Last night, I'd hired a babysitter, and I had a few hours to kill.
I tried to use this time in an intelligent way. "Kiss of the Spider Woman" received meh reviews--and I just can't imagine Jennifer Lopez has the skills to carry that movie. Meanwhile, the "worthy" Leo DiCaprio film seemed daunting. Who has three hours of sharp attention to offer on a Friday night?
I chose "The Conjuring: Last Rites," because audience scores were pretty high. I thought, however bad this movie might be, it features Vera Farmiga, and it's always a smart idea to watch Vera Farmiga. But the movie turned out to be among the worst of the year. I couldn't stay awake. Vera was amusing, as always, but what a dreadful, lazy, sentimental script. The ticket was just south of twenty dollars--then, of course, there were the fees for the babysitter, the planning work and the negotiation of an extra childcare hour, and the sleepy drive back to the house.
So I feel for Bart Simpson. Early in the run of his show, he gets a chance to purchase a vintage "Radioactive Man" comic book. Is this really the right purchase for a little boy? Will it hold his attention for years and years? To collect one hundred dollars, he volunteers to be an indentured servant to his deranged neighbor, Mrs. Glick. But she abuses and underpays him. It's only when he teams up with his friends Martin and Milhouse that he can acquire the comic book--through "cost-sharing." But the terms of the agreement are cloudy--and paranoia sets in--and the three little boys end up destroying the thing, the printed booklet, that they claim to love.
As I contemplate my mediocre, expensive evening, I feel grateful for Bart Simpson. I feel he "gets" me. We're all doing the best we can.
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