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One of my favorite memories of the downtown Alamo Drafthouse is the Lord of the Rings feast. I went to the very first one in 2005, the day that the Bitter End caught on fire. I happened to be parked directly in front of it at the time, but the policeman assured me they wouldn't let my car burn up. (It didn't, but the transmission died the next day.)
I went again in November 2006. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and a rare Saturday I didn't have to work. Everyone was out of town, my family was sick and I was pretty lonely. It had been hard in the year after my divorce. Going to see the films all on the big screen and eating the giant delicious Hobbit feast was going to be a spiritual, solitary moment for me. Because I am a huge dork, I was down there very early in the morning and was the first person in line. I stood there for about an hour reading my book, sunglasses on, as people slowly lined up behind me.
At some point, a guy walked up to me and asked if this was the line for the LOTR event. I said yes, and went back to my book. The guy just stood there next to me. I looked at him sideways, wondering what his deal was. Either he was brazen as hell to cut at the front of the line, or he was just clueless. I told myself not to pick a fight so early in the day, so I didn't say anything. I did notice he was looking at everything but me.
Eventually, this guy realized his grievous error. He apologized hastily and started to step out of the line. Some impulse I can't explain caused me to take my next actions. I told him, "Hey, you've already been standing here for fifteen minutes. Why don't you just stay?" He thanked me, and we talked briefly before the theater opened up. I went on my merry way and found my perfect seat for twelve hours of spirtual communion with Tolkien and Peter Jackson and the stories that colored my childhood.
Not long after I settled in my seat, the same guy from outside approaches me. He introduced himself and said all his friends were out of town so he was here alone and would I mind if he sat next to me? Again, some impulse I can't name caused me to say okay. Inwardly I grumbled a little that some stranger was disrupting my solitude and might distract me from the movies. We talked a little, but he thankfully didn't say anything during the films. I threw myself completely into the screen and ignored everything else.
During the intermissions we talked. About the food, about the Alamo, about Austin. He was a transplant, a graduate of OU and from South Carolina who came here to work. He was currently taking fencing classes, was a geek boy who can program, play video games, and wanted to build robots as a child. Strangest, craziest of all, he was teaching himself Russian for fun. The look on his face when I told him my degree was in Russian and Czech was priceless.
I had my spiritual moment, after all. I cried all through the end of Return of the King, the way I do every single time I see the film. I sat through all the credits, wiping my nose and wondering what I could say to the guy sitting next to me. After all, it was a little too strange and coincidental to meet someone who would go to a LOTR marathon and wanted to study Russian. We eventually walked outside, and he asked if he could take me to dinner sometime. Being a consumate dork, I gave him my email and my LJ name instead of a phone number.
Mike and I have known each other for seven months as of 6/25/07. I think I really fell in love with him at the 80's power ballad singalong at the downtown Drafthouse in February. It seems strange, and sometimes I staggered by the chances of the universe. We went to the Drafthouse last week, for the last singalong in the downtown space.
Goodbye Drafthouse. I'll miss you all summer. I'll miss your stairs and the parking not too far away. I can't wait to see your new space.
The Alamo Blogathon page
I went again in November 2006. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and a rare Saturday I didn't have to work. Everyone was out of town, my family was sick and I was pretty lonely. It had been hard in the year after my divorce. Going to see the films all on the big screen and eating the giant delicious Hobbit feast was going to be a spiritual, solitary moment for me. Because I am a huge dork, I was down there very early in the morning and was the first person in line. I stood there for about an hour reading my book, sunglasses on, as people slowly lined up behind me.
At some point, a guy walked up to me and asked if this was the line for the LOTR event. I said yes, and went back to my book. The guy just stood there next to me. I looked at him sideways, wondering what his deal was. Either he was brazen as hell to cut at the front of the line, or he was just clueless. I told myself not to pick a fight so early in the day, so I didn't say anything. I did notice he was looking at everything but me.
Eventually, this guy realized his grievous error. He apologized hastily and started to step out of the line. Some impulse I can't explain caused me to take my next actions. I told him, "Hey, you've already been standing here for fifteen minutes. Why don't you just stay?" He thanked me, and we talked briefly before the theater opened up. I went on my merry way and found my perfect seat for twelve hours of spirtual communion with Tolkien and Peter Jackson and the stories that colored my childhood.
Not long after I settled in my seat, the same guy from outside approaches me. He introduced himself and said all his friends were out of town so he was here alone and would I mind if he sat next to me? Again, some impulse I can't name caused me to say okay. Inwardly I grumbled a little that some stranger was disrupting my solitude and might distract me from the movies. We talked a little, but he thankfully didn't say anything during the films. I threw myself completely into the screen and ignored everything else.
During the intermissions we talked. About the food, about the Alamo, about Austin. He was a transplant, a graduate of OU and from South Carolina who came here to work. He was currently taking fencing classes, was a geek boy who can program, play video games, and wanted to build robots as a child. Strangest, craziest of all, he was teaching himself Russian for fun. The look on his face when I told him my degree was in Russian and Czech was priceless.
I had my spiritual moment, after all. I cried all through the end of Return of the King, the way I do every single time I see the film. I sat through all the credits, wiping my nose and wondering what I could say to the guy sitting next to me. After all, it was a little too strange and coincidental to meet someone who would go to a LOTR marathon and wanted to study Russian. We eventually walked outside, and he asked if he could take me to dinner sometime. Being a consumate dork, I gave him my email and my LJ name instead of a phone number.
Mike and I have known each other for seven months as of 6/25/07. I think I really fell in love with him at the 80's power ballad singalong at the downtown Drafthouse in February. It seems strange, and sometimes I staggered by the chances of the universe. We went to the Drafthouse last week, for the last singalong in the downtown space.
Goodbye Drafthouse. I'll miss you all summer. I'll miss your stairs and the parking not too far away. I can't wait to see your new space.
The Alamo Blogathon page