Christmas movies, Abba, booze, free asssociation

When I moved to New York I was introduced to a loose group of gay and straight men and women, all younger than I am, devoted to their vodka, especially David, my egress to the group through a Seattle friend. He was extremely intelligent, gay, self-sufficient and devoted to booze. He was also devoted to things Scandinavian (he spoke several languages), including Abba, would crank up the stereo and we'd dance.

He owned his apartment, always enviable, but that didn't guaranty compliant neighbors. The stereo was usually and quickly cranked down. He made use of the interim to pour another round. I'm not a dedicated drinker and by then—I was in my forties—not much of a drinker redux and amplified; but very much a wuss. More than once I remember surreptitiously pouring my drink into a plant (sorry) or empty glass. Nancy Reagan, honey, it's hard to say no.

I wasn't happy with these friends and eventually they were no longer friends. A different David and some others, who I met in my first six months here, are still friends. We see action movies together and go out for a meal. Back then we'd also play board games.

I am faced with a conundrum today, a problem lite—very lite. A few times a year we have brunch first and then head to David's apartment to watch a DVD, instead of going to a theater. I've been asked to offer a few suggestions. You must remember, my family used to go to a movie on Christmas Day, after festivities died down.

A movie on Christmas Day sounds great (at least to me) but there is that serious streak running through my blood. One year we saw Brother Rocco, a grim Italian art film. I was ten or twelve. I was outraged. I didn't turn away from art film, but reserved a space in my ten or eleven year-old heart for fun film.

David is okay with comedy. He likes it, but another and more dominant of this group is disinterested. Maybe it's silly movies associated with dope. Harold and Kumar (the first was good, the second dull). I want to suggest, among other movies, The Ringer, which stars, of all people, Johnny Knoxville, and has a horrendous premise, that Knoxville will fake being "special" so he can enter the Special Olympics. So he can win. So his uncle, played by Brian Cox, who will bet, can get money owed to bad people.

My next blog will be a story I wrote, published in 2005. It's locale is a rooftop I danced (to Abba) on through the graces of the first David. I was diverted by the Davids and memory. But it all fits.

to. be. continued.