If they ever give an Academy Award to the best moviegoer of the year, I would have to be a nominee. No one enters a packed theater with more flair (or more popcorn).
"How about over here?" I ask.
I prefer aisle seats. In fact, I'm a little nutso about it. I'd rather plop down in an aisle seat up close than be hemmed in farther back.
My date, on the other hand, would climb over 20 people to secure two seats in the middle of the theater. Personally, I hate climbing over strangers. I fall in love too easily. To have me climbing over strangers is to invite heartache and restraining orders.
"How about that spot down there?" I say, pointing to the third row.
"How about in there?" says my date, pointing to two inside seats.
"OK," I say, and begin to climb past the other customers like a fat fullback chasing a fumble out of bounds.
"Whew," I say when we finally arrive.
"You OK?" asks Posh.
"I think I lost my pants," I say.
See, this is why I deserve an Oscar. I'm one of the few audience members willing to do nude scenes.
"It's really quiet in here," I whisper after we get settled.
"Not from where I'm sitting, it isn't," she says, giving me that glare.
I'm telling you it was creepy quiet. You know how everybody says movie audiences are rude and noisy these days? Well, not at this jam-packed Pasadena theater. In the movie's first quiet moments, there is not a peep -- no throat-clearing, no rustling of jackets. I'm pretty sure the rest of the audience has died.
Meanwhile, I crunch my popcorn self-consciously and try not to trombone the straw up and down in my drink. (I got the No. 2 combo, a half-keg of Coke and an acre bag of popcorn. Dropped from planes, it could feed both the Carolinas.)
"Shuuush," says Posh.
"I was just . . . ."
"Shuuuuuuuuuuuuuuush," she shushes.