In an act of bravado, my wife and I went out last night to see a movie. A grown up movie. Inception. I was stoked because of the positive buzz in my social media streams. 

We each knocked off work early to rendezvous at home and head out. She picked a theater in a fancy part of town and we arrived early to grab some appetizers at PF Changs.  But there was an hour wait.  So we went to Dean & Delucca for some equally overpriced fare.  Strangely, it too was packed. On a Thursday. Recession over? 

Anyway, after slamming an apple bacon and leek sandwich and some imitation crab rolls, we arrived at the theater. And it was packed too. The reason for the crowds, we learned, was the opening of a Pinkberry – which attracted hundreds of people who braved 100-degree temperatures for some free yogurt or something. Most of these patrons were teenagers who we realized were also here to see Inception. 

As we settled into the movie, I was struck with the odd feeling that my seat was not clean. I couldn’t shake this, and it caused me to sit in an uncomfortable (but sterile) position the entire time. 

For the first half of the movie, I was completely into it. The concept, as complex as it appeared, was easy enough to follow. But then everything changed when they delved into inception. At that point, I felt people around me falling away. Cell phone lights lit up. People started talking. Some tried having whispered phone conversations. 

I was distracted and missed what I guess was one important line of dialogue that set up why the movie went from being solid to being a cross between The Matrix, Memento and Rambo. 

From now on, everything on Netflix. 


Jim Mitchem/@smashadv

Posted via email from 300 Words

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Jim Mitchem

Writer. Father to daughters. Husband. Ad man. Raised by wolves. @jmitchem on twitter. First novel, Minor King, out now.