Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Last night I went to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith with my friend/ex, Sadie. The movie was good, mindless, fun, with sexy people. S thought she was Angelina Jolie aftwerward. I thought I was Brad Pitt until I looked into the bathroom mirror and saw Elvis Costello looking back (Pump it Up, Baby!).
After the movie we knocked back a couple Creemores and she told me the saddest story about her ex-roommate, who was madly in love with a cyclist, who was crushed by a garbage truck last year. Apparently he was way off the logical route for where he was going - they suspect he was taking a detour to scope out a house he was going to buy for them both, where he planned to build her a workspace. I can't even imagine that kind of loss (touch wood, knock wooden head), where the person all your dreams are built with and around disappears just as you're getting started. [Imagine if Mr. & Mrs. Smith was real, imagine all those folks they wasted, and all the lonely people they left behind. Naw, never mind, don't bother.]
After we got a little buzzed S and I talked about how everyone seems to live lives leaving countless things unsaid, like how her grandmother died and left her a desk, and in the desk was a note saying "I miss you grand-daughter, please visit." But the letter was of course unsent for many years, and she had never actually uttered such words aloud.