The Premier

Mads, my Norwegian companion, told me he had "business" to attend to out in LA, and asked if I wanted to accompany him out there. I didn't know what that meant, but I accompnaied him anyway.

When we arrived at our hotel, he left immediately, and I didn't see him for three days, when he came in with a ripped shirt, a busted face, and a pair of handcuffs dangling off one wrist. He was packing frantically, and I understood implicitly. I checked us out and we commandeered the first cab we saw, having the driver speed us to the airport post-haste.

Anyway, in the intervening three days, a friend invited me to a premier at Mann's Chinese Theatre. It was a stupid movie from a screenplay adaptated from Shakepeare's Antony and Cleopatra set in a modern high school. Utter crap for the most part; I mean, how many times can they do Shakepeare in High School, but I managed to stomach through it.

That was until the prom scene. "Tony" and "Cleo" were sharing a slow dance to Crowded House's "Don't Dream it's Over"-- only it wasn't Crowded House's, it was some random emo pop-punk band's cover. I was so mortified, I walked out of the place. I needed a drink.