OMG it's so hot! Well, yeah, happens every year. Maybe it's just a skosh hotter than usual this year: we've just had, I hear, Earth's hottest day in 125,000 years. But it's not like you'd really notice the difference. Anyway: so here's my thought process:
Even with the AC running, it's less than perfectly comfortable in the house. We only have half a dozen window units, three up, three down, and one of them doesn't work at all. Plus, we're like super cheap, so we only run them when it gets above about 95F, and only in the rooms we actually use -- the front room, where the TV is, and the upstairs back room, where the computers are; and the master bedroom at night. (We have a larger unit in the kitchen, but honestly, it's hardly ever worth cooling that down for the time it takes to wash the dishes or make a meal, unless of course it's a real hell of a meal; and that never happens. So I think that unit has been used maybe twice in ten years.)
I always think these thoughts and then don't follow through on them, but yesterday I happened to think it while sitting at the computer. So I pulled up a movie-times website, expecting to be utterly nonplussed by the narrow range of options available. San Antonio is, generally speaking, a cinematic backwater. The major theater chain here, Santikos, has like two hundred screens at maybe 35 locations, and they all show the same seven movies; AMC probably has 2 or 3 multi-screen locations, and they seem to copy the Santikos schedule. The local Cinemark theater seems to cater to the South Asian community, and shows movies in Hindi and Punjabi and I don't know what other languages. The last time I saw a movie in Hindi was at least 10 years ago (Shampu, if you're interested; I'll recommend it), and while that was a funny movie and an interesting look at Indian culture, I'm not generally in the mood for reading subtitles for two hours. Anyway, the point is: most movies don't ever play in San Antonio.
So I open the movie-time website expecting to see nearly 200 showings of sterile Marvel Universe drivel, mediocre franchise sequels and some non-Disney kiddie movies. That's been the usual summer assortment in this town ever since Iron Man first did whatever it is he does. Imagine my surprise when I found four -- count 'em, four -- films that sounded good. Okay, one of them was the new Indiana Jones movie, which I hadn't planned on going to see in first run because I'd heard bad things about it, but when I checked the Rotten Tomatoes ratings, which I swear by, the way I used to swear by Siskel & Ebert's reviews -- not because they're always right, but because when they're wrong they're wrong in predictable ways that lend themselves to successful interpolation -- I was surprised that the critical and audience ratings were pretty good. The other three were films I'd never heard of:
- The Sound of Freedom, about child-trafficking in Colombia, a movie which had, I kid you not, a 100% audience rating with several thousand reviews. That never happens. (Today I see it's dropped to 99%; oh, well, can't please all the people all the time.)
- Joy Ride, which sounds like a feminist version of The Hangover; and
- No Hard Feelings, which looked like a straightforward Rom-Com but with good ratings on both sides of the equation
All four movies were showing at multiple locations at appropriate hours, so I had a tough decision to make. I decided to think about it overnight, and marked my calendar to remind me, around noon today, to make a decision. Because I know myself: I'd procrastinate and finally decide maybe I didn't want to go out after all, and later I'd regret that.
This morning I decided not to go see Indiana Jones. I know my friend Roland will be interested in that one, and it'll be around forever ... first run, second run, streaming.... I think the chances of seeing that with someone to discuss it with are pretty good, so I'll pass on it for now.
Then I thought that I would leave my choice of movie up to chance, of a sort. I wanted to go have lunch somewhere, as there's "nothing much to eat" in the house, so I decided I would do that, and then decide which movie to see based solely on what I could get to without having to wait. And that's what I did. I procrastinated until nearly 1pm; but only after taking the preparatory steps of (1) having a shower, which would have been essential even if I hadn't spent a good chunk of the relatively-cool morning walking the dog and doing sweat-streaming housework; and (2) deciding where to go for lunch.
My choice for lunch was Basil's Mediterranean Kitchen, a reliably good place out in Loopland, easily accessible to all three movies at various theaters. I got there about 1:30 to find that Basil's is no more. Now it's a place called Sevin Mediterranean Kitchen. Ordinarily I don't go to restaurants until they've been around a while, but under the circumstances I figured I'd risk it.
Sevin is so new that when you do a search for the name, you get results for Basil's; but the waiter told me, when I asked, that it was absolutely not the same; where Basil's was, apparently, a sort of multicultural hodgepodge of Levantine cuisines, Sevin's is "more Turkish," and that "we like to think we do things just a little bit better." Considering how good Basil's was, that's quite a claim.
The menu may have changed; I don't know. As a matter of custom, I ordered a dish I was very familiar with. I always do when trying a new restaurant, so I have a basis of comparison. In this case, it was doner kebab. It's a simple dish -- grilled meat on rice. At Sevin, it was served with a side of grilled tomatoes and some very hot green peppers, one of which I ate and three of which I set aside; and with a salad of mixed greens. I was also given a basket of flat foccacia-style bread with a yoghurt-and-cucumber sauce.
Nothing was badly done or unpleasant. I will say that the yoghurt sauce was almost flavourless, and that the kebab was surprisingly oily, but not extremely so. The salad was dressed with oil and vinegar, liberally but again, not to excess. All in all, it was a good, enjoyable meal, though I could not point to any way in which it was better than Basil. Except for this: at the end of my meal, the chef (possibly the owner?) came by and asked about my experience, then presented me with a bit of lagniappe: a small piece of some kind of delicious cake encased in a wonderful coating of something that may have been chocolate and rolled in light flecks of coconut. This was absolutely wonderful. (She was, justifiably, proud of this little dessert. As she put it in front of me she whispered, almost conspiratorially, "I make this.") I don't know if they give that to everyone, or just those that she happens to interview, but honestly, it was one of the best things I've eaten in weeks. Longer.
As I finished up, I checked the list of movie times I'd written down and decided (finally!) to go see No Hard Feelings at the Quarry. I got there and into my seat while the commercials were running, so I whipped out my phone and read some emails until the previews. (Judging from the previews, no one in Hollywood has had a new idea since well before the pandemic. Sequels and rehashes are almost all we have to look forward to, though at least in one of them all the cast members are dogs. It seems clear that all the original thought these days is expended on what we used to call mini-series.)
No Hard Feelings doesn't involve original thought. In fact, I even found myself completing some of the clichés before the actors actually said them out loud. But it was, nonetheless, an enjoyable if improbable movie. There are just enough unexpected twists on familiar tropes to provide a rewarding level of humour. I was one of eight people in the matinee auditorium, and we were all laughing with some regularity.
Jennifer Lawrence plays a blue-collar 30-something in gentrifying Montauk, New York who works two jobs to not pay her bills. We learn she is overburdened by the high taxes on her home, caused by rising values due to the pernicious effects of wealthier people moving in and buying up the town. Like in San Francisco, or Austin. (We never learn why she apparently doesn't pay any of her other bills.)
Among those wealthier people is an unlikely pair of helicopter parents who offer a Buick to anyone who will "date" their matriculating son, a skinny, possibly autistic nerd more at home with rescue dogs. (Well, who isn't?) She, needing a car, decides to go for it, since she has, shall we say, plenty of experience with meaningless brief sexual experiences, and she really needs a car. The movie, of course, is about the change that comes over her through her experience with this much younger would-be man, starting, perhaps surprisingly, with a soulful rendition of a Hall & Oates song. She grows up.
Oh, if only life could be like the movies.