Free Kleenex and Band-free Bars

Movie theatres should provide complementary kleenex at the end of every aisle. To pay $14 to see a movie and have to wipe your eyes and nose on your sleeve isn't good enough. It's a small extra that theatres could do for their more fragile customers who tend to cry during movies. 50 First Dates made my eyes leak uncontrollably for almost the entire time. It was funny too, but the underlying illness and love were what got me.

I was surprised actually. Not so much that I cried, I cry at lots of movies: AI, XMen, XMen2, the Goofy Movie - well you get the picture. I hadn't taken kleenex in my purse I mean, why would you? It's an Adam Sandler movie, who's going to cry during an Adam Sandler movie? So, I would have appreciated a box of complimentary kleenex if the theatre had seen fit to provide them.

Of course, imagine if theatres did supply complimentary absorbant substances for the weaker-eyed amoung us - the rest of you: yeh you rough careless lot who like to spill your popcorn all over the floor and leave your cups in the cupholders when you leave - you guys'd probably pull all the kleenex from the box and wad it up with the liquid from your coke and throw it at the screen thereby having the theatre management rethink their "free kleenex for the pathetically romantic" policy and we'd be back to Square One. But, in fact, we'd be worse than Square One because now we'd know how great complementary kleenex would be and we'd miss that part of our movie-going experience.

But getting back to being surprised. The movie had a couple of themes that ran deeper than your average American cinema boy-meets-girl/girl-forgets-guy/guy-burps-walrus kind of flick. I was also surprised at how beautiful Drew Barrymore is. I mean, I knew she was but she seemed spectacularly so in this movie.

A nice thing to do after a movie, is hit an Irish Pub and have a Kilkenny and some chips and talk about the movie and all things done since you were last with your movie-date.

This lovely plan is thrown into disarray by the presence at the pub of the "local band" and it's covers set. No one dances, no one can talk. I can't see the POINT. We stayed for one beer and moved on. To another Irish Pub actually, with a band as well, but the venue was larger, the band wasn't so loud and I could hear when spoken to.

Bands shouldn't start in pubs until after 10pm so I can eat my chups and drink my ale and talk my shite in peace and an audience who can hear me.

PS: In case I haven't told you lately, I love you, Radiohead.