Asheville Citizen-Times 08/25/2014 –
When did my life get so bland that a trip to the video store is a dose of excitement?
(Photo: Special to the Citizen-Times)
Somewhere along the way I turned from Mr. Excitement, Mr. Ben and Jerry’s hundred-plus flavors, into Mr. Vanilla. How’d that happen? “Excuse me,” I ask at the ice cream counter, “is that fat free? Sugar free?” At a bar, “I’m looking for alcohol-free beer.” At a restaurant, “Is the lettuce rinsed? Wonderful, I’ll be totally bacteria free.”
These days my idea of a big time is watching reruns of “The Andy Griffith Show” and sipping a decaf, zero-fat, extra foam, ultra-skinny, mini-latte.
What happened to those gallon-of-beer nights with a steak that was so rare it galloped to the table, followed by a wedge of cheesecake that supersaturated my arteries in one sitting? When did I become so, ah … delicate?
“You know, I’ve been thinking…” my wife said during dinner.
Uh oh, red alert. Thinking can never be good. “Really?” I replied, a friendly, inquisitive smile neatly masking my concern.
“Yes. I thought it would be fun to go out and rent a movie for a change. It gets kind of dull around here with just Andy and Barney on the screen every night.”
Mr. Vanilla’s programming dull? I looked closely at her. She was serious. “But we don’t do video stores. Most of them are gone anyway — plus we can never agree on a movie.”
“There are a couple of places around, and I’m sure we could see eye to eye on just one DVD,” she said. “I’m willing to compromise.”
Compromise? Compromise? What’s that? Following Andy Griffith was “The Dick Van Dyke Show.” “It’s a good idea,” I said, “but with our track record, a trip to the store doesn’t make sense. We should accept that we have different tastes in movies and leave it at that.” I dismissed the idea of going anywhere.
And that takes care of that, I thought, secretly congratulating myself for my ability to understand the nuances of a potentially volatile situation, to neatly cut-off any attempt at logic and achieve precisely the end result that was good for me alone. Beautifully done.
Once we arrived at the video store, my wife suggested we focus on categories that appeal to both of us — comedy, foreign, new releases.
“Don’t talk to me about foreign films,” I said, “I can’t read subtitles and watch at the same time.”
“Then a comedy or new release it is,” she replied.
“And comedy it will be,” I said reaching for “Malice in the Palace,” starring The Three Stooges.
“And don’t even think about it,” she replied, grabbing the trio and setting them back on the shelf.
“That’s comedy,” I protested.
“No, that’s adolescence.”
“Perfect,” I stated.
“I’m afraid so,” she answered.
“Well, then, let’s take a look at the new releases,” I suggested as we walked past the exercise section featuring posters of straining skeletons in pastel workout leotards.
“How about ‘Before Midnight’?” she suggested.
“Nope, too romantic. Hey, look what I found,” I said, holding up a misplaced DVD and taking a long shot. “Dirty Harry.”
She offered up “the look,” then lifted “The Great Gatsby” from the shelf.
I shook my head. “Not even close.” Trying a new approach, I said: “You know The Three Stooges have some romantic moments and—”
“I don’t think three grown men poking each other in the eyes for 90 minutes is romantic.”
As we drove home, movieless, with a take-out, hold the pepperoni, hold the sausage, hold the meatball, hold the onions, light cheese, thin-crust, organic vegetable pizza cooling in the backseat, I tried to minimize the disagreement.
“I’m going to take a bath and read in bed,” my wife said as we entered the house.
No minimization on the horizon.
I ate a slice of the cardboard pizza, watched a 30-minute Andy Griffith episode, then turned off the TV. I may be dumb, but I’m not crazy. I drove back into town, rented six James Bond movies — which made perfect sense because each contained a romantic scene or two — and then in a wild and daring move, made another stop for six pints of assorted Ben and Jerry’s fully loaded ice cream.
At home, I built a DVD/ice cream pyramid right outside the closed bedroom door, then knocked.
Nothing.
I opened the door. Hey, baby, Mr. Vanilla has left the building and Mr. Excitement is back in town!
A slight problem: It was 9 p.m. and Mrs. Excitement was in dreamland.
Timing is everything.