We Saw

It was one of the last nights for the Wyoming Drive-In. Last for us, certainly, but the gravel hillocks were still populated with brave souls on lawn chairs, wrapped against the chill November night. The Drive-In's response to our turning from the sun was simply to move from three movies a night to four. In high summer, when the sun sets late, the first shows begin around 9pm. These November nights, however, bring shows at 7:30pm, 9:30pm, 11:30pm, and either a 1:30 or 3:00am, depending.

Alexis picked me up from work, and we'd both looked at the movie schedule. My vote? Chicken Little...Alexis? Saw II. After the pizza, I whined all the way down 94, but insisted that we see Saw. Ugh, my faith in humanity is shot.

At a drive-in, you can pull back a bit and distance yourself from the movie, and I spent most of the time with my glasses off, my iPod on full blast, digging chocolate-covered pretzels out of the ice cream, and loudly asking:

"What's happening?"
"Is she dead?"
"Why'd he do that?"
"Is he sad about what he did?"
"If people really got killed like that, you'd see their x-rays, right?"
(Her response: "Well, dead people don't come to the ER.")
"Did he die by burning or by smoke inhalation?"
"Is she a bad guy?"
"Whose knife is that?"
"What's that noise?"
"What happened before?"

The windows were open, and the guys getting high in the next car must have been *pissed*.


As a side-note: Why, I ask, in Dearborn, Michigan, with the River Rouge flames licking up into the far-off night, in a mini-mart where the black men and the Arab men stare daggers at one another through the bullet-proof glass, why is the only Ben & Jerry's available "Chubby Hubby?" This is not a good ice cream. You'd better have a strong spoon because you will be spending your next hour digging the pretzels out of the goo and flinging vanilla/caramel/fudge-swirled hunks out the car window. Sheesh.