"Do you want to go somewhere, or just hang out?" I asked, nudging Dylan's leg with my foot.
"I dunno," he mumbled into the arm of the couch. "what do you wanna do?"
I signed deeply. "Oh shit, have we become THOSE people?" Dylan raised his head and regarded me quizzically.
I threw my hands in the air in frustration. "You know, those 'sit-on-the-couch-whadda-you-wanna-do?' people! Is that what we are?"
"No." Dylan replied, propping his feet on the coffee table. "We're those 'I-just-got-off-a-14-hour-shift-and-you-didn't-sleep-for-shit-last-night' people. Relax. I like just vegging out with you. Why don't we watch a movie?"
I agreed with a minimal amount of sulking. . .*
*and by minimal I mean I was a complete asshole.
. . .and we began burrowing through my extensive collection of DVD's.
"Hey! I haven't seen this in ages!" Dylan cried, holding aloft my copy of "Field of Dreams". "Want to watch it?"
I shook my head frantically. "Oh HELL no! That movie makes me cry like a little bitch every damned time. I'm an ugly cryer. . .you're not ready for that yet."
Dylan gazed at me with great solemnity and then asked in a quavering voice, "Hey. . .Dad? . . .do you wanna have a catch?"
"I hate you so hard right now." I scowled, snatching the DVD case from his hand.
"Umm, Jen?" Dylan asked, holding two box sets in his hands "Out of curiosity, did you somehow think that owning the entire season of 'Firefly' would somehow counterbalance the extreme amount of 'suck' contained in the box set of 'Bring It On' movies?"
"Oh no you did NOT just talk smack about 'Bring It On'." I cried. "They are the tales of a plucky young rebel escaping a neo-socialist regime to create a bridge between the classes. And they're perky, they're cute, they're popular to boot."
Dylan shook his head sadly. "I'm not going to win this battle, am I?"
"Not a chance, my friend." I smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "This is not a democracy, it's a cheerocracy."
We searched a little more when I unearthed a battered DVD with a gasp. "Yes! Perfect!" I squealed.
Dylan peered over my shoulder. "'The Princess Bride'? Oh, yeah, I've heard about that one."
I stared at him in shock. "HEARD about it? You've never SEEN 'The Princess Bride'?"
He shrugged absently. "No. . .isn't it kind of a girl movie?"
I clutched the movie to my chest protectively. "A 'girl movie'? No! This is the ULTIMATE movie! It has everything! Romance, sword-fighting, rodents of unusual size, sociopathic Sicilians with speech impediments. . .how have you NOT seen this?"
"This coming from the woman who's never seen 'Rocky' or 'The Godfather'." he countered. "Is that even legal?"
"Pfft!" I waved my hand dismissively and then inserted the DVD into the player. "Sit back and prepare to be blown away."*
*That's what she said.
We watched in silence as Princess Buttercup and the Farm Boy traipsed through the meadows, kissing tenderly to Mark Knopfler's theme music.
"Oh, yeah," Dylan drawled sarcastically "no way THIS is a girl movie. Wait, isn't that the dude from "Saw"? He's kind of a douche."
"Shh!" I huffed, elbowing him in the ribs. "You're harshing my Cary Elwes zen."
We continued watching with limited commentary until Count Rugan (aka. 'The 6 Fingered Man') rode into the scene.
"No way!" Dylan cried, leaning forward in excitement. "It's Nigel Tufnel!"
I squinted in confusion. "No, it's Christopher Guest."
Dylan gaped at me in astonishment. "No, I mean he played Nigel Tufnel. . .in 'This Is Spinal Tap'? The greatest mockumentary of all time?"
I crinkled my nose in mild derision. "Oh, yeah. . .I tried to watch that once. . .couldn't really get into it."
"But. . .but. . ." Dylan stammered. "You own 'Waiting For Guffman' and 'Best In Show'. How can you NOT like 'This Is Spinal Tap'?"
"I don't know," I mused "isn't it kind of a 'guy movie'?"
Dylan shook his head and flopped back on the couch. "You're killing me here, Jen."
The next hour was an unending series of cleverly placed 'Spinal Tap' quotes until I went batshit crazy and was about to go Tarantino on Dylan's ass with the remote.
- "Certainly, in the topsy-turvy world of heavy rock, having a good solid piece of wood in your hand is often useful." he mused as Fezzig picked up a club.
- "This piece is called "Lick My Love Pump" he chuckled as the theme music swelled.
- "Dozens of people spontaneously combust each year. It's just not really widely reported" he noted sagely as the rebels snuck through the castle gates wearing the cloak of fire.
- "Put it up to eleven!" he guffawed as Count Rugen cranked up the torture device.
Do you see what I mean? Bat. Shit. Crazy. I managed to keep it together until the credits began to roll, then sighed and clicked off the TV. "So," I smiled, turning to Dylan. "don't you agree that movie is a classic?"
He shrugged. "It was OK."
"OK!?!?" I shouted. "How can you call 'The Princess Bride' OK!?!?"
I shook my head in astonishment. "Please, elaborate."
Dylan thought for a moment. "Well, for starters, why didn't Westley kill the Prince? He just left him tied up. . .poorly, I might add, and cruised off into the meadow? So, why don't they show the next scene? The one where Prince Humperdink shrugs his way out of the ropes and gets his entire royal army to hunt Westley down and pound his ass like a narc in the prison yard. I mean, they must have mentioned, like, a hundred times what a great hunter the Prince was. You seriously think he couldn't track down a guy dressed like Zorro, an 8-foot tall wrestler, a blonde with no discernible acting skills, and a Spaniard with a massive flesh wound? Helen Keller could find those guys before they hit the county line."
I sat in stunned silence. "Did you like any of it?"
"I liked that Andre the Giant was in it." he admitted "Of course, it made sense to have him in it. The crappy one-liners and choreographed fight scenes were just like watching pro-wrestling, circa 1981."
I rose from the couch and put away the DVD, wandering quietly into the kitchen.
"Hey," Dylan said, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. "are you mad that I didn't like the movie?"
I shook my head a little sadly. "I'm not mad, just. . .disappointed. That movie has always been really special to me and it just bums me out that we don't have that in common."
Dylan let go of my waist and turned me to face him. "Jen, it's OK to like different things. You didn't like 'Spinal Tap'. I can't listen to Pitbull without driving a pen in my ear. You hate camping. I can't gag down that kale salad you love so much."
"Kale is really good for you!" I argued.
"Kale might cure male pattern baldness and increase my penis size; I'm still not eating that crap." He smiled and placed his hands on my shoulders. "My point is, we agree on the important things: parenting, politics, and that Dick York was a far superior Darren Stevens."
"Oh, without a doubt." I nodded. "So, let's just agree that your shitty taste in music is perfectly offset by my shitty taste in cinema. Deal?"
"Deal." he laughed, pulling me into a hug.
"Oh, and. . .D?"
I smiled up at him sweetly. "The next time you quote 'Spinal Tap' in the middle of a movie I reserve the right to punch you in the kidneys, OK?"
He smirked and leaned over, kissing the tip of my nose. "As you wish."