Movie :  Mission Impossible : Rogue Nation

Drink : Bonnie Rose Orange whiskey and Smirnoff 100 proof root beer vodka




    First off,  can we just address how difficult it is to smuggle booze and snacks into the theater in the summer?  How I long for the first cold snap of fall when I can trade my tank top in for a puffy winter jacket and my basketball shorts for a set of 12 pockets connected to a pair of cloth tubes (commonly called cargo pants).
   After a long hot day of trimming grass and shrubs for rich old ladies and rich lazy slobs, I was ready to get a cocktail and sit in a cold dark theater.  I was running a bit late so, when I stopped at the drink getting place, I raced in and grabbed a handful of mini bottles that were dumped in the dollar bucket.  I slapped down my money and did as little of the booze-clerk-to-customer banter designed to make me feel like less of a schmuck for buying discount minis at 3:30 in the afternoon and him feel less like he should maybe have called  IT Technical College for that free informational booklet.
    When I finally got to the theater, I wasted precious seconds trying to jam all these bottles into my shorts.  The problem was that they were basketball shorts, like I mentioned, so the stretchy fabric folded perfectly around the bottles.  Not wanting to be found out, or to look like I had the most mangled looking erection ever, I went with tying the string of my shorts tight and jamming the booze in my waistband.
     I was about ten yards from the counter when the bottles began to work their way loose.  There followed the most awkward, hunching limp into the lobby.  I managed to buy my ticket, but a few steps later I dropped all my change.  I stood there over the coins, knowing that if I bent over I would defintitely have vodka dropping out of my leg holes. I was about to walk away and call it a loss when a smiling 7 year old girl came skipping by and grabbed my coins and handed them to me.  I thanked her and felt a bit of hope for the future generation, but lost it as I saw her glowering, pursed-lip mother who would no doubt squeeze that hope out of her.
     I got a decent seat and removed the first bottle from my waistband.  I cracked the cap and took a big sip.  The resulting explosion twisted my tongue into a Gordian knot and blew the hair back on a me in the nearest alternate dimension.  I spent the entirety of the Mockingjay trailer ( no great loss)  holding back tears and choking as quietly as possible.  When I could see again I checked the bottle.  Smirnoff 100 proof root beer vodka.  No.
     The movie was good! Rip roarin' fun with plenty of flinch inducing punches.  Wild vehicle chases that make you want to hop in your mid 90's Ford Ranger and gun it out of the parking lot like Ethan Hunt in his BMW.  Plot and character twists reminiscent of the first film.  The type that really make you pay attention for fear of getting lost. I sort of dozed off from the root beer overdose, so the plot may not be as complicated as I thought...
     Say what you want about Tom Cruise,  but say it to yourself.  Who cares what he does in real life? Isn't that the whole point of being an actor?  I don't go to movies to see what my favorite celebrity is doing in their spare time.  I don't go to try to spot the flaws in the green screen.  I don't see movies like this to remind myself of reality.  I got enough of that on the way to my car.  An emaciated  young vegan couple with dyed gray hair stood next to their Prius and argued about politics while, nearby, a flock of sparrows crowded around a puddle of fresh vomit.  I wanted to go back in, buy another ticket, and watch some people save the world.  Eat your popcorn and shut up.