Death of a Dream

As I sat at the Angelika, my elbow touching his I realized that wish I did for there to be some iota of lust left between us--it was only in my head--there truly wasn't. How can chemistry disappear? I'll tell you how: isomers! The shifting of some isomer had caused our stereochemistry to mysteriously vanish. Like Keyser Soze it was "Poof!" gone.

The movie--Death of a President--was blah. That's my best attempt at a review. I couldn't feel for any of the characters, unlike his perception, mine had nothing to do with the events being fictional and everything to do with the dramatization lacking drama. Also trite to call out the Muslim with a plot twist indicating that the black man was the real killer. Pick on a white woman, already! Bah.

But as I ate his popcorn and he accommodated my disdain of Coke with a Hawaiin Punch purchase, I found myself asking the same question in my head a hundred times over--WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?

If there's not chemistry and we don't have the closeness friendship breeds given the awkwardness of having seen each other naked more than a handful of times--what in the good Lord's name were we doing watching movies together on a bi-monthly basis. You don't talk during a movie. You don't catch up. You sit and stare at moving pictures in a dark room. How does that bring two strangers any closer to one another? Why do we do it--over and over again?