rue-madame's Diaryland
Diary
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Filled with venom
At dinner the other night, Jacques mentioned that he�d never seen �Singin� in the Rain.� I was incredulous. Even people who hate musicals have *at least* seen that one! So, against my better judgement, I invited him to come with me to last night�s showing. What can I say, I was feeling magnanimous. The first problem with Jacques is that he is chronically late. Not charmingly or fashionably late, just maddeningly, predictably, horribly late. The showing was at 9:30 and we stupidly agreed to meet in the line at 9. I figured it�s a popular movie, the theater is smallish and if there was a long line for �The Pyjama Game� then there would certainly be an even longer one for �Singin� in the Rain.� So, at 9:15, there is no sign of him, and the line is starting to move, so I call his mobile and leave a voicemail that essentially says I�m getting my ticket and I�ll save you a seat. At 9:25 as I�m crossing the threshold of the theater, about to get to the ticket window, he calls me and says �I�ve just parked, where is the theater, blah blah blah.� So I tell him to run because I nearly have my ticket and long story short, I buy my ticket and go get a seat because I don�t see him. Once I�m seated, I realize my mobile is vibrating; I check it and there are 3 calls from him. Fucking hell! So I call him from my seat (which I hatehatehate to do) and he�s all pissy. This is the second problem with Jacques. He gets all pouty when things don�t work out exactly as he thought they would. �I thought we were going to meet in line. I don�t understand, I woke up late, realized the time, blah blah blah.� Aargh! I don�t want a fucking whiny explanation when the movie is 1 minute away from starting, goddammit! And sidebar, there were 2 totally cute guys who sat down next to me, the air was all electric with potential conversation, one guy�s elbow kept touching mine on the armrest--of course, that�s the moment Jacques decides to make his appearance! Such a buzz kill. The minute he sat down, I realized he wasn�t kidding about the waking up late. He looked like hell! And he smelled of whisky and cigarettes and unwashed sheets. I mean, ok, this is not a date, you�re just a friend, but for chrissakes, make an effort! Or just call and raincheck. I can take it. If that weren�t enough, he made little comments during the film that I frankly did not appreciate. So the movie was delightful as always, and I cried as usual. I was impressed that the French audience managed a tiny bit of applause after Donald O�Connor�s scene-stealing �Make Them Laugh� number. It made me a little homesick for the Castro Theatre and its loving, cheering and nostalgia-crazed cinephiles. This afternoon, Terence gets back from a design workshop in Poitiers, and I am hoping to wrangle him into seeing �An American in Paris.� He will appreciate the film�s qualities, I�m sure. Besides, Terence knows better than to make snide comments about something I have an unhealthy amount of adoration for. He is a straight guy who sings along to the West Side Story soundtrack! How great is that? (More Jacques bile: did I mention that the other night at dinner, he had no money to pay his half of the bill? He made a slow-mo turn to get up and... do what? Ask if he could wash the dishes? Ask for a favor from the barman? Instead of inquiring what he intended to do once he was on his feet, in a blur of speed and efficiency I pulled out my Carte Bleue and just charged it. I fucking despise people who become loris-like in their movements when the bill comes.)
2:36 p.m. - 2001-08-05
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