Ham Fried Rice

Last night I went to see Iron Man and it turned out to be one of my favorite superhero films. After a rough week with the kiddies, I needed a moment to myself. Matt was kind enough to stay home and watch basketball, giving me the green light to go out. I purchased my ticket for what the employee called Club 21, an adults-only theatre. Sounds kinky, I know. (Ha! You wish!) Film goers pay a premium of seventy-five cents more to sit in a digital theatre with no screaming babies, children or teenagers allowed. The previews were already playing as I quietly sneaked into my reserved seat. I was sandwiched between a morbidly obese couple to my left and Beavis & Butthead on my right. The small theatre held less than one hundred people; most of them looked like die hard comic book readers, or what I refer to as fan boys. I was probably the most hygienically proficient and most socially well-adjusted among the entire group. (Although, how many women would go and see Iron Man by themselves? I suppose the tomboy in me just takes over.)

The dialogue was witty and the writing, acting and directing were superb. Robert Downey, Jr. was surprisingly excellent. I loved watching his character evolve from a selfish, self-centered boozy playboy into a caring, feeling man who realizes his actions have significant consequences. The most entertaining part of the evening, however, wasn’t the film. Whenever his character Tony Stark was surrounded by scantily clad women, I could hear mutterings, “Ohhhh yahhh” from Beavis & Butthead on my right, as well as from the entire male population inside the theatre. “Huh-huh, huh-huh…” followed by “Ohhhh yahhh!” Forgive the crassness, but I kept thinking, these poor dorks need to get some action. I mean, really. Get a life and go meet some real girls. Stop fantasizing over some images of lipo-suctioned skinny thighs and a pair of fake boobs. I couldn’t help but wonder about the poor woman sitting next to me with her husband/boyfriend. They were each about 80 pounds over weight. I wondered if it hurt her sense of self-worth as the catcalling occurred to the women on screen. I worried if it made her feel uncomfortable or sad. As I relayed this to Matt, he called me a “tender heart.”

But as Matt also succinctly stated, “men are pigs.” And I have to agree. “Ohhhh yahhhh.”