miss hollywood

“Do you want to take in a flick?”
“No.”
“Say, have you heard about that one with Sean Penn? It’s supposed to be good.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it. No, I don’t want to see it.”
“And there’s this really cool—“
“Spare me.”
“Say, we could rent the original Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.”
“I don’t have a TV.”
“You don’t have a TV?”
I don’t have a TV. I don’t go to the movies, either. I walked out of the first movie I ever saw at about age five (Uncle Remus and the Tar Baby—it wasn’t a new release) and the first TV show I ever saw at about age seven, a Shirley Temple Theater version of Rip Van Winkle. I’ve been walking out of movies and TV shows ever since, except for the three-year period in which I reviewed them for People magazine. I wasn’t allowed to walk out then, although I dearly wished to during the screening of the first Amityville Horror. I prefer my words and pictures to keep still.
But here’s the truth: It’s not that I don’t like the medium, it’s that I like it too much. I’m the perfect audience. I suspend disbelief and live everything on the screen, relate to every character (this is particlularly tough with the bad guy). My lips move when they speak, and my feet twitch when they run. It’s exhausting.
Yes, I have control issues. Like I don’t have much self control. Pass me a smoke.
Why I can’t stop today: I’m such a sucker.