know what you need in here--a beer machine." She nodded knowingly, as if I'd just said, "ice is cold," and said if it weren't for all the complications of an ABC liquor license they would have a beer machine. I was returning two that I really enjoyed, The Good Thief, and Identity, and thought hey, while I'm here, mine as well get another one. This was Monday, they're closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, who knows when I'll get another Netflix (it is just as predicted, Netflix treats you really well in the earlier stages of your membership but they f you around a little as time goes by), and so I just picked up the first thing that caught my eye.
J said, "this is what you're getting?" I said, "yeah," and then noticed to my left the discreetly placed calendar reputedly full of semi-naked local men. "I'm glad you have this somewhat hidden in case one of God's little children should come in here."
J said, "I know, I feel like I'm running a porn shop now." We, the locals, both temporary and permanent, don't have just a whole lot of in your face local news to discuss so we are getting maximum mileage out of this little local charity effort which somehow found it's way to Good Morning America last week. J and I stretched the conversation about as far as it could go without a beer machine and then she said again, "so this is what you're getting?"
I caught the little bit of attitude in her voice this time, which was seeming to imply that my standards were going to hell in a handbasket. "Yeah J," I said, " this is what I'm getting, a light silly romantic comedy (Down With Love), so whaddaya?"
"Oh nothing," J said, "she (Renee Zellweger) was good in Chicago, did you see that?"
"Not yet," I said.
"She's good."
"Yeah, she's cute," I said.
Furthermore, I quite liked it, so shoot me, or, go shoot your ownself for that matter.