Montana Girl and I recently went to see the new movie Batman Begins and unlike most Hollywood blockbusters out there, this one worked for me but not for the action-packed fight scenes or the logic-defying special effects. What I loved more than anything else about this movie were the many quiet scenes where the title character struggled with morality and grief and fear and all the other dramatic feelings that accompany a dramatic movie. As we were leaving the theatre, I thought about my favorite action movies and how my favorite moments from those movies rarely involve a punch or a gunshot or an explosion but rather an ironic statement or a genuine and heartfelt expression.
Saving Private Ryan was praised by critics for its realistic depictions of the violent World War II but the one scene that I remember more than most occurred between battles. Captain Miller (played by Tom Hanks) sat in a deserted German-destroyed French town with Private Ryan (Matt Damon), doing his best to comfort Ryan after breaking the news to him of his brothers’ deaths. Ryan said he couldn’t picture what his brothers looked like and Miller said that was because they needed to be placed into context. Miller then gave an example of how when he wants to think of his wife back home, he pictures her in their backyard pruning the rosebushes. Ryan then told a story of his brothers and ended it by asking Miller to describe his wife and the rosebushes. Miller’s response was simply, “No, no that one I save just for me.”
A lot has happened to me in the last few weeks and because I’m a perfectionist who couldn’t quite think of the proper way to document the events of my life in my blog, I basically neglected to mention any of the events at all. And consequently, you’ve missed quite a bit lately, which I’m going to try to do my best to recap now.
For starters, thanks to some insider information from my coworker Soccer Mom (named as such because she’s totally turning into one), I took the plunge and awkwardly asked Freckles if she would like to carpool with me and The Doctor. After warning me about her “bad…I’m talking off-the-road-bad” driving, she eagerly accepted my offer and we made plans to begin carpooling the next week. And from the very first car pool conversation with her (that, incidentally, touched upon nearly every taboo carpooling subject), I knew I would be thankful of my decision to include her in my commuting world. Quite simply, she’s someone I already want in my life.
In other news, Montana Girl and I ventured to the disc golf course 30 minutes away a handful of times in the past few weeks and thanks to another player with whom we played a round one day (an older man by the nicknameless name of Xander), who taught me a proper sidearm throw, my game has been substantially improved; and thanks to my always reliable backhand throw, I was able to birdie the first hole of my life, which, to be honest, was a bigger thrill than most people would ever expect it to be. Shortly thereafter, Montana Girl’s employer treated the two of us to a free blues concert and VIP tent pass at B’town’s recent Jazz Festival. Despite the fact that I declined the chance to eat frog legs, I had a great time and got to hear awesome music.
A few days later, Sarah the L, Smoochie Poo, and I checked out a free Grace Potter concert but decided to leave early to avoid the inevitable 300-degree gymnasium evaporation. We then headed to a nearby softball field to check out a local women’s league softball game and quietly debated the homo-hetero ratio on each team. (My conservative 40-60 guess turned out to be a liberal one. In other words, there weren’t as many lesbian players as you would stereotypically think there would be.) We finally ended up at Sarah and Smoochie’s home where we ate some awesome homemade pizza and listened to Sarah play/practice/relearn her set-list for an upcoming open-mic performance. This quiet, private performance turned into an appropriate preparation when Sarah nixed her open-mic performance in favor of a quiet, public one on the Church Street Marketplace. For just over an hour that night, Smoochie Poo and I, as well as the Nomad, the Homeless Drunk, and the Paraplegic sat on the street and enjoyed some beautiful poetry told in sweet melodies.
And then the rains came and four days later, they have yet to cease, which I’m finding to be something placed perfectly between miserable and pretty. Every day feels like the moment before you’ve had enough time to learn whether or not someone is shedding tears of joy or sorrow; the world is crying, but why? And it makes me think back to all the confusing and mixed emotions I was feeling in the restaurant parking lot in the pouring rain that night. But that….that I’ll save just for me.
Benchly'sword 