January 14th, 2010
Talking Film in NY Restaurants
One of my best friends moved from Minneapolis to Brooklyn at the end of the 1990s, and it was good news for me. We’d always liked each other’s company, growing up on opposite sides of the Mississippi River, and talking about our own world views. At the time, we thought that Saint Paul and Minneapolis were so radically different from each other, and our experiences made us rugged individuals. We’d get together and fight it out in conversations about who was more correct about politics, girls, good food, and good films. As the years went by, I began to see that there were many more points of view in the world than we’d ever imagined, and that we were both pretty similar in almost every way. I missed the arguments, though, because we always had something to agree on at the end of the day.
So it was a welcome change of fortune, when we both were living in the same city. For a few years, we made it a regular practice to meet at one of the excellent www.newyorkrestaurants.com and talk about film. We could argue about the other things, but when it came to politics and girls, we thought the same, so it was never very deep. Two men talking about things they agree on can sometimes begin to resemble drunk gorillas happy that the sun was rising another day. But movies. Movies were a whole different matter.
I won’t get specific here, because he can’t defend himself, but his tastes have always been a lot stupider than mine. I like the refined things, and in film, I like the stuff that comes from Italy and France. Occasionally something good comes from this side of the ocean, like I’m Not There, but most of the time, the things I see in theaters make me depressed. He, on the other hand, is very easily amused. Films where people get shot for holding the wrong bag at the wrong time appeal to his very limited imagination. I’m starting to sense, however, that it’s becoming apparent that he won our last disagreement, and I’m harboring bitterness against him. It’s been 6 years since Genhawk lived here, and I have to confess that I miss the dinners, and I miss the arguments. I miss them so much in fact that I hope he reads this and it makes him angry enough to track me down so we can do it all over again.
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