2005-02-15 - 12:01 p.m.
My lovely wife and I watched a couple of movies over the weekend
The first was “Open Water” a low budget flick, supposedly based upon the real events of a man and woman who are left behind in the ocean while on a Caribbean scuba dive. I spent an hour and a half watching these 2 people suffer miserably as they bob up in down in the water and constantly ask each other “what should we do?"
"I dunno. What do you think we should do?"
"I dunno...”
I won’t ruin the movie, but let me say these 2 geniuses die in the end.
Oh wait, that does ruin it. I’ll try and remember to re-write that last paragraph before posting as not to give away the ending. Maybe I’ll write something about a very young and surprisingly trim looking David Hasselhoff rescuing them just in time for the big beach party/orgy. There’s a shoot out with space aliens too. Watch it with the kids.
Anyhow, I found the movie disturbing, as my lovely wife and I have many times gone out on those tourist dives and never once thought about what to do if left stranded in the middle of the ocean.
Up until now, my biggest concern while on vacation was running out of rum and sobering up before the vacation is over. .
Now, thanks to this wonderful cinematic event, I’m terrified of going back out in open waters. I’m debating on changing next year’s vacation plans from St. Johns, to the safer, less shark filled tropical paradise of Arizona.
My wife wasn’t affected in the least by this movie. She simply stated that if it was us out in the middle of the shark infested water, she’d sacrifice either one of my pudgy arms or legs to the sharks and then paddle my lifeless carcass back to shore a-la canoe style. If the weather was right, she might even try hanging ten and surfing my dead, bloated body back to the sandy, rum filled beaches and promptly find a younger and richer 2nd husband.
She was completely serious.
I am definitely not going back into the ocean with her. Hell, I might not even take her to Arizona.
The other movie we watched was a flick called “BARK”.
“BARK” is the endearing story of a beautiful young couple who find themselves facing the emotional and all too common problem that many of today’s working families wrestle with each and every day. Namely, the wife thinks she’s a dog.
A dog.
A fucking dog.
You know: Woof-Woof, hump your leg: D – O- G: Dog.
The movie is a drama. I shit you not.
I won’t bore you with the details, but skip right to money shot at the end where the husband decides not to fight it, and keeps his wife as a dog in their NY City apartment.
The closing scene is a birthday party for the wife dog, where she gets a cake decorated with dog bones. She barks happily.
I know I will never get the 90 minutes of my life back, but once again, it did allow me to see deeper into my wife’s’ nurturing nature and loving mind.
I told her, that if that was me, and she went doggy-crazy I'd be very sympathetic. “I’m sorry honey but I’d ship you off to the mental ward, but I’d make sure you had the best mind altering drugs available. You’ll spend the rest of your doggy life living in a euphoric doggy drugged state. You’ll have happy hallucinations of spending your final days having steamy, perverted menage-a trois's with Snoopy and Marmaduke.”
She calmly stated that she wouldn’t do that to me. Nope. She’d keep me at our house.
I was touched, comforted and also a bit surprised to think that if I ever go completely insane she’d still keep me and look after me personally.
Not quite. She amended her statement to “I’d keep you here, as in “Not wasting my money, but rather keep you at home, tied up in the backyard with a rope.” She might even have her new, richer, younger husband build me a little dog house, and if I was very good and stayed off the sofa, maybe even a little kennel run.
Once again, she was serious.
Great, next weekend, I’m picking the movies.
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