Caring Is Creepy

I was due to participate in three seperate events tonight. Instead, I am home drinking beer and watching “Garden State.”

It’s been in my queue for a few weeks. But I kept shuffling the order of my deliveries. I wasn’t ready for it. Even when the postman finally delivered it, I put it off. I proctastinated. I watched “Dodgeball” instead. But tonight, it was “Garden State” or “We Don’t Live Here Anymore,” and I wasn’t in the proper head space for a movie about relationship dischord. A movie about feeling lost? I’m in.

The first function was kind of a happy hour set up by some ladies in HR. They emailed, then called and said, “Remember how I said I wanted to set you up with So and So from Such and Such? Well, we’re having drinks and …” Beep. I deleted the message.

The other event was a birthday party for my neighbor, Joe. And I should’ve gone. But it was at a wine bar in the Meat Packing District. Seeing as I have four hundred bucks to get me through the next two weeks — Con Ed, Time Warner, and all — well, I thought I’d better lay low. Happy birthday though, Joe.

Dinner with mom? Sorry, mom.

And so it is that I find myself with Andrew Largemen, looking for the Hollywood Ending.

The truth is, I don’t much believe in Hollywood Endings. In fact, I’ve lobbied pretty vociferously against them of late. In the “Which came first the music or the misery” argument I fall soundly behind “the music.” The Shins soundtrack isn’t likely to help anything. It can only make things worse.

Still, I wanted him to run back to her in the airport too, especially with Frou Frou seeping in through the speakers. I was happy when it worked out for ’em. For a story that takes an hour and forty-seven minutes to unfold, it’s an impressive ending. Life, fortunately, takes much, much longer. I’m figuring there’s time for at least, heck, at least 260,000, more movies of myself.

Tonight, though, I’m taking unimpressive. I’m okay with unimpressive. I sleep better.

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