šŸ° A Jojo Rabbit Story

Jojo Rabbit movie poster showing array of characters and cast information

I recently went to see Jojo Rabbit for the second time. It is a lovely movie filled with emotion. If you have not seen it, I recommend doing so. I would be surprised if it did not receive award nominations in several categories. That is the extent of my review; I am not one for crafting film critiques. I do not have the insight nor knowledge to be clever about cinema, nor the patience to make the effort. Instead, I share the following true story from my second viewing that you might smile and find security in knowing that you are not me.

šŸ¤« Do not talk
šŸ“µ Do not text
ā›”ļø Do not arrive late.

There is an Alamo Drafthouse in my neighbourhood. It is really conveniently located and usually where I go to watch movies. If you are not familiar with the Alamo Drafthouse cinemas, they are the kind of place where you can order drinks and food during your movie. The kind of place with seats that can recline a bit. And the kind of place where, once the movie starts, you have to shut up and keep your phone off or risk being "ejected from the theater without a refund". I love it. No distracting chatter. No random bright lights from phones because some people apparently might get the most important notification of their lives while sat watching a film, but not so important that they couldn't be at the movies.

Alamo Drafthouse logo that reads "Alamo Drafthouse Cinema"

I was sat in the back row enjoying the film. I had a french press of decaf coffee to sip at, and a ridiculous amount of M&Ms to eat from the kind of box you would usually get from a take-out restaurant. It was quite lovely. A good film, some bitter coffee, and some sweet chocolate. What is not to like.

The film had my attention. I had already seen it and I was still fascinated, trying to spot things I had missed the first time, connect threads that I had not fully connected, seek out the intent of its director in every scene, and generally pretend that I got it more than I did1.

I reached for a sip of coffee. I reached for some M&Ms. I stared at the screen.

I was riveted.

And then my M&Ms felt hot and very wet.

I had apparently reached into my hot decaf coffee instead of the bucket of M&Ms, even though they were in entirely different places. Why would my brain sabotage me like this? I don't know. Why do I have an imaginary child? Some things just cannot be answered.

A picture of loose M&Ms of various colours with a picture of a cup of coffee overlayed
What coffee and M&Ms look like, in case you thought it was an easy mistake to make

Now, in most circumstances, when my hand has been immersed in hot liquid, I might make some sort of sound like, "Ow!" or "Fuck me!" But remember, no talking. That and I did not want anyone around me to be alerted to the British man that just put his hand in his coffee for apparently no good reason.

I had never been in this situation before. A dark room. A movie. A few hundred people. A wet, slightly burning hand. I had not received training for this. Remaining calm, I removed my hand from the coffee. That seemed like a solid first step. I then moved it to my side and started carefully shaking it so as not to rouse suspicion. I then wiped it under my leg, then reached for an M&M and ate it. Crisis averted.

Relaxed and content that I had dealt with this new experience deftly, I lifted my hand for a quick sniff check to see if it was noticeable that it had been marinated in hot coffee. The screen flashed brightly, illuminating the audience (which included me, in case you forgot how cinemas work), and I made eye contact with the stranger in the seat next to me. Their eyes said, "Dude, why are you sniffing your hand?" and who knows what my eyes said. I feel like they said, "Shit, this is weird. Sorry. Just checking it doesn't smell of coffee," but I am pretty certain the other person saw, "I did something really perverted with my hand and I want to smell the perversion."

We both sat in silence for the rest of the movie, per the rules. We never made eye contact again.

This has happened to you, too, right?

  1. I never can quite get things as deeply as they appear to be intended, I feel. []

Facebook Stickers and the Curious Self-pleasuring Dog

Yesterday, I discovered the new Facebook feature, "Stickers". These are a new way to comment by choosing a picture to post rather than words. You can select stickers from various sets (all of which are free, though am I certainĀ that there will be many to buy in the long term).

In experimenting with the feature, I came across this dog. Being who I am, could not help noticing that he appears to be furiously pleasuring himselfĀ in a couple of his images.Ā It seemed fitting to capture this in a comic strip before Facebook decides to take these particular stickers down.

Self-pleasuring fido

You are welcome.

I Have An Announcement To Make

This is going to come as a shock to friends and family alike, so please, take a seat. I have to tell you that Chrissy and I are, as of Friday, the proud parents of a child. One imaginary, completely made-up, sexless, physically unmanifested and nameless child.

As with most fake children, the conception, gestation and birth occurred within moments of one another.Ā And it is all my fault (typical that I get the blame, huh, gents?).

If you would be so kind as to remain seated, I will explain myself (I apologise if this gets a bit graphic as I'm going to be honest about the details which may include cussing, just be grateful I did not video the birth, I certainly am).

A Typical Friday Morning

It all happened on Friday morning when I took my car for a scheduled service. The service greeter guy (official title, I believe) greeted me by name, having remembered me from my last serviceĀ six months ago when he had kindly arranged for important work to be done under warranty1. He proceeded to fill out paperwork and inspect the car.

The car had not done many miles since the last service, so he wanted to double check if the tyres needed rotatingĀ (tire, as he said it, because he is American and therefore speaks in different spellings). From a quick check of the tread, he decided that only the right-side tyres needed rotating "to keep my kids safe".Ā And this is where I made my first mistake. I started thinking.

He thinks we have kids. Shit. Do we? I don't know. Of course we don't, how don't you know? Oh fuck. What do I do? Correct him. Correct him! Shit, too late. We've moved on. Now it will just be weird. Nevermind.

So, I did not correct him. In my defense, it did feel a bitĀ asinineĀ to point that out. After all, he was really just saying he wanted people in my car to be safe and that is a nice thing, so I let the small inaccuracy of "kids" slip by, leaving Service Greeter Guy to continue in his belief that I had kids. Instead, I had the bright idea to change the subject.

ME: "I'm probably going to get a new car soon."

SGG: "Well, how many kids have you got?"

What?! Clearly Service Greeter Guy did not know the rules of changing the subject.

ā€œAt first sign of crisis, the ignorant donā€™t panic because they donā€™t know whatā€™s going on, and then later they panic precisely because they donā€™t know whatā€™s going on.ā€Øā€2

At this point my subconscious started to determine what my next move should be in this battle of wits.Ā The sane part of me said I should come clean and tell him we did not have any kids, but that is too much like normal. I do not do normal very well.

Shit! He asked how many kids we have. Are we supposed to have kids? Is it wrong not to have any kids? Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! We have…er…shit. Don't hesitate. Now he looks puzzled, "Why doesn't he know how many kids he has?" Why are you not speaking?

ME: "It depends."

It depends?! Depends on what?Ā How many I've kidnapped on a given day? What the fuck?

I had somehow determined that this hole was far from deep enough and started furiously digging. Service Greeter Guy looked confused and why would he not? I was confused and panicking.

SGG: "No, just you and your wife."

Fortunately for me, while I was panicking, Service Greeter Guy appeared to have been searching for a rational reason why the strange British man might say "It depends" to such a straightforward question. I can only assume he had decided that we ferry local kids around for some after school club or some equally normal activity where the number of kids in my car might vary. Of course, he was not going to get off so lightly. Tossing aside this opportunity to set everything straight, take the hit of embarrassment and move on, I kept digging.

ME: "One."

All of a sudden and there it was, our imaginary child, fresh from the womb of insanity, waiting to be saved by the tyre rotation that had conceived it.

Service Greeter Guy continued with his day, unaware that I had lied to him for no reason whatsoever other than the growing panic inside me, feeling like I might be judged for not having children. While he calmly tapped at keys and got me a ride to work, I calmly considered the impact of my new ward's inexistence.

One? We have one? FUCK! Now I have to have at least one kid for the rest of my days coming here to fix my car. Fuck. Will he remember? Yes, he'll remember! He remembered your fucking nameĀ when you drove in this morning from six months ago. Arse. Can I borrow a kid?

"Parenthood always comes as a shock. Postpartum blues? Postpartum panic is more like it. We set out to have a baby; what we get is a totalĀ takeoverĀ of our lives."3

If it were not for a chat with my wife later in the day, our happy news of Ā September 28th, 2012Ā may have been known only to me. However, it was her fake kid too, so I wanted to share with her the overwhelming burden of parenthood. Of course, she happily wanted me to share it with everyone, which is why I have written it down here for all to revel in my weirdity.

If you want to send birthday cards, gifts (no obligation, but it loves beer) or just a comment, have at it. Perhaps you even have ideas on what we can do with our new child. Name it? Give it a sibling? Kill it? Please share.

  1. I do know Service Greeter Guy's name, I'm just choosing to omit it. []
  2. Jarod Kintz,Ā At even one penny, this book would be overpriced. In fact, free is too expensive, because you'd still waste time by reading it. []
  3. Polly Berrien Berends []