That just wouldn’t have happened

Last night we went to see the Devil Wears Prada. We had heard it was really funny. Well, it really wasn’t. It was not a bad movie, just not all that funny. It was more sweet than funny. The humor came after the movie. While exiting the cinema with a few hundred other happy people–the movie is definitely designed to leave you happy–we were flanked by a gaggle of young women. They were discussing the ending.

A little plot background: The main character of the movie struggles to sustain her own integrity in an environment that is not aligned or well suited to her character. After two hours of debasing the fashion industry to prove this misalignment, the author / filmakers put character determination and “The Cat Maiden” fable into action. Through the journey of this young woman she inadvertently destroys the opportunity for her colleague–illustrated with complete superficiality–to fulfill the colleague’s dream of going to a Paris Couture show–and the heroin of the movie ends up going to Paris in her place. The trip to Paris included the promise of lush and excess fashion being added to her wardrobe. In the end moment of peace and reconciliation, the heroin calls the colleague to give the colleague all of the spoils of the Paris trip as part of a peace offering. The colleague concedes and happiness abounds.

Thats the long set up. But the payoff came squeezed in amongst the gaggle of young women while exiting via an escalator. “Yeh, I really liked it.” said one to another. “Those outfits were amazing. I could only dream…” said yet another before being interupted by an opposing opinion. “I liked it well enough, but it just wasn’t all that believable… I mean really, who would actually give up that amazing wardrobe like that. That just wouldn’t have happened!”

Nature will out.

Carol and Mariah

While waiting for a bus after a quick teeth cleaning in Boston’s Copley Square, I walked by two homeless gentlemen. One was in a wheel chair and had amputated legs. He was wearing a bright yellow soccer jersey. The other was sitting and rising and sitting and rising in an almost nervous routine. His jersey was a bright but deep blue soccer style as well.

The man in the wheel chair asked of his companion, “Don’t you just love Carol Channing? I really love that woman!” To which the man moving in swift up and down motions replied, “It’s Mariah for me. I don’t think that woman knows how hot she is.”

I wasn’t sure which of these lines I enjoed more, so I leave them for you to ponder… Carol Channing or Mariah Carey? And is it possible that Mariah has no idea how hot she is? And why do we know who these women are anyway? Or do we know who they are? Another crazy life moment on the street.

The only photo of Pisa

So recently while returning from Glasgow Scotland, I had the pleasure of sitting in front of a happy couple that had just completed a whirlwind European vacation. The gentleman was in shorts and a red polo shirt and the woman, also in shorts, wore a flowery loose fitting shirt. They were both plump but seemed quite happy if not a little exhausted. The man in the duet got comfortable in the chair behind me and after an awkward silence finally came out with something that was on his mind. He said to his partner, “Honey, please dont take nine months to get your film processed this time. You know, when they rushed us all off that bus I broke into a sweat and completely forgot what I was doing. I left my camera on the seat of the bus. You now have the only photo of Pisa.”

There was something amusing and profound about the idea that the only photo of [the leaning tower of] Pisa is resting in the latent cannister of a happy yet exhausted tourist couple from middle America.