And … roll ’em

Back in Colorado, Mary and Shop Boy were members of the Denver International Film Society, which, ahem, gave us free passes to see highbrow foreign things like, oh, “Pelle the Conquerer” and also, um, less sophisticated stuff like — dun-dun-dunnnn, “The Hand that Rocks the Cradle.” We didn’t ask questions. We just grabbed the passes from the mailbox and went to two to three movies a week.

Thus was born the “popcorn dinner.”

Shop Boy (calling from work): “What do you want to do for dinner? … That again? Yay!”

Well guess what’s for dinner tonight, folks.

Mary and Shop Boy are going to the movies. With all that’s been going on in the real world holiday- and work-wise, we haven’t had time for a date night in a good long while. What’ll we see? What else?

“Seven Pounds,” baby.

Hey, we’re letterpress printers — gotta see how those presses do in their co-starring roles with Rosario Dawson and Will Smith. Supposed to be a bit of a weeper, always an issue with Shop Boy around. But don’t worry. The popcorn’s usually gone before the opening credits, so it won’t get wet.

I’m not sure what it is, but Shop Boy gets so involved in these stories that I feel the cold, wet, gray landscape (“Pelle” … brrr) and cringe at the loss of a womanizer’s best friend (“Pelle” … guys, turn away …) or an impending impalement (“Hand”).

Anyway, I’ll let you know how it turns out … once I stop sobbing, I mean.

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