I don't mention enough what great friends I've had in my life. I spent some time this weekend with a few of them. My friend Ben and I drove up to Salt Lake to watch Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story which turned out to be a pleasant experience all around. In addition to being extremely funny and a snappy dresser, Ben is always good for some old-fashioned erudite conversation. Our topics of discussion range from science fiction novels to theater and art, from nerdy games to thoughtful social criticism. We enjoyed the film immensely. I love going to the Broadway theater in SLC because the audience always seems to be very engaged in whats going on. There was a lot of hearty laughter all around us at the wacky, rather dry humor of the movie, and that really added to the experience.
Afterwards, we felt like going someplace nice-ish to eat, so we drove around downtown Salt Lake looking for culinary options. He nearly embarassed me to death when we pulled up along side two girls in a sports car at a red light. I know Ben well enough to expect that, in a situation like that, I really don't know what to expect from him. Fortunately, he was able to control himself and merely gave the girls “the eye” which I don't think they noticed. If he had rolled down the window and said something to them, he would have officially been a “scrub” (according to the definition given in that great artistic song “No, I Don't Want No Scrubs”) plus he would have made me blush furiously. Thanks for sparing me that, Ben.
We ended up at a rather quaint Italian restaurant which tried very hard to create a doting Italian mother atmosphere. They take you through the kitchen before seating you so you can meet the cooks. The walls are filled with black and white pictures of “the old country.” It was quite crowded, which is usually a good sign. While impressed with the atmosphere, Ben and I found ourselves a bit disappointed with the food itself, and especially with the length it time for us to get it. Still, the wait provided more fruitful time for us to discuss issues of great import, so we didn't complain too much.
Something rather amusing happened before the night was done. After dinner, we were scheduled to pick up our friend Say Jay at her cousin's house in West Jordan or someplace like that and bring her back to Provo. As the co-pilot, Ben was placed on the phone with first Say Jay and then her cousin in order to receive correct directions to her house. Ben ended up on the phone with the cousin, a complete stranger to us, for long stretches of time while I drove to the next turn or exit, etc. To pass the time he began to chat with her in quite a Ben way; i.e., slightly flirtatious and sarcastic. I encouraged this by feeding him some lines in this manner:
Ben: So what kind of cousins are you two? First cousins? Second cousins?
Matt: (whispers) Kissing cousins!
Ben: Kissing cousins?
(Both boys laugh hysterically)
Such nonsense seemed ok because we assumed that the cousin was Say Jay's age, single, and receptive to such funny shinnanagins from two attractive and ultimately super nice boys. Indeed, nothing in her responses over the phone indicated this assumption to be incorrect. We were enjoying ourselves immensely (except that I really had to pee). Imagine our chagrin, then, when upon arrival Say Jay's cousin turns out to be an older, very exhausted looking mother of a newborn baby sitting next to her husband! Ben later expressed to me his mortification, which I shared.
I have suddenly realized that this is one of those stories that loses most of its appeal when it is described. Trust me when I say that, at the time, we found it very funny.
The rest of the weekend was spent in various fun ways. I spent most of Saturday filming a no-budget movie I have a part in. That was fun. Saturday night my brother was working and my roommate was shaking his groove thang in Salt Lake so I was bored out of my mind. But I watched “Brighton Beach Memoirs” and ate snacks before crying myself to sleep.
On Sunday I spent some time at grandma's and a lot of time with my roommate, who I will miss dearly when I have to leave. We watched “The West Wing,” which only has a few episodes left before its over for good, and thats very sad. It was, as always, extremely good. Then my friend from high school Will called me and it was great to hear from him.
All in all it was an eventful weekend.
I never wanted my blog to become a glorified journal. I guess it is today. Here's some poetry to mitigate that a bit, courtesy of my dear friend Oscar Wilde:
Each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard.
Some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword.
Some kill their love when they are young, some when they are old.
Some strangle with the hands of lust, some with the hands of gold.
The kindest use a knife because, the dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long, some buy and others sell.
Some do the deed with so many tears, and some without a sigh.
For each man kills the thing he loves, yet each man does not die.
Yeah. So.... don't think of this post as "disjointed." I prefer something more along the lines of "postmodern."
Afterwards, we felt like going someplace nice-ish to eat, so we drove around downtown Salt Lake looking for culinary options. He nearly embarassed me to death when we pulled up along side two girls in a sports car at a red light. I know Ben well enough to expect that, in a situation like that, I really don't know what to expect from him. Fortunately, he was able to control himself and merely gave the girls “the eye” which I don't think they noticed. If he had rolled down the window and said something to them, he would have officially been a “scrub” (according to the definition given in that great artistic song “No, I Don't Want No Scrubs”) plus he would have made me blush furiously. Thanks for sparing me that, Ben.
We ended up at a rather quaint Italian restaurant which tried very hard to create a doting Italian mother atmosphere. They take you through the kitchen before seating you so you can meet the cooks. The walls are filled with black and white pictures of “the old country.” It was quite crowded, which is usually a good sign. While impressed with the atmosphere, Ben and I found ourselves a bit disappointed with the food itself, and especially with the length it time for us to get it. Still, the wait provided more fruitful time for us to discuss issues of great import, so we didn't complain too much.
Something rather amusing happened before the night was done. After dinner, we were scheduled to pick up our friend Say Jay at her cousin's house in West Jordan or someplace like that and bring her back to Provo. As the co-pilot, Ben was placed on the phone with first Say Jay and then her cousin in order to receive correct directions to her house. Ben ended up on the phone with the cousin, a complete stranger to us, for long stretches of time while I drove to the next turn or exit, etc. To pass the time he began to chat with her in quite a Ben way; i.e., slightly flirtatious and sarcastic. I encouraged this by feeding him some lines in this manner:
Ben: So what kind of cousins are you two? First cousins? Second cousins?
Matt: (whispers) Kissing cousins!
Ben: Kissing cousins?
(Both boys laugh hysterically)
Such nonsense seemed ok because we assumed that the cousin was Say Jay's age, single, and receptive to such funny shinnanagins from two attractive and ultimately super nice boys. Indeed, nothing in her responses over the phone indicated this assumption to be incorrect. We were enjoying ourselves immensely (except that I really had to pee). Imagine our chagrin, then, when upon arrival Say Jay's cousin turns out to be an older, very exhausted looking mother of a newborn baby sitting next to her husband! Ben later expressed to me his mortification, which I shared.
I have suddenly realized that this is one of those stories that loses most of its appeal when it is described. Trust me when I say that, at the time, we found it very funny.
The rest of the weekend was spent in various fun ways. I spent most of Saturday filming a no-budget movie I have a part in. That was fun. Saturday night my brother was working and my roommate was shaking his groove thang in Salt Lake so I was bored out of my mind. But I watched “Brighton Beach Memoirs” and ate snacks before crying myself to sleep.
On Sunday I spent some time at grandma's and a lot of time with my roommate, who I will miss dearly when I have to leave. We watched “The West Wing,” which only has a few episodes left before its over for good, and thats very sad. It was, as always, extremely good. Then my friend from high school Will called me and it was great to hear from him.
All in all it was an eventful weekend.
I never wanted my blog to become a glorified journal. I guess it is today. Here's some poetry to mitigate that a bit, courtesy of my dear friend Oscar Wilde:
Each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard.
Some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword.
Some kill their love when they are young, some when they are old.
Some strangle with the hands of lust, some with the hands of gold.
The kindest use a knife because, the dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long, some buy and others sell.
Some do the deed with so many tears, and some without a sigh.
For each man kills the thing he loves, yet each man does not die.
Yeah. So.... don't think of this post as "disjointed." I prefer something more along the lines of "postmodern."
Comments
DO YOU NOW SEE WHY I TOLD BEN HE WAS BEING ANNOYING?! DO YOU NOW UNDERSTAND WHY I WAS GETTING FRUSTRATED?! DO YOU NOW KNOW WHY I KEPT ASKING HIM TO BE QUIET AND WHATNOT?!
Ok, granted, I should have told you that Emily is a married and a rather larger sized new mother... but it sliped my mind! And I honestly didnt think that Ben would flirt with my cousin when *I* was there to be flirted with! (Lame excuse, I know).
But, after all was said and done... yes, it was quite amusing. In ways. The whole part of the evening that I got to witness, at least. SJ