We just got "Ratatouille" from Netflix. That's on the agenda for tonight chez Sully. Beats parsing Nixon in a pant-suit on CNN. Part of me is curious enough to want to go see "Redacted" in the theater, but Aaron has come to hate something he once loved: the grimy, sticky floors, the rip-off munchies, the idiot with the cell-phone, the non-stop chatterers, the poky, ill-ventilated multiplex rooms, and on and on. John Patterson sums up my feelings pretty well:
I didn't have to rob any banks to fund my massive TV and thundering sound system. It wouldn't kill me to save up for a customised DVD projector with a 12-ft canvas screen and perfect clarity; I have a quote on one for just over $2,000. This would transform my living room into a private screening salon just like any studio mogul's, except that my guests can smoke, drink, make out, pause the picture and yell at the screen. NetFlix enables me to programme my bills as perversely as I wish without even leaving the house. And since I'm the boss-feller, the DVD dictator, the moviehouse Mussolini, I can unilaterally ban popcorn, which to my nostrils has a far more offensive odour than fags or vomit, and immediately eject idiots who leave their cellphones on.
Honestly, with all that available, why should I ever hit the multiplex again?
He means cigarettes, by the way.
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