Back before the boy, I went to see the Sherlock Holmes (in an actual movie theatre, mind you), which, if it weren’t for a certain delicious shirtless wonder, I might never have gone to see as I am easily annoyed by other movie patrons (especially if you are a loud talker, and too lazy, arrogant, and rude to put away your phone) and disgusted by the general aroma of butter stained seats that lovingly embrace me in the humid, sticky darkness.

And it wasn’t terrible (the movie or the movie theatre). In fact, If I remember right, I think I actually enjoyed myself. After all, any movie viewing experience that promises to resurrect a dearly loved childhood story is bound to be a success, isn’t it? Well isn’t it?

I must have seen Clash of the Titans a hundred times growing up. OK, maybe it was more like ten, but those were the second best ten days of my life. The first best, of course, would be the ones I spent alone in the woods, my woods, (not all together mind you) which come to think of it, might be the third and fourth best too. When was the last time you were in the woods, silent and alone?

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