Adventures at the candy counter

It'd been a long time since I'd been to the movies on a Saturday night. I usually try to avoid them, as the crowds tend to remind me how much of the world's population I don't like. But it was a cold night, perfect for a movie, and Katie and I were determined not to let our sake-soaked dinner keep us from actually going out and doing something instead of dialing up something from those lying, thieving bastards at Comcast. So we headed off to the E Street Theater to see The Darjeeling Limited.

The E Street Theater is a fantastic place: nice theaters, and the best selection of movies anywhere. There's always something I want to see there. But they also kind of pride themselves on being...European. They serve beer and odd soft drinks and European cookies at the candy counter. It's kind of cool, kind of annoying.

Katie and I decided that, it being Saturday night and all, we were going to treat ourselves to some good old-fashioned movie candy.

"One box of Junior Mints," Katie says.

"Warmorcol?" the dude behind the counter asks.

"What?" I say.

The guy behind the counter looks at me like I'm the biggest idiot in the world and says, "Do you want them warm or cold?"

Maybe I missed something. I've been working a lot lately and have had to be a lot pickier about the trends I choose to follow, but since when did getting a box of Junior Mints include having to indicate how you wanted them prepared? And why the hell would anyone want their Junior Mints "warm"?

I answer him, "I dunno. Cold, I guess." The idea of getting "warm" Junior Mints wasn't appealing, partly because it was translating in my head as "warmed" and combining it with the theater's odd attempt at sophistication, I was imagining him popping them into a microwave and then presenting us with a semi-melted mass of mint and chocolate that we'd slurp out of a Japanese noodle bowl.

Instead, he reaches around to a small refrigerator and pulls out a box of Junior Mints and rings it up, his disgust at our lack of worldliness still clear. We walked away in a humored daze, wondering how we'd both traveled all over the planet, yet never were in a place sophisticated enough to offer their Junior Mints either refrigerated or at room temperature.

It didn't get much rest at first, the headboard banging in the night

This morning, instead of my being woken up as usual by Carl Kasell at 7:00, my alarm clock was my downstairs neighbor having Unbelievably Loud Sex at just a little before 5:00. If there's anything more unappealing than the sound of the beeping electronic alarm waking me up, it's the sound of Someone Other Than Me having sex.

In other news, I seem to have a new downstairs neighbor, and his name is apparently Eric, which is short for "OH ERIC!" I'm not sure what her name is, because he wasn't making any noise at all. It might be tempting to think that this is because he's a gentleman and, unlike his girlfriend, doesn't try to impress by being as noisy as possible, but this is wrong. He's as noisy as possible in every other way: the TV and stereo going at high volume through the night ("Look how impressive my sound system is!"), the friends over constantly and loudly ("Can you believe how many friends I have?!"). But no sounds of sex from him, which I'm assuming is not because he thinks he should keep it down a little at 5:00 am, but because he didn't want to talk with his mouth full, which I guess is mannered enough.

All this, of course, begs the question: what the hell are they supposed to do about it? How much are we (note optimistic use of the word "we") supposed to be concerned about how loud our sex is (I mean we as a people; not you and me. Well, depends on who you are) and use pillows to cover our mouths and hold back so as Not To Be Too Loud? On one hand, it seems to be asking a lot of control to be considerate of the neighbors at a time like that, and we've all had our moments of not being considerate of the neighbors if you catch my drift (which I sure hope you do by now). But on the other hand, why does sex always get a free pass? Why are we supposed to put up with our neighbors waking us up at all hours and couples putting their hands down each other's pants on the Metro just because we're made to feel like prudes for objecting to something that's as potentially as inconsiderate as any other loud and fun activity that we really should try to lower the volume on between midnight and 7:00 or take somewhere a little more private? Before you answer any of those questions, ask yourself if you'd feel the same way if the subject was masturbation ("Oh, Eric! I'm so good to me!").

Why am I writing so much and so bitterly this early? Well, because I was up at 5:00, remember? I think I'm going to go eat a bowl of cereal which will taste SO GOOD that I may just have to jump up and down in my heaviest boots on my bedroom floor.

Them fires of crazy

I've said many times that one of the greatest things that happened to crazy people is the hands-free cell phone ear piece. In the last few years, my first reaction to seeing people walking down the street talking out loud has changed from "they're crazy" to "they're talking on the phone". People moved to converse to/with themselves are free to do so with less glaring in their direction.

But then there's times like tonight on the metro when, standing next to a woman who I heard quietly saying things like, "I'll never go there again" and "Rosslyn. Get off at Rosslyn", I assumed that she was talking on the phone only to realize that, no, she was just muttering to herself! I actually heard someone talking to herself! And not just a phrase or two but an entire conversation/monologue! I actually got a little excited at this development. It's been a long time since I saw someone who was well-dressed and seemingly well-adjusted showing some entertaining signs of schizophrenia. I think the last time was when I saw an straight-laced office type walking down King Street in Alexandria saying in a voice just under a yell, "I'll kill every goddamn one of you." You couldn't buy tickets to that quality of crazy.

I really hope these people are alright. Seriously I do. But my life isn't tremendously exciting, and to personally witness this kind of stuff that I usually think you couldn't make up is a little bit of a thrill in my day. I hope you won't deny me that.

Next door to Fort Killyouassoonaslookatyou

As though we needed further proof that most people are incapable of thinking things through, there's a photo in the interesting album of photos submitted by US troops in Iraq that identifies one of the US camps as being named "Camp Slayer". Now, maybe it's named after the band, and maybe they figure that no one will translate it, and maybe it's no big deal to anyone because the base is on the site of a former presidential palace, but how the hell did it not cross the mind of anyone responsible for this that maybe, when you're trying to "win the hearts and minds" of the local people and you're struggling to not be seen as an occupying force, it's a really really bad idea to call one of your bases "Camp Slayer"?!

It's a little scary to wonder how many other military decisions are being guided by the theory, "Dude, that would totally RULE!"

Strange And Stupid Things People Do #1

In a long-running series of series that never get past the first installment, I would now like to introduce the first installment of a series called Strange and Stupid Things People Do. This series, which will soon be a reality show on Bravo hosted by Jane Kaczmarek, examines human behavior in the city of Washington and attempts to understand the miracle of how human beings have been able to cobble together something resembling peace and order in spite of our inclination to conformity, stupidity, cruelty and stubborn refusal to think anything out or even look eye-to-eye with simple logic.

Today we will be looking at what experts refer to as the "Second Door Phenomenon", a strange habit that you can observe in any building that has two doors side-by-side. Approximately 90% of all subjects (note: numbers not scientific or real in any way) will, instead of going through the door that is closest to them, is in their path or, say, doesn't already have another person going through it, will go through the door that is open. People are so conditioned (read: lazy) to just go through the door that's open that rather than using the door that they were heading for in the first place and using the tiny amount of strength that it takes to operate a door, that they'll shove in front of and around people coming the other way, go in through out doors (which is only charming and acceptable in Prince songs) and create no small amount of chaos and irritation.

Please: just go through the door that you were heading for. Just because a door is open doesn't mean you should go through it (which sounds like a nice life analogy that I'm sure is applicable to something somewhere).