Just in case you’re assembling a dossier on Anne and myself, we are in the habit of going to movies on Sunday afternoons. Our reasons for going then are pretty obvious, when you think about them: Sunday is the most unscheduled part of our average week, the theaters are rarely crowded on that day (we do live in church-going Utah, after all), and the matinee prices are easy on the checkbook. Generally, we like to make a nice, relaxing day of it by going out for brunch, possibly doing a bit of shopping, then catching a show in the 2-3 o’clock range. By Sunday evening we’re headed for home and I usually have a pretty good idea of what I’m going to say on this blog about whatever we saw (even if I don’t actually get around to saying it for several weeks, as in the cases of Collateral and Sky Captain).
Sunday afternoon this week followed our usual pattern: breakfast at Denny’s, a quick run through Costco for bulk groceries and the latest DVDs, and then a movie. But this week the process stalled out at this stage. The words for the blog failed to come that evening and even now, 48 hours later, I’m still not sure what to say about a weird little film called Napoleon Dynamite.