Is there some type of athletic event going on this evening? Is it the one with five people in shorts who attempt to throw a sphere into a circle? Or is it the one with nine men in a field who chase a ball?

Then I vacuumed the living room which sorely needed it. The dust bunnies had long ago become dust hares. The cats were a tad miffed that I took so long.

Around four, I headed out the door to go see "Gosford Park." I figured I had plenty of time for the 4:30 showing. "Silly Boy" I was. First there was a wreck on the frontage road, so I couldn't turn where I needed. I had to go several blocks up and turn back. And come into the theatre from the other side. Next, as I approached the theatre, I realized there were several hundred people milling about in front of the ticket counter.

The line moved very slowly, and I heard that "Snow Dogs" was sold out, so people were trying to figure out what else to see, thus holding up progress. I finally got my ticket and raced in.

A couple of years ago, a new theatre came to town with stadium seating, so Northpark decided they'd better follow suit. Hence they renovated and placed stadium seating in the back of each theatre and left the first rows more or less as they were. Well, of course, every seat in the stadium section was taken, so I wound up on the fifth row from the front, which also placed me about two feet below the screen. Which is a great place to be if you have a nasal hair fetish.

This was one of the small theatres, so there was only a single aisle on the right with all the seats aligned to the left. So to get to my seat I had to climb over people most of whom seemed to be unaccustomed to the concept of allowing people to pass.

I moved to the last seat against the wall and angled myself, so that I was looking across the screen from the right bottom. Not my favorite position. But I grudgingly settled in. Everything went along swimmingly for the first hour, until I realized I needed to go to the bathroom. I waited and waited. And finally decided I could not wait any longer. I grabbed my coat and starting crawling over folks.

"Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me! I need to get by. Sorry. Opppssss. So sorry, you didn't really like those shoes anyway, did you! Pardon. Do you like that leg, sir? Well, if you don't fucking move it, you may never see it again. Madam, I am so sorry, I'll never know how my hand got on your bossom. You! Put that umbrella down!"

OK, a little hyperbole! I staggered into the aisle, lurched for the door, then skidded toward the men's room. This particular men's room looked like it was last cleaned right before Bush was elected. I considered leaving, but opted to return and STAND in the aisle.

My thought is that Altman was not so much attempting to parody the English-country-house-murder-mystery as he was in using its conventions for an analysis of the English class and caste system. So it is not a comedy in the strictest sense although there are some funny lines. Nor is it a murder mystery.

One point that crossed my mind as I watched the drawing room scenes was how boring such a life must have been. A boredom built of class, money and status.

More thoughts on this to come on another day.

PAX!